The Truth About Life

-Chase: Chapter Forty-One-

Nick locks up for the night. I wait a few minutes before veering to the back of the restaurant; then sneak back in through the window.

I’ve been working for Nick for about 2 months now, and honestly, he and I make kind of a good, but odd team.

He told me his wife left him years ago, he didn’t beg her to stay. He was happy she left, now he can run his restaurant, fish, drink, do whatever the hell he wants. His words, not mine.

Nick is overweight, sweaty, and just a big softy. I asked him one night how he came to own this place in this nowhere town. He said he took over for the previous owner when he was just a teen, then the owner passed away and Nick just kept right on running it.

“Ya never know, maybe you’ll be doing that for me someday ” Nick laughingly said.

That statement scared the crap out of me, this isn’t supposed to be my life. This sleeping on a grimy floor in an equally grimy sleeping bag every night, only eating only diner food, “showering” in the bathroom, a high school drop-out.

I can’t afford to buy the drugs I want, doing one hit a night just to make them last longer. Just enough so I’ll still be able to somewhat function the next day while I’m working.

I don’t want Nick to kick me out for being high on the job, I don’t ever want to sleep on the street again. But I don’t want to end up like Nick, either.

What a joke I am, I’m running full speed ahead into Nick’s life. A loser, a failure. I want to stay clean so bad, but I love the drugs so much more. Even the small high I get every night is worth it. The high I could get back home was big and amazing, but even a small high, to make you forget for a little while at least; is what I live for.

I wash up in the bathroom, wash and rinse my socks and boxers, hang them up in the kitchen next to the stove to, hopefully, be dried out come morning. What a life, huh?

I don’t have enough meth to snort, so I dab my pinky into the corner of the plastic baggie and get what I can. It gives me a slight buzz, but nowhere near the high that I need.

I start feeling a little desperate and decide to riffle through Nick’s dump of an office to see if I can find some stray pills.

First, I go through his desk, finding an old roll of Certs, stubby pencils, receipts, and rolls of stamps. Next, I check the small bookshelf in the corner. I push dusty books aside, move a few framed pictures of Nick holding big rainbow trout. Nick is trim and fit in these pictures, further reminding me I do not want to end up like him.

I pick the picture up, take a closer look
Man, I wonder what happened to make him so fat and sloppy. Be so ok with running this dumpy restaurant; that a health department hasn’t inspected, I swear, ever.

I find a basket on the next shelf full of aspirin, Ibuprofen, throat drops, and bingo, a prescription for Lortab. I count 11 tablets, take 2 for myself, then slip the bottle back in the basket. Nick won’t miss a couple.

Back in the kitchen, I take one Lortab; that mixed with the meth I took starts to work their magic. I sprawl out on my sleeping bag and pass out.

“Chase, Chase. Wake up!”

I open my eyes to see Milton’s lined, tanned face close to mine. I sit up, see that he has a head of white hair again. Tears prick my eyes when he enfolds me in a hug. I haven't been hugged for so long. This connection with another human, a human I love, and respect. It's more than I can handle.

I sob on Milton’s shoulder for a long time. When I pull back, he puts his hand on my cheek, says, “What are you doin’, son?” Milton’s eyes are piercing as they seem to stare into my soul.