To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern by Dustin Butler



Part 1

Mistakes          



       

        My first mistake was not getting that fucking door fixed. The garage door had been fucked up for almost a month. It still worked, mostly. But it wasn’t working now. When I needed it to work more than I’ve ever needed anything to work in my life, it wouldn’t budge. It was a stubborn hunk of crap, it wouldn’t even consider budging. I can cuss the thing all I want, but that isn’t going to get it open. My head is beginning to pound. Christ it hurts. I can rub my temples all I want but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I’d kill for an Aspirin, or a Tylenol. More than anything, I’d kill to get out of this fucking garage.

         My second mistake was leaving my cell phone in the house. I always forget the damn thing. Leave it laying on top of the toilet, or on the kitchen cabinets. It’s always somewhere expect my pocket. It's never in my pocket where it should be. And today, when I need it more than ever, it’s sitting on the back of the toilet or on the kitchen cabinet.

         I let loose a barrage of swears towards the garage door. I’m pretty sure I made half of them up. Why not, no one can hear me. That’s another problem I have piled on my plate right now. I’m at the house, alone. In the garage, no one can hear you scream.

         Mistake three and four, both involve locks. One to the car door and the other to the door leading from the garage to the house, both of them keeping me trapped. In my haste, I didn’t bother to check, to make sure I wouldn’t get myself trapped.

         So here’s my predicament. I am currently locked outside my car, that in the garage, but I am also locked outside my house because you guessed it, the keys to the house are on my key ring that’s locked in the car. Oh yeah, also the car is running.

         I left that God forsaken cell phone in the house, so I decided to run inside and get it. But the door was locked when I got to it. So I walk back to the car but its freaking locked too. So now I’m trapped. Trapped in behind a rock and a hard place. Or rather, in between thick wooden door and a busted garage door.

         The damn thing started acting funny about a month back. It wouldn’t always go up when it was supposed to, but if you kicked hard enough and shook and rocked the thing, you could get it up manually. Not today. My foot hurt from kicking it so many time.

         Back to the car, I know what you’re thinking. Break the window out, get your keys. It’d be better to have to replace a car window than it would be paying for funeral cost. Of course I wouldn’t be paying the funeral cost; my wife would have to front that bill. Anyway, bust out the window, get the keys and get the hell out of there. Not so easy Jack. See, awhile back I took my wife out to dinner in the city, while we were having our fantastic dinner someone decided that my car looked like the kind of car that would have goodies in it. So some asshole broke out my window and stole a bunch of crap from my car, so when it came time to get the window replace, I had shatterproof glass put in the car. The most expensive I could find. That’s just the kind of person I am, if it’s not the most expensive then it’s not the best. I had them replace all the glass in the car. Every bit of it. Hindsight is 20/20, so they say.

         I don’t have many tools in my garage; I have a work bench that has never really been used as a work bench. I came out here to have a few beers when the wife starts to get bitchy or I just want to spend some time to myself. All I have to even bang on that window was this ten inch monkey wrench. At least I think it’s called a monkey wrench. It’s one of those that plumbers use all the time. I hit the window as hard as I could. Want to know what happened, this is kind of funny. The damn thing bounced off the glass and flew out of my. It landed where my wife’s car would be park had she been home. I tried a few more times, repositioning myself so I can control the recoil. Nothing. I cussed the car and window and wooden door to the house just about as much as I did the garage door.

         I even tried hitting the garage door with the monkey wrench but that didn’t work. I inspected the garage door, like there was something I could do about it. Really, I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff. I went to college so I wouldn’t have to work on my own stuff. I know it sounds, I don’t know, dickish. But it’s true. I don’t like working on cars, or anything else for that matter. So if that makes me a dick then I admit it, I’m a dick.

         Mistakes, God I’ve made a lot of them, not just today but my whole life. You don’t make it fifty seven without, you know, screwing people over or whatever. Normally they didn’t cross my mind. Not one at all, just another day, but when you’re facing your own mortality, you kind of get the thinking about that shit. Now, first things first, I’m not a bank robber, or serial rapist or anything. I don’t have a kiddie porn collection and I’ve never cheated on my taxes. Well, fuck it; I cheat on my taxes, but who doesn’t. And if you don’t you should. Those guys are the real pricks. I don’t kill people or anything like that. But I’ve still made my fair share of mistakes.

         Like this garage door. Four hundred thousand dollar and house, and I get the one with messed up garage door. I didn’t buy in some foreclosure deal either. I could afford it so I bought it. Of course, it probably wasn’t messed up when I bought it but that’s not the point. I guess there really isn’t a point in dwelling about the house. It is what it is.

