That Hole in Your Life

Guest post by Brittany Saturn.



Wednesday afternoon, I was waiting. Class had let out an hour early and I was forced to occupy myself in the computer lab, mindlessly wandering the Internet. I was there often, killing time. Sometimes I just went to the lab to people watch. Today just three others filled the vacant room. The homely tech girl, who was always present during the afternoons, was slouched over her screen; her long brown neglected hair fell into her eyes, but she didn't seem to mind. The other female was older. I knew of her, having the displeasure of taking a single class with her. She was so full of bullshit all the time and annoyed me to no end that whenever I saw her I made little or no conversation, and pretended  I didn't know her. Her loose blonde curls carelessly pinned to the top of her head, her scarlet lips twisted into an unusual expression as she leaned forward to read the monitor. The only other occupant was a middle aged man, whom perhaps long ago had been a body builder, wearing a dress shirt and headphones. Sitting across from the man, I stared at his bleach blonde mustache. This was not a mustache to simply glance at, this was a mustache that demanded attention. I thought about how odd the dress shirt looked against the mustache, like a bear being forced to wear clothes and walk upright. It made sharp angular movements down his face as if protesting the very idea of being civil. He caught me looking, so I quickly looked away, not wanting to make awkward conversation.

Online, I aimlessly scanned through friend's updates and pictures, but before I was half-way through, I heard my phone vibrate from the depths of my purse. It was from Edward, it said: “I’m here.” I quickly sent my reply, but before I could gather my belongings he walked through the door, wearing only a white tank top regardless of the temperature outside. I walked briskly across the floor, my boots tapping on the tiles and grabbed his left arm. I stared at the reason he wore no cover-up - a skull descending down his bicep hung by a chain that curved with his arm. The tattoo design itself wasn't the greatest, but at least it covered the bright blue letters that read ‘Shannon’, his ex-girlfriend's name. Who gets their girlfriend's name tattooed onto their bodies? After all the cliched warnings? Blood gathered in small drying pools about his arm. I complimented it, regardless of what I really thought. He smiled as we walked from the building towards his sad old car. A couple of weeks prior he bragged about a hot little fast car that he used to have, all shiny and new. But that car was long gone at this point. The metal all twisted and broken. Broken like the girl's body he had killed in the accident, causing his three year probation and the acceleration of his drug addiction.

I slid into the passenger seat and listened as he recounted the tale of his afternoon. He seemed proud, and this in turn made me content. It seemed whenever I was with him, I mirrored what he felt. I found this both annoying and interesting at the same time. The conversation became scattered, with points of silence when he would reach over and squeeze my thigh. It had been a week and a half since we’d last seen each other.

We were driving through downtown and I had always liked the way the area felt, but Edward resented it; much like I did my hometown. He grew up there and for the past six months wasn't allowed to leave the county. He’d run out of reasons to like the place, I understood. He cursed the car in front of us and switched lanes. We were on our way to his sister’s apartment, Amanda, although everyone called her Mandi. She was 18, married, and somewhat of a bitch, Edward explained, much like their mother. We had never been properly introduced and I was slightly nervous. He told me he wanted to show her his tattoo, but I guessed he had a more devious plan.

We pulled up outside the tiny apartment complex, I had only been there once before. I pull my coat on, leaving my purse on the floorboard. He saw and locked the doors before I could even ask; hardly any of my movements went unnoticed. We made our way along the sidewalk, but three feet from the car he grabbed my face and pulled me into a sloppy kiss. He’d been waiting to do that ever since I slid into his car.

“There,” he said simply.

We started again, Edward cut through the grass, I stayed on the pavement. Before he knocked on the door, he looked around, looked at me, and asked,

“This is the right apartment, right?”

I shrugged my shoulders. He did the same motion, knocked and leapt out of sight of the peephole. The door nervously opened and a relieved voice said,

“Shit! We thought you were the cops!” I rolled my eyes at how idiotic that sounded.

