It had been two days since my last run in with the arsonist guys. I had gathered about 2 grand but I was nowhere near getting the rest of the money. All of my money was in a trust that I couldn't access for another ten years. I hadn't slept in days. I had been brainstorming ideas for how to get the money and gone through about four bags of coffee. Which reminded me, I was out of coffee beans. Maybe a walk was what I needed. I could use a break from this apartment. So I grabbed my wallet and began to make my way down to the coffee shop.
The coffee shop smelled delicious as always, and was filled with hipsters on their MacBooks. I scanned the room while I waited in line to make sure the men from the van weren't in sight, when I noticed Jessie sitting on one of the loveseats by herself. Oh my god, she probably followed me here. How did she know I was gonna be here? And then a man wearing a striped V neck sat down in the love seat with her. He was alright, he had some scruff on his chin and skinny pants. Definitely a hipster. But what did he want with Jessie? And what did Jessie want with him? They weren't together. No, definitely not. No one like that would ever want Jessie, she was cute, in her own way I suppose but definitely not the hipster's type. He probably likes girls who wear red lipstick and wear shoelaces for a belt. But then, he leaned in to kiss her and oh my god, they were making out in the middle of the coffee shop. My whole body felt hot, I don't know why though, it's not like I was jealous or something.
"Sir?" the woman at the counter interrupted my staring.
"Oh yeah. I'll just take this bag of coffee," I responded as I handed her a ten dollar bill.
"Thank you, have a good day," it sounded like she said but I couldn't be sure. I was distracted by the fact that the dirty hipster still had his hands all over Jessie. But they finally broke apart, Jessie scanned the room; her cheeks were hot pink, almost like she was embarassed. Her eyes met mine, and I realized she had just caught me staring. I never noticed how blue her eyes were before. It was almost pretty. She mouthed "Hey," and waved, until the hipster interrupted and pulled her back into his gaze. I was feeling hot again, and I needed to get out of that damn coffee shop.
I hurried out of the store, as if my life depended on it. Why was I so hot? And why was Jessie so hot? Had she always looked like that and I just hadn't noticed? Who the hell was that guy anyway, she was supposed to be obsessed with me.
--------
Two more days passed, and still no progress. All I could think about was everything but how to get this money. I thought about my dad, I thought about Jessie, I thought about the band. The band. It had been weeks since I had played with them, or even talked to any of them for that matter. I wish there was something I could do to make things right. I knew I needed to swallow my pride and apologize, but I didn't know if that would be enough. What I had done was completely selfish, just like everything else I had done in the past few years.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Close
When I woke up, I was surrounded by three strange men, which was getting all too familiar. at The last thing I remembered was seeing that Jeep with the arsonist. But now, there was no arsonist.
"Look kid, we have to kill you. We can't have any witnesses," said one of the men with abnormally thick facial hair.
"Witnesses to what?" I asked, playing dumb could only help me at this point.
"We know you saw the arson. Someone died in there, and we can't have any blood on our hands. So unless you give a good reason to keep you alive, you're forever silenced," a man in a disgusting hoodie that looked like it might have been grey at one point in its life said.
"Look guys, I don't know what arson you're talking about. I barely know what arson is. I'm a rock star, people love me. You can't kill me."
"What do you think, Tom?" the two men turned to the one man who hadn't spoken this time. Tom was clearly the brains of the operation. He was the only of the three that looked like he had showered in the past week. He remained silent for several minutes, as my heart beat out my chest. When all of this was over, I'm really going to need to quit smoking. My lungs can't keep up with all this drama.
"So you're a rockstar, huh?" he finally spoke. His voice was much lower than I imagined it would sound. His face had soft features, kind of like a pug's. "Say, uh, what band you in, Mr. Rockstar?"
"Pierce," I answered, somewhat offended that he didn't recognize me.
"No shit, guys, it's Justin West. The Justin West, would you loook at that."
That was more like it.
"So, Mr. West, I bet you're worth a lot of money," said the grey-hooded man.
"Some," I responded again. I had a hunch of where this might be going...
"What do you say we work out a little deal, rockstar?" Asked Tom.
And here it goes...
