Stumbling Ch. 03

The same shit tonight as the night before. Three shots, lots of blood. Mr. Kirk's face was burned in my head. He'd talk to me occasionally. Call me a piece of shit. Tell me I should suffer for what'd I'd done, or rather hadn't done. Said his son was going to wind up the same as him if I just stood by. That much was different than normal. I suppose last week's encounter with Richey had some influence over that. Dead people should stay dead.

Even awake, thoughts from last night, before even, continued to pound through my head. I stumbled into the kitchen, searching through the cupboard my mother kept the pills. She was at work already. Gotta love tax season. I found a prescription for OxyContin I'd been given a little while back when my left had been broke in a practice last summer. I hadn't taken but two of the pills, figuring I didn't need them. Thirteen were left in the bottle. I popped one, sliding another in my pocket. A wonderful numb feeling overtook me a few minutes later. My mind started to settle down some. My cereal was bland tasting. I toyed with the circles floating in the bowl while I stared through the milk jug. A vibration went down my leg. I looked through my phone to see a text my mother sent me about the police running radar. I shut it went on my way out the door.

The engine roared to life with a quick turn of the key. For some reason, the engine idled really loud. It settled down some going down the road, there was just something about being turned on in park it didn't like. I stared at the letters for the gears in the dashboard. The P had a smudge of grease over it. I wiped it off with my thumb.

It was early. Earlier than what was needed, technically. I turned left out the driveway, just as I had for the past little while. My mind made fun of me for going the long way. I added an extra mile, give or take, to go this way. I didn't particularly care for the other way anymore.

The parking lot was mostly empty in the student section. I saw a couple of cars which I knew belonged to some of my fellow students who tutored other kids before school started. Mr. Kirk's, now Richey's, old Dodge pickup sat near the middle of the lot in front of a telephone pole. Sitting in mine, I looked over into the cab of the truck. The interior was a rust red, which the 80's were famous for. Mine was the same color. The black paint chipped here and there where it wasn't covered in mud or dust. The Kirks lived in a fair sized house down a short dirt road. Chrome glistened somewhat in the early morning sun. 'A thousand miles from nowhere' by Dwight Yoakam played through my speakers.

Gathering myself. That's all I'm doing. Normal people do this all the time. Here we go. Just eight hours to go. That's-

Three quick taps on the window startled me out of my reverie. I leapt up in the bench seat, my nuts hitting the steering wheel.

"Oh Fuck!" I cried and curled up like a salad bar shrimp, my head falling to rest on the passenger's side. The door opened behind me.

"Nice ass Doyle."

"Fuck off Kirk."

"You ok? That looked mighty painful." He rested a hand on my side to peer over at my face.

"I'm fine."

"You say that a lot." He grabbed my shoulder to pull me upright again.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" He pointed down to where my hands gently massaged the boys.

"Ha, ha, ha. Look who's mister funny man. That hurt like a mother."

"That's what you get for being easily excitable. Why do you drive with the wheel so low anyway?"

"I don't like to reach up to drive."

"You may be the laziest person I know, you know that?"

"Fuck-"

"Fuck me, I know. Come on ya big baby. It's almost eight."

I stood up out of the truck, not before turning around to grab my backpack.

"If you keep rubbing your dick, I'm gonna take it as a come on."

I hadn't realized I was still doing it. I blew him a kiss.

"Keep it up muscle boy." He laughed like he laughed with Larsen.

We parted ways at the front door, him to his world, me to mine.

Same shit, different day. It gets tiresome after a while.

"Why don't you just put yourself out of our misery fag?"

Arthur was in rare form today. That had been the most recent of several verbal jabs shouted towards the back of Richey's head. Even worse, Arthur was sitting right next to me. Richey was at the next table over. He should've stayed in the library. The jock table sits the furthest from the faculty table, a fact which was causing much lament in my stomach this very moment.

"Are you deaf and gay? That must be a real bitch."

Of course, everyone at the table laughed it up, chuckle fucks that they were. I stared at my food. Arthur's hand grabbed at an apple on Shirley Thompson's tray.

"I'm talking to you fairy!" Richey finally turned around.

