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Monday, March 17, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 13

I pull up in front of the house and park on the street. I don’t initially turn off the engine but sit there with it running. I have just finished chain smoking a full pack of cigarettes on my ride home. 

Thank god I bought two packs. 

The smell of vomit is still in my nose and clings to my clothes. It has enveloped the car.

I shut off the engine, light another cigarette, roll my window all the way down and slump low in my seat. I glance towards the house, there is a light blazing in the living room window. I can’t tell you whom I’m going to find when I walk in tonight because I’m never here at this time.

I play the night over and over in my head. Had I stepped up to the table moments later, would I be sitting here right now? The clicking of the engine tells me that it’s cooling off. I can’t sit here all night.

I pull the seat back up to sitting, flick my cigarette butt out the window; it lands blowing sparks onto the pavement. I crank the window back up and push the door open. The overhead light lets me see in my rearview, I still have the vomit in my hair. I push the urge to cry back down as far as I can. Unfortunately, I have let it get too close to the top. It bubbles over and I begin to sob. I begin to sob uncontrollably. I’m not sure why I am crying but I suddenly feel less than human. I feel worthless and trapped. I feel sorry for myself and I feel sorry for my situation. I hate where I am living. I hate where I am working. I am hating, hating, hating…

My breakdown hits hard and has delivered a message too me just as quickly. I need to find a way out. I need to change everything in my life. I am the only one who can do it. I need to create a plan. I need to see things clearer.

I pop a cigarette in my mouth, light it and wipe the tears out of my eyes. Its bad enough that I look this bad but I can’t let it effect me. I can’t let this pull me down. I have to be strong. I can only rely on myself.

“Pull your shit together!” I yell out loud. I drop my cigarette and grind it out with my shoe.

I lift my chin, walk up the sidewalk, put my key in the lock and push open the door. Sitting in the living room is George. He is in his recliner, the chair is pushed back, he is fully reclined. He is wearing a blue shorty robe that is open at the crotch. Black fuzzy slippers sit crooked on his feet and a full ashtray sits on the coffee table next to him.

He pauses, looks up from watching his television show to look at me.

“Jesus Christ you look like shit!”

He wrinkles his nose and sniffs the air.

“Jesus Christ you smell like shit!’

A smile crosses his face and he turns back to his television. Somewhere in that smile, I can see him finding happiness in my misery.

Sitting in the chair opposite George is a dirty, little, twinkie boy. He is dressed exactly like George. Same style bathrobe and slippers.He continues to watch television and never looks up. The yellow light from the table lamp reflects off his pencil thin moustache.

“Oh this is Chris,” George says blowing smoke into the air.

to be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

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