Inside we did not find Mandi. She had already left for work. However, we did find a small group of colorful people. As we entered the room completely, the group seemed unsettled. They looked me up and down, stared at my wool coat, my knee-high boots, and my brightly colored red hair. They looked at Edward with questions in their eyes, I knew I was different from all the ones before. I smiled at each of them in turn, as I was told their names. Lee, Mandi’s husband, an average sort of guy, nothing special, you’ll pass him on the streets a thousand times. Angel sat in the corner staring at a computer screen, keyboard in lap, completely immersed in his game. His shoulder length hair was in badly need of a comb and his snake bites and glasses glinted in the semi-darkness. Vanessa, who had been hiding in the kitchen at the word ‘cops’ strolled into the room. She had a notebook in hand, and sat back down, scribbling away furiously. Randy, Vanessa’s boyfriend, also had long unruly hair. I saw him for a brief moment as he gathered his guitar and amp and fled upstairs. Krista sat on the couch beside Lee. She looked familiar, but then again, it was a small town. She had an obnoxious voice, and I guessed she often said things too loudly and out of context. Sitting down, I stared at the unusual individuals around me and the room they sat in. A room in much need of care. Worn mismatched furniture, scattered shoes and clothing, and wires hung from various video games - the very walls seemed to be a kaleidoscope of dirty hand prints,  imperfections, and cheap apartment paint. They began reminiscing of long ago memories, involving meth and angry parents. As I sat there with my drug free past and clean fingernails, they made me feel like a spoiled silly little girl.

Krista fidgeted with an empty bowl.

“Damn,” she cursed. “It doesn't have a screen.”

Lee suddenly looked up.

“Edward, there’s a guy across the street selling pot. He’ll sell you a dime bag for ten bucks, but he owes me five, so really, you’ll get a dime bag for five dollars.”

I struggled with this logic while Edward quietly agreed. I already felt uneasy. I didn't realize that an afternoon of spending time together consisted of getting high with his friends. He handed Lee a ten dollar bill and Lee hurried out the door. A couple of minutes later he was back, but he wasn't alone. The drug dealer, Nate was his name, followed him.

“Sorry, he has to do the exchange,” Lee explained.

Nate wore a hoodie that said, ‘Jesus is my passion’ and dirty frayed jeans. He had a gap between his two front teeth when he smiled at us. Edward nodded his head and they did a smooth pass of hands.

I stared at the baggie full of marijuana clutched in Edward’s fist.

“Who wants to get high?” he asked.

Everyone showed some sort of positive reaction, except for me. He noticed.

“Are you gonna get high?” he asked.

I shook my head no.

“I have a rule, I don’t get high in the middle of the day. Besides, I have to be home tonight.” I said curtly.

He looked away, “You know I don’t do this anymore. I just buy it for everyone else.”
I looked straight ahead without a word.

“Are you mad?”

“No,” I lied. Of course I was mad. Earlier that day Edward had a meeting with his probation officer and for some odd reason didn't receive a drug test this month. I thought this was pushing his luck.

“Ok, who’s gonna get high?” he asked again, looking around the room.

“Fuck! We have nothing to smoke it in,” Krista whined.

“Let’s go next door and steal the neighbor’s screen out of their sink faucet,” Vanessa laughed.

“No, just run to the store and get some blunt wrappers,” Edward suggested. “Here’s four bucks.” He handed the crisp bills to Lee.

Moments later, Vanessa had seated herself beside me and was proudly showing me her horrible photography illuminated on the screen of her cheap digital camera. I pretended to care, but at this point I was beginning to get annoyed by the company. Finally Lee burst through the door, with crack-head Nate at his heels.

“So, I’m a nice guy. I’ll stick around and smoke some with you,” Nate announced, smiling his gap toothed smile.

He sat down opposite Edward, who had begun rolling the joints.

“Does anyone here do pills?” Nate asked.

“I do,” Edward rumbled, still looking down at the work in his lap.

“I’ll split one with you. Free of charge,” Nate offered.

“What do you have?” Edward asked curiously, looking up.

Nate named some type of pain killer I had never heard of.