"We'll let you live," Tom began, "for 10 grand."
"10 grand?!? You've got to be kidding me! I've never had 10 grand, I don't even eat!" I exclaimed furiously.
"Well, rockstar, that's not my problem. Get the money if you care about living. You have a week. Meet me here at 9 pm. If you don't find me, I'll find you."
"Look kid, we have to kill you. We can't have any witnesses," said one of the men with abnormally thick facial hair.
"Witnesses to what?" I asked, playing dumb could only help me at this point.
"We know you saw the arson. Someone died in there, and we can't have any blood on our hands. So unless you give a good reason to keep you alive, you're forever silenced," a man in a disgusting hoodie that looked like it might have been grey at one point in its life said.
"Look guys, I don't know what arson you're talking about. I barely know what arson is. I'm a rock star, people love me. You can't kill me."
"What do you think, Tom?" the two men turned to the one man who hadn't spoken this time. Tom was clearly the brains of the operation. He was the only of the three that looked like he had showered in the past week. He remained silent for several minutes, as my heart beat out my chest. When all of this was over, I'm really going to need to quit smoking. My lungs can't keep up with all this drama.
"So you're a rockstar, huh?" he finally spoke. His voice was much lower than I imagined it would sound. His face had soft features, kind of like a pug's. "Say, uh, what band you in, Mr. Rockstar?"
"Pierce," I answered, somewhat offended that he didn't recognize me.
"No shit, guys, it's Justin West. The Justin West, would you loook at that."
That was more like it.
"So, Mr. West, I bet you're worth a lot of money," said the grey-hooded man.
"Some," I responded again. I had a hunch of where this might be going...
"What do you say we work out a little deal, rockstar?" Asked Tom.
And here it goes...
"We'll let you live," Tom began, "for 10 grand."
"10 grand?!? You've got to be kidding me! I've never had 10 grand, I don't even eat!" I exclaimed furiously.
"Well, rockstar, that's not my problem. Get the money if you care about living. You have a week. Meet me here at 9 pm. If you don't find me, I'll find you."
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Sunset Grill
The next morning I woke up in a way that was much different than my usual routine. I felt something that I hadn't felt since my mom died: motivation. I was not going to waste another day sleeping and moping about. I lit my cigarette and started to walk down the steps (instead of the elevator) of my apartment building and towards the coffee shop. This morning I noticed a lot more. I noticed the way people looked at me. At first, I was paranoid. I thought people were staring because they all knew about the band, or they all knew about my disease. Those two things were running deep in my mind. But maybe they were just looking, trying to learn more about me from my outer appearance. What a crazy thought. And then I noticed the clinic.
Should I go in? Are they mad that I haven't come in since I found out about my results? Is this going to be awkward? I shouldn't go in. No, I have to. I have to deal with this. I can't go in, it's gonna be too awkward. Everyone in there must know that I'm diseased. Me, Justin West, rotting away thanks to whatever chick I banged who gave me this. Okay, I'm gonna go in. I've stood outside staring at the door long enough. And it took all the muscles in my body to lift my arm and reach for the door, but I did it. I went in. I was glad to see the blonde with the nice rack was still at the front desk. It made all of this just a little bit easier. It really is the little things in life. "Hi, I'm sure you recognize me but I'm Justin West. I was here a few weeks ago for a screening, and I wanted to talk to my doctor about my results," I said timidly. "Oh yes, Mr. West, we've desperately been trying to get a hold of you. If you could just sit down for a moment, the doctor stepped out for lunch, but I'm sure he'd love to speak to you." It was really hard to hear what she was saying when I was trying desperately to avoid looking at her chest but I think I got everything. Well shit, he was at lunch. I didn't even think it was lunch time, I just woke up. So I made my way over to the row of stiff red chairs they had lined up for patients in the waiting area and I sat down in the chair furthest away from the other weirdos here to get checked out.
