The Path

I wish my cousin was here now to see the state of disarray that this country is in now. He’d love it, except he wouldn’t hide his admiration like I do. He died in a car crash as a result of the disease. For the most part, the last time I saw him I had one of the single best times of my life. Drunk, nose stuffed with that numbing stimulating chemical, and a few half and fully naked women running around his moms house while she was away. It was great, up until the next morning when I talked to him. He was crying, I think it was the second time in the 22 years I had known him in which I had ever seen tears fall from his eyes. It was true agony for him. I couldn’t understand it then, but I can understand it now. The pain of addiction is being powerless as you watch everything you love fall apart around you.

My cousin quickly shook off his tears and recited the degenerate oath, “fuck it”. We left with what little gas his midnight blue Crown Vic had in the tank to the nearest liquor store, but not before we got some money of course. Money always has a way of interfering with what we really need.

I had a check written to my girlfriend at the time for $200. I was trusted to deliver it to her before this whole expedition with my cousin began. At the time I was 100 miles away in Santa Cruz, and still having that check in my pocket. I cashed it at an ATM so that I would not have to get it cleared with a tiller. Machines are easier to trick. We learned maneuvers such as that early on in our paths.

With my borrowed generosity, I filled my cousin’s tank in his car. That left about $150 cash, which could be committed purely to our glutinous alcoholic endeavors. I’m not exactly sure why, with the amount of money we had and everything, why we bought what we did. Perhaps it is because nothing hits the spot as that lowly type of liquor we first started drinking, but we resolved to buy two pints of Jim Beam. One for him, and one for me. He was possibly the only person I could have successfully not imbued my own selfish fallacies onto.

We began the next session, as we did the previous night, slowly sipping our liquor, but it did not continue for long as it did before. He quickly passed out, and I was left to my own devices. 100 miles from home, I was bored as I was left alone. I found a steak in the freezer. I guess the morning liquor wasn’t enough to fight the previous night’s hangover, so I cooked that up hoping that my cousin may awake during the process. I ate it, and my cousin continued sleeping peacefully. I have no way of knowing if he was dreaming, but I think dreamless sleep may be the only relief from consciousness that we actually get, so I hope he wasn’t.

Perhaps an hour rolled by, and I had to figure a way home. I knew practically no one out here, and I had to show up for a work shift in a few hours. It had become a routine pattern in my life at that time to call out with some lame excuse, but I had felt my bosses were growing tired of it. I really did like the money I was getting, and I didn’t want to risk calling out this time. I called my brother, who although was closer to Santa Cruz than I was, was still some distance away. By some lucky or loving accord, I’m not sure which one, he agreed to come get me. From his house I would ride the train to work.

My brother must have been halfway en route to my cousins house as he drove through the mountains, when I decided to close my eyes for a moment. Functioning on no more than an hour’s rest, my body was physically exhausted. A moment’s rest unexpectedly turned into an hour.

I woke up to 5 missed calls from my brother. He had even rang the doorbell to our cousin’s house, and no one answered. I called him back right away. He had decided to check out a local brewery, and fortunately for he was still in the area.

My brother came back to my cousin’s house. This time I was awake, and I left with him. I wish I had worn the shamefulness that my heart felt at the time in that car ride with my brother. This was time another time I had come to my brother begging for help out of another predicament I had dug myself into. Pride has often barred me from showing people in my life my honest affections.

I got to work, probably reeking of life’s exploitations. Nobody said anything to me about a stench, so what’s the difference? I finished the shift, nothing of interest to be noted, then went home. Just another sequence of events. Nothing bad ever happens, only hurt feelings, so I didn’t never really thought to make a change.

There is a burning in our souls as humans. As children we have a fantastical way of setting expectations for our lives. Our dreams of the future are insurmountable, yet seemingly attainable. Somewhere along the line however, those dreams seem too much for us to take on. The world has a way of grinding away at our vision, but the burning in our souls never truly blows out. I think perhaps in some soulful essence, the burning embers of our dreams guides us to strange lands, places we never envisioned ourselves. It’s not until after we get to those lands, that the path behind us seems so straight.