“That won’t even touch me. I might as well go eat a box of tic-tacs,” Edward complained, but he agreed just the same.

I cut into him with sharp eyes. He could see my displeasure. Nate crossed the room and crushed the pill on a bookshelf beside me. He then took a straw from an empty fast food cup that was laying on the floor, cut it in half, and snorted half the line. Edward followed. I couldn't watch him do it. I felt sick to my stomach. I hated him at that point. Or hated myself for being in this situation, surrounded by these people. Nate sat back down, lit the joint, took a long puff and passed it to me. I shook my head, but Edward looked at me with pleading eyes.

“C’mon baby, get high. Please.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the joint. It tasted sicky sweet in my mouth, I was angry. I inhaled deeply, keeping the smoke in my lungs. If he wanted me to get high, I was going to get high. I felt reckless, I wanted to do something stupid; like stumble into the street and get hit by a car, or have an anxiety attack and scratch my eyes out. Then maybe he would regret asking me to smoke, but of course none of these things would happen. Not with just pot. Edward only took one hit. But I hit it several times whenever it was passed to me. We sat around, listening to Nate recount tales of being in Iraq. He claimed to have been stabbed, shot, blown up, and had seen his friends die. I didn't believe a single word of it. I stared at his face and wondered what he was like as a boy. Before his life was ruined. After one joint I still wasn't high, but my mind was running. I quietly looked at everyone’s faces, taking everything in. Everyone in that room was dying. I could feel that they had given up on their goals and dreams. They were empty.

Eventually, Krista and Vanessa trotted upstairs, followed closely by Angel. The next blunt had been lit and was only being passed between Nate, Lee and I. Hit after hit I felt nothing. Perhaps because I was a furious storm underneath, the drug took no effect. Maybe it was one of those things you have to concentrate for, mostly in your head. Or perhaps the drug itself was cheap and old, as Edward said later. Or maybe both.

“I feel nothing,” I mockingly complained.

Everyone looked at me.

“Really?” Lee asked.

“Really,” I replied. “And this is only like my 3rd time smoking pot.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped. No one knew what to say. Edward looked down at his arm again, fingering the new ink.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he smiled, softly slapping his arm, “See?”

I raised my hand and slapped the area with much more force, but he didn't move. He was tough, to resist flinching. He denied the pain, but I knew he felt it. I liked that about him, his stubbornness. He looked at Lee,

“Wanna see something that hurt?” he looked to me, “Take off your boot. Show him.”

I unzipped my boot and gingerly slid down my sock, exposing the foot with the sun permanently inked into the surface.

“Holy shit!” Lee exclaimed, “Right on top!”

It seemed that was one of Edward’s favorite things to do, show me off. He was thrilled with his latest romance. I smiled, my hand still stinging.

We made our way up the stairs, I pushed him against the wall and stood on tip toes to reach his mouth. We ignored the sounds of laughter coming from the spare bedroom. He pushed me into his sister’s room and ripped off my clothes, placing a hand over my mouth, reminding me to be quite. He was always rough with me. Every time it was something different. Normally, he choked me and called me names, this time he lightly slapped me across the face. I loathed being told what to do, but for some reason always did it anyway. In return I bit him, slapped him, and teased him whenever I got the chance. Maybe these things began as playful jabs, but in the end there was a truth underneath, as if we really did want to hurt each other. We silently fought like this every time we fucked. I wondered if it was normal. Probably not.

Hours later he dropped me off by my car; we stared at the crack glass that covered my windshield in the dark. I never really planned on getting it fixed. I kissed him goodbye. I could see he was eager to get home and sleep, it had been 32 hours since he’d closed his eyes. Before getting out, I looked back, he smiled. I fell for it and I kissed him lightly once again. About to shut the door, he questioned me about our plans next Friday. I confirmed that yes, Friday the 13th was the day of the party. I walked towards my Jeep, my shoes clicking on the pavement and I thought about the mustached man who seemed years away now. I turned once more to see Edward speed off towards his final destination. “Jesus Christ,” I thought, “What a marvelous mess I’m in.”