End of the line

It helps to have the correct change. Otherwise, you’re left standing there like a bumbling idiot, digging through your pockets desperately for coins. This was Matthew Johnson’s dilemma standing under the glare of the convenience store cashier. There was a line of people behind him, and she was clearly getting upset. Finally, after more than a few hushed comments from the crowd, Matt conceded and gave her another dollar bill. She rang him out and returned a few pennies, before giving him a forced ‘Good Day.’

He hustled out of the store, feeling the other customers' stares boring into his back. Checking to make sure the change was still in his pocket, he let out a sigh. This was the last of the money that his sister had given him.

Swallowing the coffee as fast as he could, Matt threw the pack of cigarettes and lighter into his backpack. Then, he climbed onto his Suzuki and peeled off, leaving behind a skid mark and more than one cursing commuter.

The drive was a short one, but every time he took it, he felt just a little worse. He was on his way to his sister's house, to stumble through the front door and destroy any semblance of a normal family. Even now, his hands shook as he gripped the handle bars in a white-knuckle embrace. This was the last time, he told himself. Just this last score, then he was done.

The buildings quickly changed as he left the poor district behind. Crumbling buildings and chipped paint were being replaced by new construction and shiny coats of paint. The people changed too, homeless and bedraggled transformed to small children, running about and playing. He sped up, starting to feel a bit nauseous.

Within a few more minutes, he had arrived, slowing to a stop in front of a two-story Cape Cod. The siding was white, like almost every other house in the neighborhood, trimmed in dark blue. Two cars were parked in the driveway, in front of a double-garage. The house was very pretty, as was the rest of the neighborhood. Matt always hoped his sister would find happiness-- marry some doctor or something, live in a big house with a pretty family. This kind of life was not meant for him, however.

After stowing his bike on the side of the garage, he went over to the front door. It took a few minutes for him to gather up his courage before he knocked on the door. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. Still, Jane would notice it. She always did.

The door opened and Matt prepared himself to be standing face to face with Bruce, Jane’s husband. He was surprised, however, when he saw Jane looking back at him.

“Matt? What are you doing here?” she quickly stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.

He swallowed hard before responding. “I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d just, you know, stop by for a visit.” He was going to continue, but it was clear by this point she wasn’t buying it. A hard look had come across her usually soft-featured face, and Matt lowered his gaze in anticipation.

“You and I both know why you’re here.” Her tone was harsh, but it still came out as a whisper. “You’ve been using again, your hands are shaking.” Matt could have tried to act offended, but the last time he did that, she saw right through him. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and just stared at the ground and let her keep talking. “What happened to the two-hundred dollars I gave you last week?”

“I spent it.”

“On Drugs! ” She wanted to scream at him, but glanced over her shoulder back at the house, hoping no one had heard her. Then she turned her attention back to him. “Please, Matt, Come and stay with us. Bruce can get you some help, some good help.” She put a hand on his cheek, so that he could see the tears coming to her eyes now. Her pale blue eyes that made him shiver everytime he saw them. To think, how many times had he made her cry? A hundred? A thousand? Suddenly, it was too much to bear.

Matt grabbed her hand, and gently pulled it away from his face. He meant it to be gentle, at least. Instead, it was a jerky movement that made her cry out. He apologized, turned and started to walk away. She followed, screaming at him.

“Matt, where are you going? What are you going to do?” Her voice meaning to him though, as he walked his bike to the end of the driveway, hopping on. She grabbed at his arm, but he shook her off. “Don’t run away from me again, Matt!” Without even putting his backpack on, he sped off, leaving her behind. It fell off, landing in the road in front of her house, but he didn’t care. He wanted as much distance between the sobbing little girl with the blond pony tail and cloudy blue eyes as possible.

It felt good to be moving. To be moving at all was a relief, despite the engines deafening whine at being tested so severely. He was faintly aware of the speed he was traveling at, whipping past other cars and pedestrians in a blur. Horns honked at him, but he didn’t care. It was exhilarating, and he felt all the weight being lifted off his shoulders. He decided he wouldn’t even care if a car pulled out in front of him. Perhaps it would be a good thing, if he dashed himself into a wall or another car. Another piece of trash that had to be scraped from the street, right? It was that very thought that distracted him from the road in front of him, and the large truck pulling out into the intersection.