         I looked at the Bentley, hard top, and silver in color. I wanted a black one. Well, I wanted a red one, but the wife, her name is Jennifer by the way, didn’t like the red one. The only black on they had at the dealership was used, and I don’t buy used. I could have waited to get a black one. But I didn’t want to wait. I know I’m sounding like a dick again but I don’t care. Think what you will about me. I have enough money that personal opinion about doesn’t really matter anymore.

         I look around the room. All the time I spend in this room and I don’t really know what’s in here. No windows, I already knew that though. The attic is on the third floor so no chance of climbing out that way. Other than the Bentley and my small, sad workbench, I call it sad because he doesn’t ever actually get used as a work bench, and the tool that goes with it, there’s not anything worthwhile. I don’t see anything that is going to be what gets me out of this current situation.

         I try to keep my nerves about me but it’s not the easiest thing to do. I cuss the car out again. Then without thinking about it I kick the driver’s side door. I instantly regret doing it. Not that it really matters I guess. I cuss myself, not so much for locking myself in the garage, but for kicking my car. Hmm, I sit down on my stool shaking my head. I don’t know how long until the car exhaust kills me, and I’m trying not to think about. What I keep thinking about is that I’m positive when I die I’m going to have a stupid look on my face. I just know, like that woman who works at the gas station where I fill up my car. She’s always got the stupidest look on her face. Sometimes, when I see it, I just want to slap her right across that stupid face of hers.

         That’s not fair. I don’t guess it’s her fault she’s an idiot, doomed to a life of working in a gas station for minimum wage. Forced to live a repugnant life like that, I’d rather stay in this garage than trade places with her. I’ll probably shit my pants when I die, I that somewhere, that when you die you shit your pants. What’s that old saying? Hope for the best, expect the worst. Well that’s what I’m doing, hoping someone will find me in here before I choke to death, but I’m expecting to die with a dumb look on my face and shit in my pants. That’s reassuring. I practice the looks I’ll end up with. The look Jennifer will see when she eventually finds me.

         That’s when it hits me. They’re going to think I killed myself. Jennifer won’t get anything insurance money if I kill myself. The thought of that pisses me off. I’ve paid out a lot of money over the years to make sure my family is taken care of when I’m gone and they aren’t going to pay be I committed suicide. But this isn’t suicide, at least not on purpose. There’s has to be a way to tell them this is accidental death and not suicide.

         There are a few drawers in my so called workbench; there might be a pen and paper in there. I swivel the stool around and open the drawer. I have to rummage through it for a minute before I had the pen, the paper I found right off the bat.

         Okay. Let’s do this. I put the pen to the paper but the words don’t come to me. How the hell am I even supposed to address this letter. To whom it may concern? Dear ladies and gentlemen? Does it even matter? So long as I get the message across that it wasn’t suicide I guess it doesn’t really matter.





Part 2

Death





         How long does it take to die from breathing in car exhaust? I don’t know. I never had a reason to know before. If I had my phone I could probably Google it. What? That’s about the dumbest thing. If I had a phone I wouldn’t Google shit, I’d call someone and get some help. I put the pen back down to paper.

                   Dear Everyone.

         Ha. I laugh at that. Dear everyone. I mark it out with the pen and think long and hard for a second. Fuck it.

                   Dear Everyone, I know it looks like I've killed myself but I am leaving note as my last words. No, I didn't kill myself, turns out I'm

                I'm just an idiot. I left my phone in the house and I went back in to get it but the door was locked and I locked the keys in my 

                car and of course it was running. I am truly sorry, I wish everyone the best.

         After giving a quick glance over, I am satisfied, or at least as satisfied as you can be with writing a note like that. Now all I can do is sit and wait. Wait for something to get home. I don’t know when Jennifer is coming home tonight. I don’t even know what she is out doing. I guess that makes me a shitty husband but I don’t care. I’m dying, that’s what I care about. Not to sound mean or anything. Not that it matters anyway, I’m about to die.

         But now that I think about it, I have been mean. Not only mean but I’ve done some pretty bad stuff, I’ve screwed the ones I care for more than once. Funny how you can have a clear conscience until you’re about to die. I haven’t been to confession or church let alone, for about five years. Easily, probably longer, hell I don’t even remember the last time I went to church. I went last year but that was for a funeral so I’m not counting that. My head is still pounding and the coughing is coming a lot more frequently, and violently. Might as well, there are things I can’t take to my grave, my wife to needs to know because once I’m gone; she’s going to have quite a shock.

                   Jennifer, there are some things I need to tell you. Some things you are going to need to know after I'm dead and gone. First off,

                you probably don't need to know this one but I need to clear my conscience on this one. I have never truly been faithful to you

                I've had numerous affairs, with a lot of women that you know. Not like your sister or anything but I would have if I could have

                gotten away with it.