"I wonder why they've been trying so hard to get a hold of me. What if it's more bad news? I don't think I can take it. No I definitely can't take it. I need to get away. Far away. I can't be in here anymore." And that's when I got up and ran out. I could here Blondie calling after me but I couldn't stay. Where could I go? And then I remembered how my mom always wanted to go to Cancun. She was always so amazed by the cleanliness of the ocean water. Even though I told her a million places have clear ocean water. But it was sweet. Well, Cancun it is. And I stood up and ran out that door as fast as I could. My adrenaline was pumping so much, my smoker lungs weren't even bothered by the exercise. And I ran. I didn't think, I just ran.
...Until my not-thinking was interrupted by an overwhelming paranoia. A blood red Jeep Cherokee with an unmistakable dent on the hood had been following me for the last couple blocks. "It couldn't be the same car," I assured myself. And then I made the biggest mistake possible: I looked behind me, into the Jeep. The man from the Forever 21 arson.
I picked up my pace, and so did the van. The need to leave the country became more and more appealing. It was no longer a much wanted vacation, it was a potential life or death situation. I needed to get away from this fucking Jeep before... Before... "What exactly is this jack ass gonna do to me anyway?" I wondered. But I didn't really have any interest in sticking around to find out so I ran into the alley behind Isabella's Cafe, desperately searching for somewhere to hide. Frantically, I searched as a million thoughts raced through my head. But before I could even begin to process those thoughts, I heard a car door slam. "Bang." And suddenly, I felt a pain in my leg more intense than all the hangovers I had ever had combined. Blood began to gush down my right leg and then everything went blurry. And then everything went black. So much for that clean Cancun water.
Should I go in? Are they mad that I haven't come in since I found out about my results? Is this going to be awkward? I shouldn't go in. No, I have to. I have to deal with this. I can't go in, it's gonna be too awkward. Everyone in there must know that I'm diseased. Me, Justin West, rotting away thanks to whatever chick I banged who gave me this. Okay, I'm gonna go in. I've stood outside staring at the door long enough. And it took all the muscles in my body to lift my arm and reach for the door, but I did it. I went in. I was glad to see the blonde with the nice rack was still at the front desk. It made all of this just a little bit easier. It really is the little things in life. "Hi, I'm sure you recognize me but I'm Justin West. I was here a few weeks ago for a screening, and I wanted to talk to my doctor about my results," I said timidly. "Oh yes, Mr. West, we've desperately been trying to get a hold of you. If you could just sit down for a moment, the doctor stepped out for lunch, but I'm sure he'd love to speak to you." It was really hard to hear what she was saying when I was trying desperately to avoid looking at her chest but I think I got everything. Well shit, he was at lunch. I didn't even think it was lunch time, I just woke up. So I made my way over to the row of stiff red chairs they had lined up for patients in the waiting area and I sat down in the chair furthest away from the other weirdos here to get checked out.
"I wonder why they've been trying so hard to get a hold of me. What if it's more bad news? I don't think I can take it. No I definitely can't take it. I need to get away. Far away. I can't be in here anymore." And that's when I got up and ran out. I could here Blondie calling after me but I couldn't stay. Where could I go? And then I remembered how my mom always wanted to go to Cancun. She was always so amazed by the cleanliness of the ocean water. Even though I told her a million places have clear ocean water. But it was sweet. Well, Cancun it is. And I stood up and ran out that door as fast as I could. My adrenaline was pumping so much, my smoker lungs weren't even bothered by the exercise. And I ran. I didn't think, I just ran.
...Until my not-thinking was interrupted by an overwhelming paranoia. A blood red Jeep Cherokee with an unmistakable dent on the hood had been following me for the last couple blocks. "It couldn't be the same car," I assured myself. And then I made the biggest mistake possible: I looked behind me, into the Jeep. The man from the Forever 21 arson.
I picked up my pace, and so did the van. The need to leave the country became more and more appealing. It was no longer a much wanted vacation, it was a potential life or death situation. I needed to get away from this fucking Jeep before... Before... "What exactly is this jack ass gonna do to me anyway?" I wondered. But I didn't really have any interest in sticking around to find out so I ran into the alley behind Isabella's Cafe, desperately searching for somewhere to hide. Frantically, I searched as a million thoughts raced through my head. But before I could even begin to process those thoughts, I heard a car door slam. "Bang." And suddenly, I felt a pain in my leg more intense than all the hangovers I had ever had combined. Blood began to gush down my right leg and then everything went blurry. And then everything went black. So much for that clean Cancun water.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Flying?
