I wrote this a couple months ago and just wanted to share it with you.
I woke up on the cold, dingy tile floor and my head throbbed with pain. The tile had a distinct smell to it, a mixture of cleaner, urine and mold. Not exactly the wake up call you’d expect at the Hilton. Or the Holiday Inn. Or wherever I was. Everything in sight was blurry. I immediately looked around for any leftover stash in the bathroom. Nope. I must have used it all last night and then passed out. I slowly opened the door as the breeze from the air conditioner made a million goose bumps appear on my naked body. Everything was out of focus as I tried to piece together what happened last night. Then I remembered: I made a quick sale, picked up a girl, and mainlined some stuff.
I walked across the dingy white tile to the faded blue carpet in the hotel room. An attractive blonde in her twenties laid in bed covered by a white sheet. I walked over to the brown night stand with her small black purse on it and glanced inside. Good. She didn’t take any cash or smack. Then I noticed my pants, shirt, underwear and sandals on the floor. I grabbed my jeans and found a wad of cash in my front left pocket. My ID, a couple credit cards and my wedding ring filled out the other front pocket. I threw my clothes on, hoping the blonde did not wake up. I walked over to the table next to the foot of the bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shift in the bed. Time to move, now. Nothing good could come from her waking up. She was either going to try to get some more stuff from me or want to have an awkward conversation that just drained all of the fun out of the night before. I tiptoed toward the door, careful not to make a sound. As I opened the door, it creaked slightly. Then I heard my name several times as I walked away from the door. “Jonny? Jonny?” The voice faded as I walked down the hall.
“Okay, now where am I again?” I thought to myself. I snaked through the drab hotel as my head continued to throb.
I felt a weird sensation on my leg. Then it stopped. Then the feeling came back. Then it stopped. I put my hand in my back pocket. My phone was on vibrate. Gina. No way, not now. I’ll call back later. She thinks I’m on a business trip in Dallas. Not, well, wherever I am. I walked out into the parking lot and noticed my silver Civic. I climbed in and sped out of the parking lot, relieved to see the GPS that could get me out of wherevers-ville.
I cruised down the interstate, and my cell phone rang again. This time the call said private. I let the phone continue to vibrate. Then a couple minutes later, a private number called again. And again. A half an hour later, I decided to listen to the three voice mails that had piled up on the phone. It was well, whatever her name was. She sounded more distraught with each additional phone call, pleading for me to call her back and there was some drivel about someone coming by the hotel room looking for me. She obviously couldn’t handle the good stuff and was probably still messed up.
About five hours later, I pulled into the driveway. It was dark inside, with the minivan noticeably missing from the driveway. I noticed it was about 5:30, so I figured Gina probably took Tony somewhere to eat. I entered the house. Something felt different. The furniture was still in the same place, and Tony’s puzzle pieces were still scattered on the living room floor. Something felt odd. I shook the feeling off and wandered into the kitchen. My eyes immediately focused on the piece of white paper on the table.The torn piece of paper had a phone number scrolled on it in black pen.
I called Gina and the call went straight to voice mail. I hung up and decided to call the number on the table.
A deep, very confident voice on the other end of the line answered. “Jonny, I’ve been expecting your call. I’m here with Gina and your son Tony.” I felt my heart leap into my throat as I tried to blurt out a sentence. “What? Why are they with you?”
“You have two options. You can run and I’ll come find you. Or you can turn yourself in today and you might eventually see your family in a few years. I know absolutely everything about you, and Gina does too now. My name is Special Agent Ryan and I’ll be seeing you soon.”
The cocky FBI agent’s words sent shivers down my spine. Before I heard the dial tone, I was already out the door and had popped the car trunk. I pulled out my hand gun out of a small black case from inside the trunk. I hopped in the drivers seat and listened to the tires squeal on the pavement below. My mind raced faster and faster. I pulled over at a gas station. I knew they were probably watching me, so I didn’t have much time. I pulled my last syringe out of the middle console and tucked it into my pocket. Then I took my handgun and stuck it in the waist of my pants and hopped out of the car.
Within a few minutes, all of the pain, fears and FBI agents would go away. My mind raced briefly toward Gina and Tony. I went into the men’s bathroom and locked the door. As I entered the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stared into it for a moment. I turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on my face to calm down. I pulled out the syringe and got ready for the rush. My hands shook uncontrollably as pain shot down my arms and chest. I was overdue for a fix. I dropped the syringe on the tile floor and it shattered, spraying a fine mist of heroin all over the floor. I dove to the floor in an attempt to salvage any of the drug. I slammed my hand down on the tile and a cold tingling sensation spread throughout my hand, intensifying more every second.
I sat on the floor and tears poured from my eyes. I cradled the cold gun in my hands. I tried to hold my arm up in spite of the pain that shot up and down my arm. The gun became heavier in my shaky fingers. I attempted to elevate it higher. I thought of the smiles on our faces at our wedding day. Our first date. The smell of her hair. The feel of her kiss. The first time I held Tony in my arms. The sleepless nights. His first steps. His first words. My fingers tightened and then let go of the grip of the gun. The gun fell back to the floor as I sat there. I looked down and pushed the send button to call the last number dialed on my phone.