When Arthur's hand pulled back to throw, I reached up and grabbed it before it left his grasp. It looked like the world's dumbest high five. Arthur, along with everyone else who'd seen it, had a look on their face like they'd just seen the pope shit.

"Cut that shit out." I said. "Some of us would like to eat without going death in one ear, specifically the one facing you." Once more I stood up and waltzed out the cafeteria. Every eye which had seen the altercation was burning the back of my head.

I headed for the same bathroom I'd been in after my meltdown. It was the closest to Mr. Sumner's. I could just chill till the bell then take a short little walk down the hall. I dug in my pocket for an OxyContin. I was nearly out. My efforts to make my supply last could be set aside for the moment. Arthur's being his normal, dickhead self had sent my mind running. I put the pill on my tongue. My hands filled with water to chase it down. Much better.

"What the fuck did you just take?" Came an angry voice from behind.

I looked up in the mirror to see Richey staring back at me. When I spun around to see him eye to eye, he looked even more pissed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I followed you after your little scene, now what did you take?"

"Scene? I don't make scenes. You should be happy! I stopped you from getting hit in the face."

"You're avoiding the question." He stalked over to stand toe to toe with me in three long strides. Damn tall people.

"I just had a headache."

"Bullshit!" He said.

"How dare you-"

"Ethan, your eyes are dilated. Since you just took whatever that was, I know for a fact something else was already in your system, now what was it." I started to say something, anything. "Don't you even think about lying to me." He stared right into my eyes, his bright blues shining in fury.

"It was just OxyContin."

His eyes bulged, eyebrows shooting up.

"Just OxyContin! Just OXY- you stupid little shit, that stuff can kill you!"

"I've done this before, okay? So just chill out."

"You're not making me feel better. How many times before?" He demanded.

"For the past week or so..." I mumbled. He made me feel like a little child.

A hand shot up to rub the bridge of his nose. He began pacing the room.

"Why are you taking OxyContin?"

"It calms me down, helps me sleep."

He looked positively scandalized at that.

"Calms- you idiot! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"It's no big deal, I swear. The bottle runs out tomorrow or the day after."

"It runs out tonight Ethan. Do you hear me? This ain't a god damn game jackass. You screw up and that's it. You don't get a do over."

"I know, I know-"

"Apparently not."

The bell went off over our heads. He looked up, then back at me.

"This ain't over Ethan."

"Look, I'm sorry okay? I just needed... something..."

"We'll talk about this later." He said in a much calmer tone than before.

Mr. Sumner's class proved to be eventful. We were asked to pair up to write a report on any aspect of U.S. History we wanted. It had to be ten pages long and we'd both present a summary three weeks from now. Everyone picked partners while Richey and I sat next to each other taking glances at the other. We were the only ones in the class who kept to themselves for the most part.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"How's the 1972 Drug Act?"

"Jesus Christ on a crutch Richey, can we not do this here?" I whispered shouted at him.

"Mr. Doyle and Mr. Kirk, I'm assume you two are together?" Asked Mr. Sumner.

"Yes sir." We both answered, him a little more forcefully than I.

Everyone chatted in their pairs till the bell while Richey seemed determined not to talk to me. Throughout this time, I stewed silently wondering if Richey was going to tell anyone about what he now knew. A day or two at the most, he never would've known. You're really good at fucking yourself over Ethan. If they gave a gold medal for stupidity, I'd be a shoe in.

We walked from Sumner's to the parking lot, quiet still. He didn't speak until we got to his truck.

"You lead the way." He said.

"To where?"

"Your house of course."

"What are we going there for?"

"To fuck."

"What!?!?" I asked in shock.

"We have a conversation to finish as well as a project to work on. So get in and lead us back to yours."

I didn't answer, figuring my actions would be consent enough. His face was easily seen in the rear-view the entire way. Confusion was plain to see when I turned left on Johnson's Mill Road, two turns before we would've turned right on county road 734. He followed none the less. When we pulled in my driveway, he immediately walked up to me.

"Why did we go around our elbow to get to our ass?"

"I like the scenic route."

"Don't you think we have more important things to do than see the same trees we've seen all our lives?"