"Hey man, I got the goods."
"Bullshit, Mohammed, you never have anything good."
"Naw dude, this shit is legit. One guy I sold it to told me he felt like he was flying. Actually flying! Come on man, you know that sounds tight."
"Dammit Mohammed, why do you always do this to me? If this isn't good, I'm coming to find you and getting my money back."
"Well, that's not gonna happen. How much you want?"
"Enough."
"Alright, here," he said as he passed me a dime bag full of pills, "this is plenty. You can even pay me later."
"Straight," I mumbled before I grabbed the pills from him and furiously shoved them down my throat. I promised my mom I would stop doing this type of shit when she died. But she really didn't understand. She was always worried that I was going to end up dead on the side of the road somewhere, just from popping pills. She didn't know how it is these days, no one dies from smoking weed either. It's just some harmless recreation. She always told me I was so much smarter and more talented than all the other kids I was hanging out with, maybe she was right. And one day, I'll stop. I'll do it for her. I'm just not quite there yet. Just as warm memories of those mornings on the porch flooded me, I came out of my head and back to the dirty barstool I was sitting on.
I was surrounded by familiar faces in the crowded bar, yet I was completely alone. Damn, when did I get so dramatic? Is it these pills? That should be me playing up there, not that chump named Pink. What boy is named Pink, anyway? God, it was so unfair. I don't even know what I did to make the band mad at me, but it was complete bullshit. Well, I guess Johnny had a right to be pissed about me sleeping with Rose. But they broke up like a month ago. And the rest of the band didn't have to gang up on me like that. Maybe I should just apologize so I can play with them again. That's all I want. I didn't even think I liked music that much until they decided to get all serious and leave me high and dry. Yeah, I guess I should apologize.
I didn't feel like I was flying yet. In fact, I didn't feel anything. Mohammed is worthless, he can't even sell me good drugs this one time. I should beat his ass. I looked around for that little druggie but he was gone. He wasn't worth it anyway. Maybe it was time for me to just go back to my empty apartment. Shit, I've got to snap out of whatever this is.
My walk home was somewhat pleasant, except for the fact that I was alone with my unpleasant thoughts. All I could think about lately was those test results I got back from the clinic. I'd been trying so hard to avoid it but I couldn't avoid it forever. I have HPV and it's my fault for not being careful enough. I just had no idea that real people in America got that shit. What the fuck. Oh my god WHAT THE FUCK. I have HPV?! I didn't even really know what that was until two weeks ago when I got those test results back. OHHHH MYYYY GOOOODDDDD. And my somewhat pleasant walk home turned into a sprint. This was real, and ignoring it won't make it go away. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
"Naw dude, this shit is legit. One guy I sold it to told me he felt like he was flying. Actually flying! Come on man, you know that sounds tight."
"Dammit Mohammed, why do you always do this to me? If this isn't good, I'm coming to find you and getting my money back."
"Well, that's not gonna happen. How much you want?"
"Enough."
"Alright, here," he said as he passed me a dime bag full of pills, "this is plenty. You can even pay me later."
"Straight," I mumbled before I grabbed the pills from him and furiously shoved them down my throat. I promised my mom I would stop doing this type of shit when she died. But she really didn't understand. She was always worried that I was going to end up dead on the side of the road somewhere, just from popping pills. She didn't know how it is these days, no one dies from smoking weed either. It's just some harmless recreation. She always told me I was so much smarter and more talented than all the other kids I was hanging out with, maybe she was right. And one day, I'll stop. I'll do it for her. I'm just not quite there yet. Just as warm memories of those mornings on the porch flooded me, I came out of my head and back to the dirty barstool I was sitting on.
