The familiar sound of a lighter starting up the first cigarette of the day, followed by the quiet draw of air and the small sizzles of it's ember. He stared into the woods behind his apartment. 8:30 AM and already knew that this was going to be a long day.
It was in the quiet moment like this that he felt what his life had done to him. Covered in scars and cracking and popping with every movement he was a perfect example of why you should take better care of yourself in your youth. Fences jumped, windows smashed, cars wrecked, fights won and lost; each blemish and injury was a testament to one bad decision or another. But today was a day to move past those unwanted trophies of a life that he wished he could forget.
He sighed, stubbing out the remaining bit of his last Marlboro. As he checked his pockets on the way out of the door, he couldn't help but start to feel anxious about where this new path would take him. However by the time he had gotten the door locked behind him he knew that it could only be a better place than where he had been. “Alright,” he said out loud to the voice of doubt still nagging inside of himself, “Let's get this thing started.”
The stairs were creaking their old familiar song as he hit the landing on the second floor of his apartment building. It was a pretty decent setup, he thought. Nice and quiet, not too much traffic, and easy to get to anywhere that he wanted to be at a moment’s notice. It was the perfect spot for him to try and start over. Exactly the kind of place where he would never have expected any trouble to find him. He definitely wasn't expecting the sharp blow to the back of his head right before it all faded to black.
It was the sensation of something across his eyes that he noticed first as he came to. After that it was the fact that his hands were tied behind the chair and the he smelled oil and solvent. This must be a garage. It’s strange how some systems seem to come online before others following unconsciousness.
The last thing that returned was his sense of hearing. An unfamiliar voice was somewhere behind him half-heartedly singing along to some song on a tinny radio. The situation seemed slightly less than ideal.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” from the unknown man behind him. “We were starting to get a little worried there.”
His mind began to race. Who is this “We”? What do they want? Why was he here? The voice sounded old. Not old in the sense of near death, but more like someone who has seen and done a lot in their days. The kind of voice that comes from being tired of dragging the baggage of a life lived hard. He decided that it was probably smart to play along with whatever was asked until he could figure out what was really going on.
“I hope you’re comfortable. We need to have a chat.”
“Well see that’s not the right question, now is it? We’ll get to that eventually.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Ahh,” the Man chuckled, “you’re getting warmer now. But that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”
The radio turned off and all he could hear was the sound of tools clinking together and footsteps carrying them around him.
“Listen, I don’t have any money. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Oh, we know you don’t have any money. It’s like I said, all we want to do…”
The man was suddenly right beside him. He didn’t even hear any steps this time.
“…Is have a little chat.”
The draw of air, the sizzle of the ember, and the familiar smell of smoke wafting past his face. Addiction had no place in this situation. He tried to listen and place the sound of the man’s footsteps as he circled.
“You know these are terrible for you, right? You never were much concerned about your health or well being though, were you?”
“Never really saw the point.”
“I can tell. Broken bones, black eyes, infected cuts of ‘unknown origins’, who knows what kind of damage you’ve done to your liver and lungs. You’ve been unkind to yourself, young man. What kind of life have you been living?”
Silence hung in the air as he waited for the man to continue. How could he know this much about him? Where was he getting this from?
“That was a question. Aren’t you going to answer it?”
What the hell kind of game is this?
“This isn’t a game, boy.”
He jumped in his chair. Had he said that out loud? Was his mind playing tricks on him?
“Eventually you’re going to answer the question.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Why am I here?”
The small garage suddenly exploded with the sound of scattered tools clanging against the concrete floor and echoing back harshly as the table they had been sitting on was violently thrown aside. Suddenly the man was right in front of his face.
“Answer the god damned question! What kind of life have you lived!?”
“I don’t know!” He shouted back at him out of frustration. “I’ve just tried to make it, man! I never meant to hurt anyone!”
“Oh, bullshit. Save the good kid act for someone that doesn’t know any better. You mean to tell me that you earned all of those scars by being a good and upstanding citizen?”
His heart rate had finally dropped enough that it wasn’t the only thing he could hear. The man’s footsteps circled him slowly like a lion stalking it’s prey. It’s not much fun being the gazelle.
In truth it hadn’t been a good life. He spent his youth getting in fights with the neighborhood kids over whatever thing sounded worth throwing a punch at the time. Most of the time he won.
His parents split while he was in middle school in what would become a particularly nasty divorce. He decided to stay with his father afterwards so he wouldn’t have to move. That change of scenery may have been his ticket to a better, more stable life. Hindsight is a bitch like that.
Instead he kept hanging around the same stupid kids, in the same stupid places, doing the same stupid things. At least thats how it was in the beginning. After a while, they all started to get bored with those same stupid things. At first it was simple graffiti and vandalization. That grew into mailbox baseball and shoplifting. Eventually, they were running a pseudo crime ring that would plan “heists” on record shops and convenience stores to make sure they had enough of whatever it was that kept them from being bored.
Everyone in the group had their vices. Some just enjoyed the thrill of danger, where others needed a more chemical enhancement to get that same excitement. His was a bit more tame than some of the others and decidedly more green.
“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”
The stories came pouring out of him. He had always heard that confessing your sins somehow lessened the burden but instead this just felt like an anchor to his past tied around his neck. It’s true, though. He wasn’t proud of who he was. He’d lied, cheated, stolen, and otherwise slunk through life in whatever way was the most convenient at the time.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be that person any more.”
Choked back tears. He was always told how much potential he had growing up. Consistently high test scores, way above average IQ, a natural gift to get on peoples good sides. By all accounts, he could have had whatever he wanted out of life. Instead, he squandered his natural ability and talents on the easy ways through.
“I can’t be that person any more.”
“Well then,” the Man finally interrupted, “who, exactly, do you want to be?”
