Too Much For Anyone (Backstory #3)
Sept 10, 2021 7:48:24 GMT -5
Marcus Welsh and Dolly Waters like this
Post by ROUND II | Ross Hanson on Sept 10, 2021 7:48:24 GMT -5
Scene takes place on August 23, 2021
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“You sure they’re fine out in the car?”
Chelsea, Mini-Human and I followed Ken back to his house from the hospital just to make sure he got home safe. They were talking about upgrading Graham’s condition to stable, that’s all we knew when the hospital made us leave after visiting hours.
“Oh yeah. They have air conditioning, snacks, and a Nintendo Switch. It’s not like we’re leaving them out there to come in here and smoke all of Graham’s weed.”
“That could take a while... He’s been buying a lot lately. Like...amounts I’m not comfortable having in the house, to be honest with you.”
“Has he at least been using Mom’s money and not yours?“
“I honestly have no clue… I really hope he hasn’t been, that’s not what that cash is for, but he’s been really hitting it heavy. I don’t know if he was smoking for two or trying to use it to cope, I honestly don’t know… I’m at a damn loss right now…”
“He better not be getting it fronted to him, these dealers up here don’t play with their money…Are you sure you’re gonna be fine and you don’t just want to hang out with us, man?”
“I’m sure… Wait, I won’t be able to sleep right away, I’m too fucking upset to try to…”
Ken unlocks and opens the door to the house, pushing the door open and stepping in. No matter how many times I have walked into this house, I’ll always wait at the door until I’m let in like a dog.
“Yeah, we’re probably not gonna sleep for a bit either to tell you the truth. Then again, watch us all just pass out on the brand new furniture I got with my advance money. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about that…”
“Advance money?”
“Yeah, let’s just say I went from not having any place to work, to having too many places to work. And if you couldn’t tell by how quick he got Chelsea down here, Thad’s got...I don’t know how to say this...actually, Ken, it doesn’t matter. He can get stuff done. Just grab your stuff and get out of the house for the night.”
“True… Just let me grab a couple things and we can head off… I can’t look at these walls right now and not want to just collapse…”
Ken begins to head down the hall. I look around, and to be honest I wouldn’t want to look at these walls for too much longer either. This color just screams solitary confinement grey. Also, I need to try and cheer Ken up because I’m trying to hold it together too. Chelsea isn’t gonna be able to hold it together for all of us tonight.
“Hey, fam, look at it like this. We know he’s alive, and we know he’s not going to die anytime soon. There’s that…”
Ken can be heard responding, but distant.
“Don’t even joke about that! That’s not funny in the slightest!”
“I’m not trying to...I’m just saying, odds are tomorrow we’re going to go down there, they’ll tell us it was something minor, he’ll have to take some kind of pill the rest of his life and maybe stop eating bacon...it’ll be fine, man…”
“You know how meticulous Graham is about his diet - he goes and figures out how many additional sit-ups he has to do for eating a couple pieces of Sour Patch Kids!”
“All the more reason to believe he’s gonna pull through…”
“I mean, he was drunk...maybe he didn’t drink enough water after all the cardio he did yesterday? He was really pushing himself...more than usual… They won’t tell me shit, even though he’s my fucking husband, they just keep saying he’ll be fine...”
Sure enough, right there on the kitchen table sits an empty bottle of Knob Creek. That’s the strongest 90 proof bourbon that ever existed, let me tell you. And the fact that it’s empty tells me that Graham must have been playing a drinking game or something.
“Maybe, man…”
“Well, I guess you’re right, Ross. We might as well head out of here, grab some pizza or something, head back, and I’ll get to know your new girlfriend better. Almost ready, just need one more thing... ”
Wait, that’s not a shot glass beside that bottle…
“...hydrocodone...10mg...30 count….Clauson-Felder, Graham X…”
No.
“Hey Ken… where did you kind Graham this morning?”
“He was in the entrance to the living room, face down…”
And that’s not the label that gets peeled off the bottle before you sell them…
“Get in here... NOW!”
“Huh?! Why?”
Gotta bless Ken’s loyalty, even his personal travel bag has GCC and TW Sports logos on it.
“What did-”
Ken sees the bottle...the other bottle...and the piece of paper under them. At this point, I had already picked both of them up. I knew this wasn’t a love note. There wasn’t a name on it, and this wasn’t a script of Viagra. The note was written in cursive, meaning I had no way of knowing what it actually said. But I knew. I knew, because I knew before I knew.
“What...what is that?”
Suddenly, I remembered. I remembered my half-assed premonition that I thought was just some kid not changing his gloves before he made my breakfast burrito at McDonalds. I remembered that feeling I had Sunday morning. And I knew. I knew exactly what that piece of paper was about to say, even if I didn’t know what words were used to say it.
“Is that…?”
Ken picks up the orange bottle, realizing what the contents were. I just handed him the unfolded paper.
“I can’t read cursive, dude...?”
Ken takes the piece of paper, beginning to read it. As he gets through some of it, he eventually begins stumbling back as if he is about to faint. At that moment, I heard footsteps outside the door along with my son telling Chelsea he had to pee, and I realized that I had about two seconds to stop them from walking in and seeing this.
“Shit! Don’t come in!!”
“Dad! I have to pee!”
“Pee in Uncle Leglock’s bushes! Chelsea, do not let him come in here! Please! He knows how to pee like a big boy, do not let him lie to you!”
“Is everything okay?”
“I'm not sure..."
I locked the door as quickly as I could, turning back to Ken. He has since stepped back into the wall and slid down, the note dropped from his hands. He appears lost in his own thoughts, something I can definitely respect.
“He...oh God, why didn’t I...”
Ken, skin flush, sits in shock as tears begin to well-up in his eyes. I just stayed silent, stayed still, stayed anything but what I wanted to actually do which was the same fucking thing he was doing. I knew I had to unlock the door. I knew I had to open it. I knew that our night of terror wasn’t over. It just fucking started.
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Have you ever felt that no matter what exactly you did, no one actually cared? No matter how notably you may excel at whatever the subject in question was, it had no value? Even when people would say directly to your face that they feel you’re one of the best, but you know that behind those words were silver tongues and false pretense.
For years, you apply yourself to something, and you get nothing but stabbed in the back when you finally start standing up for yourself. Everyone only cares about what you can do for them. When you ask for them to do something for you, they get pissed and act like you’ve always been nothing but an inconvenience and being around is a personal favor.
You don’t have to do any favors for me. I never wanted any favors. But you all always wanted something from me, and then would stab me when you got it. Maybe I was the naive one, believing anyone needed me, let alone wanted me around. I couldn’t even keep myself up, so why should I be a burden on anyone else any longer?
The only one who deserves any apology in all this is my husband. You didn’t deserve having to haul around a horrid deadbeat of a human being around, but I was going to eventually bring you nothing of value. I thought it wouldn’t be now, but I took too long to realize that I wasn’t going to amount to much of anything for anyone. I realized that it wasn’t that it was one thing that I applied myself towards that wasn’t appreciated, but everything. I couldn’t keep asking for you to be the one to keep me standing up. I realized asking that is too much for anyone.
Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish.
- G