I was surrounded by familiar faces in the crowded bar, yet I was completely alone. Damn, when did I get so dramatic? Is it these pills? That should be me playing up there, not that chump named Pink. What boy is named Pink, anyway? God, it was so unfair. I don't even know what I did to make the band mad at me, but it was complete bullshit. Well, I guess Johnny had a right to be pissed about me sleeping with Rose. But they broke up like a month ago. And the rest of the band didn't have to gang up on me like that. Maybe I should just apologize so I can play with them again. That's all I want. I didn't even think I liked music that much until they decided to get all serious and leave me high and dry. Yeah, I guess I should apologize.
I didn't feel like I was flying yet. In fact, I didn't feel anything. Mohammed is worthless, he can't even sell me good drugs this one time. I should beat his ass. I looked around for that little druggie but he was gone. He wasn't worth it anyway. Maybe it was time for me to just go back to my empty apartment. Shit, I've got to snap out of whatever this is.
My walk home was somewhat pleasant, except for the fact that I was alone with my unpleasant thoughts. All I could think about lately was those test results I got back from the clinic. I'd been trying so hard to avoid it but I couldn't avoid it forever. I have HPV and it's my fault for not being careful enough. I just had no idea that real people in America got that shit. What the fuck. Oh my god WHAT THE FUCK. I have HPV?! I didn't even really know what that was until two weeks ago when I got those test results back. OHHHH MYYYY GOOOODDDDD. And my somewhat pleasant walk home turned into a sprint. This was real, and ignoring it won't make it go away. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Memories
I was swimming in a large pile of money when I smelled bacon. Bacon.
"Justin, wake up, breakfast!" And that's how my mornings used to start, before my mom got sick.
She was beautiful, all the way through, except for one thing: my dad. That was her worst quality-the fact that she was with him. She was the kind of person who would happily do anything to help anyone, no matter how big the task, or who the person. My dad was the complete opposite. A complete ass hole, who couldn't even help himself let alone anyone else.
He wasn't even there on the day of her funeral. No, he was passed out drunk in the living room when I got home. And I haven't really spoken to him since.
The Crime
“Alright lil’ boy, you been here for like a week now, harassing my employees. Now I know that you’ve been going through somethng but i think its time for you to get the hell out. And that’s me asking nicely.”
“You git the hill out, stupid!"And that’s when my arms were grabbed by some huge guys I couldn’t even fight in my dreams. I could barely see them, or anything for that matter. The whole room was a blur. Was it a room? And before I could answer my own question, I was on the ground; a place I found myself more often than not lately.
God damn it, I can’t even stay in the damn strip club. The night is young though, and I need to black out, I’m almost there. But the ground is so comfy, and I’m pretty tiiiiiredd.
“BAM!” Oh no, I can’t be having another flashback. My last trip was so awful, I thought I saw an arsonist and pissed my pants. I don’t want to do it again.
“Heeell...” A muffled scream? I don’t remember that from last time.... Hmm.
Okay, well if this is happening, it's time for me to head home, I can't have another flashback at the bar. But then, I heard another scream, a piercing scream that snapped me back into the reality that I had been avoiding for the past two weeks.
As I stood up to help this stranger, I saw a tall man whose vacant face seemed familiar. He knocked into me and I immediately ended up on the ground, again.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
It's the Most Dangerous Time of the Year
Riiiiinnnng. Riinnngggg. Riiinnnnn-"Hello?" I choked out as I picked up the shitty piece of plastic I use for cell phone.
"Justin, I'm expecting you for dinner on Thursday at seven o' clock sharp. None of your excuses will work, we are going to have a nice holiday dinner together," said Bill West, my "father," in his cruel and oppressive speaking voice.
"Hmmm. I think I'll pass on that one. That's my cat's birthday."
"Justin, you don't have a cat and Thursday is Christmas Eve anyway. If I have to hire the German army to drag you to the dinner table, then that's what I'll do. But you're coming and that's the end of it."
Before I could even think of a response, the call was disconnected. Well damn, dinner with Bill. That should be interesting. He sounded sober on the phone, but that was impossible. There must have been something wrong with the phone lines.
Christmas Eve dinner Thursday? What day is it today anyway? I looked down at the clock on my phone which read "Tuesday December 22nd." Christmas is in three days? Where have I been?
Well how the fuck did Bill expect me to go all the way over to Sherwood Park when there's fucking six inches of snow on the ground and we're in the middle of a goddamn blizzard. Good ol' Dad, always thinking of others before himself.