It was quiet for several minutes following the question. Strangely silent, in fact.
The space that he was in had rang with echoes following even the slightest sound or movement, but right now all that he could hear was his own breathing and cloth as it moved against itself and his skin.
Maybe the Man had slipped away while he was lost in his own head trying to find the answer that he had wanted to hear. Truly, he didn’t know what to tell him. A better person? A model citizen? A future husband and father living an idyllic life in some small town far away from where he was? The question had too many answers and it was hard to tell which person it was that he really wanted to be and which ones were just the things he thought he was supposed to want to do.
“Sometimes I think that I don’t deserve to have a second chance.”
Silence was all that answered him. Somehow it felt crueler than anything that the Man could have said.
“I’ve really been trying, though.” His voice cracked as the last words came out of his mouth, bringing memories of uncomfortable teenage years with them. “I cut all ties with the old crew. I moved, I changed my look, I even got a real job. I - ...“A sob cut him short and the blindfold covering his eyes gave way to tears that went streaming down his cheeks. “I know it’s not some big job and it doesn’t pay much but it’s honest and I don’t know what else to do.”
That was all the response that he got. It took him a minute to stifle his own sniffling and realize just how quiet it still was. What was the Man waiting for? Maybe he had taken pity on him, after all he was sure that he looked ridiculous sniffling and sobbing. The thought of it made him laugh quietly between sniffles.
“You know, someone told me a long time ago that the trick to success in life is surrounding yourself with people that are headed in the direction that you want to go.” Another harsh laugh. “I clearly ignored the old bastard. But maybe he might have been right. The company we keep and all that. The problem is how do I surround myself with these people when I have no idea what direction it is?”
He waited in the silence. At this point it was smothering. He craved some kind of response, something to let him know that he wasn’t stuck inside this place with only his inner demons to taunt him. There was no telling how long he had been sitting there in the silence when it finally came.
The sound of the lighter might as well have been a shotgun blast.
"Oh boo fucking hoo." The Man exhaled sharply and flicked the cigarette against a can. "You think you're the only soul out there that doesn't know what to do with themselves? Like you're some kind of special flower and everyone should pity you because you're some poor lost puppy? Get the hell over yourself."
Suddenly he missed the silence.
"I didn't ask you for a sob story or excuses. I asked you who it was, exactly, that you want to be. I think it's about time that you were honest with me."
"Why are you doing this? Why do you care what I want?"
A chuckle, a drag, and the sound of the cigarette being ground underneath a boot.
"Maybe I'll explain it in time. Now answer the damned question."
It felt like he had been strapped to that chair for months. The questioning had been brutal and tortuous and now he sat there emotionally naked, flayed of any pretenses of security.
"Now, I think it's time you finally tell me what it is that you want."
The mantra repeated since the beginning of this horrific encounter. His answers had ranged from the cliche to the material and back but still the questioning was unyielding, constantly accompanied by the fear of finally getting the answer right. The now sickening scent of cigarette smoke intensified. It felt like his interrogator was everywhere.
"Well? Run out of things to say?"
"I just want to be happy, man. I don't know what else you want me to say."
The silence was suddenly louder than any screaming, as though the air had turned into smog so thick that all you could hear was the pounding inside your own head. All at once the blindfold was gone, his vision not yet adjusted to the relative harshness of a shop light hanging in the corner behind his captor. As everything came overwhelmingly into focus, he started to recognize the face before him. It was one deeply scarred by bad decisions and weathered by the years but still wholly recognizable.
"Then who the hell is stopping you?"
Despite it all he still wasn’t expecting the sharp blow to the back of his head right before it all faded back to black.
With a sudden jerk and a spasm he was on his feet, sweat soaked and panting. Slowly his senses came back online and he realized this wasn't a smoky garage. It was a familiar feeling bedroom, one he remembered from a long time ago but hadn't seen in what felt like ages. His sheets lay draped at his feet from where he had bolted from the bed.
What just happened? His mind raced trying to piece it all back together as he dropped to his knees in the empty bedroom slowly realizing he was alone. That face was the last thing he remembered, burned deeply into his head. He bolted to the mirror, nearly tripping from the sheets and terrified as to which face would be waiting for him there.
A beard. Some scars. Flushed white and bright red. It was definitely his own face there. But the eyes. They hadn't changed, but they were suddenly uncomfortably familiar and the doubts he had were now only replaced with questions. How were they the same?
Shaking with adrenaline he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and nervously stumbled from his bedroom to the porch. As he drew the cigarette towards his mouth the sickly smell of it was overwhelming and he recoiled in disgust. Maybe a coffee instead.
His hands were trembling from the confusing revelation of it all. Was it all just in his head? It all felt far to real for that. But what else could it be?
His own voice startled him, sounding much like one he had heard recently.
"He was me if..." He trailed off.
Normally vocalizing his thoughts made it easier to wrap his head around them, this time they came accompanied with the voice of his captor.
But that didn't feel quite right. Everything about the man he saw felt inevitable in some way. It was as though that man was already part of him. That thought was more nauseating than the smoke had been. He sat down at his dining room table and looked around his barren apartment, empty but for furniture and a small shelf full of tools along the wall and a too harsh lamp in the far corner.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be far away from this place. He was flooded with thoughts of the coast, of places that made him happy in his youth. Before he was even fully aware of what was happening he had dressed and bolted for the door, ignoring the creaking of the stairs and the dread of the bottom step. He was driving out of the apartment's parking lot before he had any realization of what he was doing and for the first time in a long time it felt like a good decision.
Maybe he was driving to run from the man in the garage? No that didn't seem right either. It was spite. That the man was a part of him he couldn't deny. His face though, it was as though he had borne all of the pain and darkness of a lifetime.