"Didn't you already know where I lived? You could've gone the short way."

"You could stop trying to stall. Inside." He walked ahead of me to the door. I felt his breath on the side of my face while I unlocked the door. It was warm, though it also told how annoyed he was with me.

He walked over to the small kitchen table after throwing his bag on the counter. He pulled a chair out and indicated for me to sit, which I did.

"Want anything to drink?"

"Is this my house or yours?"

"Either answer or be thirsty."

"There's a Diet Pepsi can drawer in the bottom, next to the potatoes. Get anything you want while you're at it."

When he opened the door he bent down to slide the drawer at the bottom opened. Not before he looked all over the top shelves.

"You have a drawer dedicated to Diet Pepsis. I didn't think you were actually serious."

"They're my favorite." I mumbled.

His head shook as he sat a can down in front of me. He had one as well. The whoosh sounded through the house one after another as we both popped a top. I sorta wished this was a beer.

"I've never had one of these." He said then took a sip. "Not bad."

"You here to talk about soda?"

"We're here to talk about why you're taking a heavy duty painkiller at 1:30 on a Friday in the middle of school."

"It's not that big a deal."

"Let's quit trying to minimize the reality of the situation, shall we?"

"Can you stop talking to me like I'm a child!?" I yelled.

He tucked his chin, his eyebrows raising then lowering.

"Fine. I'm sorry. It's just you don't seem to realize how bad this is. Is this the only drug you've been taking?"

"Off brand Tylenol and Nyquil to sleep, that's it."

"That's it." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes again. "Why? Please be honest."

"Look, since that night...I've had some problems, okay?"

He perked up in his seat, his eyes intent on me.

"What kind of problems?"

"Just some dreams. They wake me up sometimes."

"What counts as sometimes?"

"Every night..." I muttered.

"Jesus Eeth," Again with the pet name. "You need to see someone."

"I'm not going to a therapist Rich, no matter what you say."

He put his face in his hands. It seemed to be one of his go to moves when stressed.

"I see him, you know?"

"Do you now?"

"He just says it's my fault he's-"

Richey jumped out of his chair, marching around the table to lean over me, one hand in my face the other holding the arm of my chair.

"You stop that this instant. I heard from the guys who read the medical report, I talked to Mr. Guthrie myself. You did everything you knew to do. My dad wouldn't want you tearing yourself up over him." Tears started to trek down his face.

I grabbed his hips to swing him around as I stood up, sitting him in my place.

"Sshhhh..." I murmured. "It's alright Richey, I'm here okay? Everything is going to be alright."

"It's not your fault." He kept saying that over and over.

He looked up at me through tear filled eyes.

"We both know how Pa was. He had a gut on him. He didn't like wearing his vest. His supervisor said he had it sitting in the passenger seat the whole time." Every sentence was said between sobs.

I had never thought about that. Not once. It made me feel slightly better. That thought made me feel slightly worse. The man was dead, no matter if he should've worn it or not.

"Have they caught the guy?" I asked.

"No. they think it was someone from out of state, just passing through. Maybe a drug runner or something."

"I'm so sorry Richey."

"It's not your fault."

"Watching you take shit for years was my fault though. I never did anything to stop them, not even after your dad died. You could've killed yourself with all that shit and I was worried how'd it'd affect me."

"I'm fine Eeth."

"What's with the pet name?" I asked to distract him. Anything to get off this subject.

"It just came naturally I guess." He giggled a bit.

"Well it's fine by me. Now come on, I'll show you my room. We've got a project to work on after all."

We stood up straight next to each other, him towering a few inches over me. His hand grabbed my shoulder, eyes locked once more.

"Promise me you won't touch that shit anymore Ethan."

"I promise Rich." I said it as sincerely as I could.

He suddenly enveloped me in a tight hug.

"I'm not the only one handing out pet names it would seem."

"Couldn't help it. Everyone else calls you Richey. I like to be unique."

He chuckled. It vibrated throughout his body. I felt a slight stirring in the land down under. Chalking it up to a warm body and weeks without relief, I broke the hug.

"This way, we've got a project to work on."