         Why the fuck did I write that? I scratch over it until I’m certain you can see it through all the ink. That wasn’t really the thing I wanted to write but with my pounding head and coughing I’m started to get a little woozy.

                   Cindy from my office is the most recent one, but certainly wasn't the only one. Don't be mad at the women. Most of the women

                didn't know I was married or I lied to them about our marriage. I would tell them that we were separated or that you were having

                an affair as well. It's despicable, I know. I wish now that you had been the one and only woman I'd share my bed with. Second

                Everything you know about our life is a sham. You can call me a stockbroker or investment adviser or any of those other lines I

                used before, but in reality con man is the better word to describe me. It was all a Ponzi scheme. Think Bernie Madoff, so be

                prepared. It will all come out when they find my body. It will be all over the news, you will be scrutinized and most likely loose.

                everything. Everything is stolen so I'm sure they will take it all back. I'm sorry. I truly am. I wish I could have left you with better

                memories of the man you married but I can't, I got greedy I wanted to give you the world but ended up destroying your life.

         My head has quit hurting, which is probably a bad thing. I can feel my brain growing lightheaded. I guess it’s better than dying with splitting headache. Though I’m still worried I will shit my pants. God I don’t want to shit my pants. But I deserve it if I do. I deserve this death that is fast approaching.          

         I wish I could say that my confessions to my wife were all that I needed to make but it’s just not true. I need to write a note for my brother Chris.

                   Hey Chris, so I died, died like a dumbass at that. But there is something I need to tell you before I die. Since I can't call you,

                it's obviously written on this piece of paper. If it seems kind of rambly, it's because the fumes are starting to get to me. On to

                business. Look, dad didn't cut you out of the will, I did. Before he passed, when he was in the final stages and didn't know what

                was going on most of the time, I had him sign a new will that I drafted myself. I'm sorry, I was pissed that you weren't there. No

                I'm using him as an excuse. I did it be I was greedy. I wanted everything for myself. I pretended to be on your side when the will

                came out but I had done it myself. It wasn't like you needed the money, you're doing great for yourself. And it doesn't matter

                anymore that weren't there to see him. Hell, it's not like he would have even recognize you. He didn't know who I was most of

                the time. I would say that I could give you your part of the inheritance but truth be told it's not going to happen. Everything I own

                will be seized upon my death. Also, that money I invested for you. It was a scam. Your money is gone. Sorry.

         The room is spinning now. I had to push through the dizzy spells to get all that out to Chris. I think about the note I left to him. I fucked him out of his inheritance and then I fucked him out of the money he invested with me. My own brother. Fuck.

         I struggle to keep my head up. It’s hard at this point. All I really want to do is lay down. Close my eyes and go to sleep. I fight to keep my eyes open, there’s more that I want to get off my chest, though I’m not sure that I can get it all out before I’m a goner.

                   Friends and family. I can't tell you all the things I've done to betray your trust. Mostly for money, though not all the time.

                Sometimes it seems I did it just to be an asshole. All of you who invested money with me. It's gone, you won't get it back. You

                might get some of it back when they seize my assets but not nearly all of it. I wish I had more time but I think it's over for me.

                I might have just coughed up part of my lung and I have never been this tired. Sorry for everything. Goodbye.

         I glance over the note, but it didn’t matter, I wasn’t going to notice any misspellings anyway. I push it off the side and set the pen down. I stand up but quickly lose my balance and fall flat on my ass, which actually turns out to be much more comfortable. I put my hands together and put them under my head. I close my eyes, ready for the big sleep.

         Goodbye cruel world.





Part 3

Life





         What the fuck? I’m alive. No fucking way I’m alive. I struggle to lift my head up, but it proves to be too heavy for my weakened body. But I’m alive. I can’t believe. I thought for sure I was a goner. I can feel the smile run across my face. I made it, Jennifer most of come home early.

         Jennifer. Oh shit. If she found me then she must have found my note too. I open my eyes and see Jennifer sitting at the chair by my bed. I’m in a hospital. My brother Chris is sitting in the other chair, taking a nap. I have no idea how long I’ve been here, and no way of knowing. I try to get out of the bed but I hear a clang and my hand seems to be attached to the bed poles.          

         I looked over to my hand and see that I am handcuffed to the hospital bed. So they definitely found that stupid note. When I stir it awoke my brother and wife. They both look over to me. Neither one of them seems to be real happy about seeing me. In fact, they look find of pissed and I can’t honestly say I blame them. Stupid note. Stupid fucking note. Chris gets out of the chair and walks over to the door, its shut and he knocks. A few seconds later a man walks into the room. He looks me over and flips me his badge. A detective. Great. He searches quickly through his pockets and pulls out my note I left in an evidence bag.

         “Fuck.”



         The End