Staring into the deep shadows and sunlight dancing on the shot glass and the bottle of whisky Harmon fell into a semiconscious - not quite dreaming - state of thought. The ruin of the house still lay before him and the sun would be in his eyes still. Those things were real, those things were true. But the part of him that fell into the shadows and colors of the self destruction button didn't see those things.
"You're late for work, baby,"
Harmon shook his head from side to side, his chin resting on his chest. That wasn't real, Amy was gone, she didn't think about things like work schedules and laundry. Amy didn't think about anything anymore, oddly, she was the only thing Harmon could think about. The early morning minutes stretched, oh yes, they stretched and stretched, and Harmon's heart follow suit. Stretched and stretched, from the worst anger he'd ever felt to the best memories of Amy. The memories hurt... bad, so bad a part of Harmon felt selfish and guilty for wanting them to stop. And they would, the memories would be replaced by the anger. The anger was soothing, he had a focal point, an enemy. A goal.
Just before the sun peaked its piercing rays above the tree line outside the screen door (he still hadn't shut that damn door) two things happened.
Harmon's rage consumed him and he stood with such force the chair not only fell over but slid on the linoleum to crash into the cheap paneling. As his legs straitened his hands gripped the bottle and shot glass and added them to the mess around him. He added these things to the mess inside himself, as well.
"Pick up. Someone loves you. Pick up. Someone loves you" Amy's voice filled the air around him.
IT'S HER, IT'S REALLY HER! SHE JUST NEEDED SOME SLEEP. IT'S HER!
But Harmon was heartbreakingly mistaken. He knew it in an instant. He never hated a cell phone more than in that moment. A silly ringtone Amy put on the gadget. What was he thinking, he loved that ringtone. He'd never changed it. He put that on ever new phone he'd gotten in the last five years.
He looked down at cell phone on the table. The sun faded the screen slightly but he could see who it was. Pick up. Someone loves you, continued on and a part of Harmon soaked it up, every tone and pause. He never ignored his sponsor's calls. Never. But he let the phone sit. He let Amy go and tell him someone loved him. He let her live for a brief moment and he could hear her in the kitchen next to him, putting dishes away and telling him to get the phone. The life they would have, could've had.
When the phone quit and directed Nick's call to voicemail - where ever that was - Harmon picked the chair up and put it back in its place. With a heavy sigh he seated himself back in his place by the table. Reluctantly, he picked up his phone and opened his text messaging option. Through sobs and more tears darkening his shirt and places on his Dickie's work pants he fumbled through a text message to his contact Nick Sponsor.
'nick, i'm sober. i have to do something for a little while. i'll call you when i'm back in town. the coffee cups half full, always :)'
The cell phone chimed its message that the message had been sent. As if on cue Harmon got up from the table and made a left to the bathroom. He hadn't showered in what felt like weeks. The grease under his fingernails bothered him, it just never seemed to come out. Plus, he had the dried sweat to get rid of. He was okay, he talked to his sponsor - sort of - and smashed the bottle of liquor he fully intended to drown in. Time for a shower.
He always listened to the radio when he did his hygiene thing. Wearing a towel, Harmon came bopping out of the steamy bathroom. He had a big smile on his face. He wasn't going to work, he wasn't drunk and today, yes today, Amy would go to rehab. Then he opened the bedroom door.
Then he remembered Darrel. He remembered the voice that gave that name away. He remembered the rise in her still chest. Yes, yes today, right now, this very moment, Harmon remembered everything, but he saw nothing. Their bed was a mess, sheets everywhere. Their bed was empty.
First the towel fell from around him, then the floor and the debris fell up all around him. Harmon lay there in the floor. This time no dreams haunted him, just blackness. Nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment