My Friend Leonard Page 4

  I finish the cigarette, put it out. I look into the rearview mirror, see the house down the street. I want to be away. I put my truck into first gear. I want to be away from that House. I pull out of my parking space. I want to be away from that fucking house. I start driving down the street. I have no idea where I am and I have no idea where I am going. I just want to be away.

  I drive. I smoke another cigarette. I turn on the radio and I turn off the radio. The neighborhoods all look the same. Row after row of brownstones. Tree-lined streets with sidewalks and overhead lights. I see churches and schools, fire stations and playgrounds. I see all sorts of small shops; shoe shops, clothing shops, candle shops, art and sculpture shops, real estate shops, book shops, garden shops. I see grocery stores and restaurants, convenience stores and gas stations. I see bars and liquor stores. On almost every block, I see either a bar or a liquor store. Beautiful bars filled with people drinking. Beautiful liquor stores devoted to alcohol. Beautiful establishments where I can make this nightmare go away. Beautiful bars and beautiful liquor stores. On almost every block.

  I feel the urge. Drink. The instinct begins to assert itself. Destroy. My old friend the Fury starts to rise, it says kill what you feel, kill what you feel. The Fury rises it says kill.

  My hands start shaking. I can feel my heart beating. My teeth chatter. I take a deep drag of my cigarette, it doesn’t help. I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I have used substances to control and to kill my emotions and my insecurities and my rage for my entire life. I have spent the bulk of my existence using alcohol and drugs to destroy what I feel so that I wouldn’t have to feel it. I have never felt like this before. Never even close. I know death, I have seen it and been close to it, but not this type of death. I know grief and sorrow and sadness, but I have never felt them so deeply. I know horror, but I have never cringed before it, I know self-destruction, but it has never made me shake. I don’t know what I am going to do. There are beautiful bars and beautiful liquor stores on every block. I can make this all go away, the Fury says kill kill kill, it is time to destroy. I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I can’t deal with my feelings.

  I pull over, park. I turn off the engine take out the key turn out the lights. I look up and down the block. There are two bars within eyesight, one liquor store. I have four dollars in my pocket and I have three reasonable options. Go to the most crowded of the bars and take half-finished drinks from tables when people stand and leave. Go to a less crowded bar and find a drunk. Drunks are stupid with their mouths and stupid with their wallets, and if I find one, I can probably get them to buy me a drink or several drinks. Fuck the bars, go to a liquor store. If they sell what I like to drink, which is cheap, strong, gutter wine, I could probably afford a bottle. I need something now. I need to make this go away.

  I open the door. Step outside. Close the door. It’s cold, I look around me, I start shaking. The wind is screaming. I start walking. I walk toward a corner where there is a bar across the street from a liquor store. I can see people through the windows of the bar. They look young and happy. They are jumping up and down, dancing, moving to the beat of some cheery music. All I want is a drink, two drinks, as many drinks as it takes to make it all go away, to send me hurtling toward oblivion, to destroy. Fuck those happy people. Fuck that cheery music.

  I walk toward the liquor store. It is on the opposite corner. It is a small store. It has a bright neon sign hanging above the door that reads Liquor, the windows are filled with bright posters of bikini-clad women holding beer cans. Behind the posters I can see rows and rows of bottles. Beautiful bottles filled with alcohol.

  I open the door and I step inside. It is warm and bright with fluorescent light. There is a counter along the front wall, a man stands behind it. There are cigarettes above the counter and candy bars below it. There is a television behind the man. It is broadcasting images of the store taken by cameras in each of the corners. I am the store’s only customer. I can see myself on the television and I can see the man behind the counter on the television. He is staring at me. I ignore him. I start walking down one of the aisles.

  The man watches me as I walk, I stare at a set of coolers along the back wall. The shit I drink is always in a cooler along the back wall, always hidden away so that respectable customers don’t have to see it. It is of the lowest class of alcoholic beverages. Produced by liquor companies for poor drunks who need a strong, quick charge. Though it is called wine, it doesn’t resemble real wine in any way. It is much cheaper, much more powerful. It comes in thick, squat bottles that are effective weapons when empty. It tastes like grape juice mixed with rubbing alcohol. Long term users of it often die from the effects that it has on one’s internal organs. It burns holes in the stomach. It eats away the lining of the intestine. It causes cirrhosis of the liver. It is liquid death. Available in a pint or a quart. Sometimes a liter. Always in a cooler along the back wall.

  I find four different types lining the bottom shelf of the corner cooler. I am familiar with all of them, have experienced the horrors of each. The worst of them, and the one I enjoy the most, is known as the rose. Its label calls it a fruit-flavored, ethanol-fortified dessert wine. I call it a quick ride to hell. It is available in one-liter bottles. At the height of my drinking, I could down three of the one-liter bottles before losing consciousness. At this point, having not had a drink in almost six months, one bottle will do everything that I need it to do. I need it to kill. I need it to kill.

  I open the cooler pick up a bottle look at the price. Just under three dollars. With my remaining dollar I can get myself a bag of potato chips. This is not what I expected to be doing here. Getting drunk and eating chips on my first night of freedom, my first night in Chicago. Were it up to me, I would be with Lilly. Were it up to me I would be asleep in her arms. She’s dead, in a cooler in some fucking morgue, and I’ll never sleep in her arms again. The thought of it makes me sick, and it makes me want to join her. The rose will help me. It is time to start the killing. Time to fucking start.

  I walk to the front of the store. The man behind the counter watches me the entire time. As I pass a rack of chips, I reach out and I grab a bag. I don’t look at the flavor because the flavor doesn’t matter. All I’m going to taste is the rose. I arrive at the counter and I set my wares down in front of the man and as he rings them up, I take the four dollars out of my back pocket. I set the money in front of him and he takes it and puts it in his register and he hands me a dime. I have ten cents to my name. Ten cents and a bottle of wine and a bag of chips and half a pack of cigarettes and a beat-up truck. The chips and the wine will be gone in twenty minutes. The cigarettes will be gone tomorrow. I’m starting to think I will follow them.

  I walk out of the store. It’s cold, the wind, the motherfucking wind. I walk to my truck, I open it, I get inside. It is still warm. I climb into the passenger’s seat. I know that if I get caught drinking in the driver’s seat I can be charged with Driving Under the Influence. It doesn’t matter if the car is moving or not, I can still be charged under the laws of every state in America. In the passenger’s seat they can charge me with open container in a motor vehicle, the equivalent of a parking ticket.

  I settle into the seat. I light a cigarette. I open the chips put a few in my mouth chew. I set the bottle in my lap. I take it out of the brown paper bag that is holding it. I stare at it. My hands start shaking and my heart starts beating faster. Like Pavlov’s dog I react when alcohol is in front of me. I smoke with one hand, hold the bottle with the other. I have a decision to make. Yes or no. The Fury is screaming drink, motherfucker, drink drink drink. The grief I feel says I will leave you if you feed me. My heart and my hands are shaking like dogs they want the taste. I know if I open the cap and put the bottle to my lips, pour and swallow, I will be taking a road from which there is no return. I know that once I have it in me again I will use it until I die from it. I was almost dead six months ago. Dead from the damage that hardcore drug and alcohol abuse cause to
the body, dead because I didn’t want to live anymore. I chose life because of Lilly and Leonard and because once I tasted life again it tasted good, good enough to try to live it. Lilly is dead now. Dead by her own hand. The how and why don’t matter. All that matters is the end result. Death. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m in this position. What the fuck am I going to do.

  I stare.

  I have no money.

  I stare at the bottle.

  I have no job, I have nowhere to live.

  I stare at the bottle.

  I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I have been incarcerated for the last six months of my life in a treatment center and in a jail.

  The bottle.

  I am shaking. The Fury is screaming. The grief is overwhelming me please please please. I can make it all go away. I can kill it. Killing it will be the first step toward killing myself. Everything I have dreamed about and hoped for and wanted and expected is gone. It’s dead and it’s not coming back. There is no nightmare to wake from, this is my fucking life.

  What am I going to do.

  The bottle.

  I start to cry.

  What.

  Cry.

  There is sun streaming through the front window of my truck. It is bright, but it is not warm.

  It is early morning and I am waiting. The bottle of rose is sitting on the seat next to me. It is still full.

  I spent the night crying, staring at the bottle, smoking, cursing. I cursed God that motherfucker. I cursed myself I should have gotten here earlier. I cursed everyone I saw, I screamed at them and I cursed them. I cursed my truck it didn’t do anything I cursed it anyway. I cursed the ground the sky the night. I cursed the bottle in my hand I cursed the parts of me that wanted it. I cursed them and I defied them and they cursed me and they tried to defy me. I cursed my shaking hand and my beating heart, I cursed myself, I should have known, I should have stopped her. I cursed the dime in my pocket. I cursed the potato chip bag. I cursed Lilly. I cursed Lilly how could she have done this to herself. I cursed and I cried. How could she have done this to herself.

  It is early morning and I am waiting. The bottle of rose is sitting on the seat next to me and it is still full. I am going to keep it. I am going to keep it so that if I decide to use it, it will be within reach. I made it through last night, but that does not mean I will make it through today or tomorrow.

  I am waiting. I am waiting for the sun to move above me. I am waiting to hear the bells ring ten. I am waiting to call my friend Leonard. He told me that if I ever needed help he would give it to me I need help now. I have no money and no job and nowhere to live. I am waiting to call Leonard. I need help now.

  I start the truck. I pull out of my parking space and start driving back toward the house. If I get hold of Leonard and he helps me, I will need to be near the house. The people there will know where Lilly is and who has taken her. I want to see her again before she is gone. I want to see her again.

  I find my way back I see the house. I pull over and I park. I get out of the truck look around me. I see the flower store. I see the steeple that holds the bells. I see a park, the park is empty. I see a bank and a shoe store and a diner. I start walking toward the diner.

  I open the door, step inside. It is warm and loud. It smells like bacon and eggs. There are people at every table eating, drinking coffee, talking. There is a short hall in the back of the diner I can see two bathrooms and a phone. I walk toward the phone, reach into my back pocket. I take out my wallet and I take a card from my wallet. The card has five names on it, five numbers. They all belong to Leonard.

  I pick up the phone and I dial zero. I speak to an operator. I give her my name and the first number. I tell her I need to make a collect call. She puts it through, no one answers. We try the second number. No answer. We try the third, the call is denied. We try the fourth I hear Leonard answer.

  Collect call from James?

  Fuck yeah.

  Thank you.

  The operator hangs up.

  My son.

  What’s up, Leonard?

  You’re out of jail and you’re in Chicago. That’s what’s up.

  Yeah, I’m here.

  How is it?

  Not good.

  What happened?

  I start to break.

  I don’t want to talk about it.

  What’s wrong?

  I need your help, Leonard.

  What happened?

  I need help.

  What do you need?

  I need thirty thousand dollars.

  What?

  I need thirty thousand dollars, Leonard.

  What the fuck is going on there?

  You told me to call you if I ever needed help. I need fucking help. I need thirty grand.

  Are you drinking?

  No.

  Getting high?

  No.

  What the fuck is wrong?

  I start to break.

  I need money.

  He does not speak.

  Please, Leonard.

  He does not speak.

  Please.

  I hear him take a deep breath.

  Where are you?

  In a diner.

  How do you want me to get it to you?

  Thank you, Leonard.

  You’re my son. I’m going to take care of you.

  Thank you, Leonard.

  Now tell me how you want me to get you the money.

  I give him the address of the house. He tells me that it will be there in an hour. I thank him, thank you, Leonard. He asks me if I want him to come to Chicago and I tell him no. He asks again if I’m drunk or high he wants to make sure and I tell him no. He says that though he does not need to know right now, at some point he’ll want to know why I need so much money. I say fine. I thank him again and he says don’t worry about it and I say thank you again and we hang up. Thank you, Leonard. Thank you. I walk out of the diner and I walk back toward my truck, toward the house. As I get closer, my heart starts beating faster. I think about what happened in the house, the images in my mind are clear. Hanging hanging hanging. I try to push the images away, but they remain, hanging hanging hanging. Every step is harder, every step is heavier. I start up the walk that leads to the door. Every step. Hanging.

  I open the door step into the foyer. I want to leave, the images are clear. The same woman is sitting behind the desk. There are some red roses in a vase next to her. She looks up at me and I say hello and she says hello and she motions toward the roses and she tells me that she saved them for me. I thank her and I ask for Tom. She says he’s out can I help you. There is a chair across from her I sit down. I want to leave, the images are clear. The bathroom where Lilly hung is in this house. I look at the woman and I speak.

  I need some information.

  I keep the flowers. They were for Lilly, not for the house. I keep them in water and I will use them. They were for Lilly.

  I give all of her clothing to an organization that helps the poor. She did not have much, but maybe it will help someone.

  I give her books to a library. She wanted to go to college and she had been studying for the entrance exams. She had seven books, all textbooks. What little money she had was in a box beneath her bed. I give it to a homeless woman who is sitting alone on a bench. The woman tells me it is enough to get her a place in a shelter for two months. I hope that time makes a difference.

  She had a plastic Superwoman watch. I always thought it was funny that she wore it. I find it on a table next to her bed. When I find it, I cry. I hold it to my heart and I cry. I keep it in my pocket.

  She had a hairbrush, a toothbrush. A tube of toothpaste and a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap. I leave everything in the bathroom.

  She had a simple silver necklace. It held a platinum cross. Her Grandmother gave it to her, it was her most cherished possession. I find it on a table next to her bed. When I find it I cry. I want to give it back to her. I want to give it back.
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  I don’t have any photographs of Lilly. I don’t have any photographs of the two of us together. The only documentation I have of our relationship is a large stack of letters, some written by me, some by her. This lack of documentation has made seeing her more difficult. Tom helps me. He speaks to an assistant medical examiner, he speaks to the medical examiner. He confirms that Lilly did not have any family aside from her Grandmother, who is in the morgue with her. He confirms that I was her boyfriend, and that I am the only person who is likely to claim her body. He helps talk the Medical Examiner into letting me see her. Just once, by myself. I am going to see her.

  I walk down a hallway. A bright clean sterile hallway. At the end of the hallway is a large metal door. A man is standing in front of the door. He is wearing a white lab coat and latex gloves, an air filtration mask hangs at his neck. As I approach, he says hello and I say hello and he opens the door and he gestures me inside and I walk through the door and he follows me. The door closes behind us.

  I am in a large open room. Along one wall there is a bank of stainless steel cabinets. Along another are three sinks and a large stainless steel counter-top. Along the back wall there are four rows of doors, each with a handle like the handles on large refrigerators. There is a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, a halogen lamp above it, a drain below it. There is a body on the table. A body that is covered by a white sheet.

  I turn to the man.

  Can I be alone?

  Yes.

  Thank you.

  He motions toward a counter near the cabinets.

  There are gloves and masks over there if you want to use them.

  Thank you.

  He turns and he leaves. I turn back to the body. I stare at it. I am scared. My heart starts pounding, pounding to the point that it hurts. I am scared. I take a deep breath. Part of me wants to run. To get the fuck out of here, that is her body, her dead body beneath that sheet. Part of me knows that I need to do this. I have to see her. I have to see her. I have to see her.