----
Three days of spiked eggnog, nonstop caroling in the apartment building from punk ass little kids, and spiked apple cider later, it was the day. "I have to see him today," I admitted to myself. Okay, well if I'm gonna do this, there's no way I'm gonna be sober. Isabella's it is. And I suited up in my battle clothes: rabbit fur hat, leather snow boots, wool gloves, two pairs of paints, and my lucky jacket. This snow was a friggin trip.
The street was filled with holiday spirit, which I desperately tried to ignore. I pulled my hood up and kept my head down, in hopes of going unnoticed. But all the snow armor in the world couldn't protect me from the reality that was straight ahead of me, wearing a ridiculous Santa outfit, ringing a bell, and collecting money. The man from the clinic. I froze, where I stood, right in the middle of the street. God, he was everywhere, reminding me of that day at the clinic. And the test results. And then another thought struck me, my head was killing me. I opened my eyes to see the sky, and about half a dozen people surrounding me, waiting for some sort of reaction. "Are you okay?!" a random man with an Elvis costume asked. "Whaat happ-?" I was so out of it, the fact that the blind clinic man was yelling out calling people "Cotton headed ninni muggins" didn't even bother me.
"You were standing in the middle of the road, and a car slipped on the ice and hit you. You seem to be fine though, you might have a concussion or something, but nothing serious," Elvis answered. Well, there's my excuse not to go to dinner. It's time to get wasted and hit on some strippers. I smiled as the men around me helped me stand up, and I headed straight into Isabella's.
"Justin, I'm expecting you for dinner on Thursday at seven o' clock sharp. None of your excuses will work, we are going to have a nice holiday dinner together," said Bill West, my "father," in his cruel and oppressive speaking voice.
"Hmmm. I think I'll pass on that one. That's my cat's birthday."
"Justin, you don't have a cat and Thursday is Christmas Eve anyway. If I have to hire the German army to drag you to the dinner table, then that's what I'll do. But you're coming and that's the end of it."
Before I could even think of a response, the call was disconnected. Well damn, dinner with Bill. That should be interesting. He sounded sober on the phone, but that was impossible. There must have been something wrong with the phone lines.
Christmas Eve dinner Thursday? What day is it today anyway? I looked down at the clock on my phone which read "Tuesday December 22nd." Christmas is in three days? Where have I been?
Well how the fuck did Bill expect me to go all the way over to Sherwood Park when there's fucking six inches of snow on the ground and we're in the middle of a goddamn blizzard. Good ol' Dad, always thinking of others before himself.
----
Three days of spiked eggnog, nonstop caroling in the apartment building from punk ass little kids, and spiked apple cider later, it was the day. "I have to see him today," I admitted to myself. Okay, well if I'm gonna do this, there's no way I'm gonna be sober. Isabella's it is. And I suited up in my battle clothes: rabbit fur hat, leather snow boots, wool gloves, two pairs of paints, and my lucky jacket. This snow was a friggin trip.
The street was filled with holiday spirit, which I desperately tried to ignore. I pulled my hood up and kept my head down, in hopes of going unnoticed. But all the snow armor in the world couldn't protect me from the reality that was straight ahead of me, wearing a ridiculous Santa outfit, ringing a bell, and collecting money. The man from the clinic. I froze, where I stood, right in the middle of the street. God, he was everywhere, reminding me of that day at the clinic. And the test results. And then another thought struck me, my head was killing me. I opened my eyes to see the sky, and about half a dozen people surrounding me, waiting for some sort of reaction. "Are you okay?!" a random man with an Elvis costume asked. "Whaat happ-?" I was so out of it, the fact that the blind clinic man was yelling out calling people "Cotton headed ninni muggins" didn't even bother me.
"You were standing in the middle of the road, and a car slipped on the ice and hit you. You seem to be fine though, you might have a concussion or something, but nothing serious," Elvis answered. Well, there's my excuse not to go to dinner. It's time to get wasted and hit on some strippers. I smiled as the men around me helped me stand up, and I headed straight into Isabella's.
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