What I got

I'm steppin' out the door again
Wondering where my feet will fall
I got myself a plane ticket
But no plan, darlin'... no plan at all

I got myself a world of plans
And no idea about what lies ahead
I'm lettin' this will decide
Where I'll start and where it will all end

A story from the day...

... as I was supervising my English class today as they were writing the essay component of their semester final, I was too cold to sit and grade other assignments (the north China wind was blowing too incessantly in my classroom window) so I decided to write a narrative on the same prompt as the kids. Enjoy.

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My toes are curled over the edge of the building. I'm sure the question has to be asked: "What are you doing standing on the top of a high-rise with your toes wrapped around the stone lip of the ledge?" It has a simple answer, but you're not going to like it. It's an answer you're going to hate: I'm done. This is the end for me.

It's impossible to pinpoint one moment in time where this was a foregone conclusion. Don't misunderstand… my life's been brutal. I don't know if the fates have crafted this as an inevitable ending to my miserable, somewhat brief existence on the planet. Nonetheless, here I stand and that's not going to change.

One of the first big things was the divorce. No, not my divorce. I'm a kid. Well, I'm a kid in the sense of the typical designation. Seventeen isn't so much a kid in actual living terms when you look back on the "Greatest Hits" list of my life. And regardless, it happened when I was still in the more non-self-aware stages of life, where my only concerns were a clean diaper and food. I guess in certain ways life isn't so different now, but it's still an important distinction to make.

When it happened, I was a big inconvenience. My dad was a junkie, my mom was attempting to battle her own demons of booze and an abusive boyfriend, not to mention a meaningless job at Saver Mart. As you may have guessed, she didn't exactly run the show. About two months after I was born, my dad took off and he hasn't exactly sent much in the way of birthday cards. I got five bucks in one that was three months late when I was about five years old, but other than that, he's been MIA. He took my mom's car. Are you beginning to spot the run-on of cliches? Of course, he hasn't been around since. I think I saw a movie like this once. I guess I didn't think I'd have a starring role as the hopeless misfit.

The second big event came when I was about six years old. I woke up one morning in the spring time and my mom wasn't in her bedroom. Or in the bathroom. We lived in a dumpy, beat up mobile home on the outskirts of Welling, Alberta. Oh, you've never heard of Welling? Then you'll probably guess that it's not home to a giant hockey stick or monstrous rubber tire. Not much to see other than farmers combining and tumbleweeds rolling down the highway. And coyotes. Lots of coyotes. Anyway, I called out a few times. I was already pretty unhappy most of the time but knew how to cope. I could make food (as long as it didn't involve more than one pot… I was a wizard with grilled cheese or Iciban instant noodles). But as I called out more and more, I knew that something had different. I waited. I tried playing card games but just couldn't stay focused. I kept calling.

I then heard a BANG on the door to the trailer. I figured it was mom, drunk again and just falling into the door. But it wasn't. It was my neighbor Debbie. Some people called her Deborah. I always thought that she seemed more like a Deb. I don't know why. Well, as I opened the door, I saw Debbie's makeup was a mess and tears were streaming down her face. The only thing she kept saying was, "Baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was a few days before I found out that my mom had been killed in a car accident. She'd been drinking after work again and drove her car off the side of the road and into the canal running beside Johnson's farm.  I'll spare you the details, but it was grisly.

The rest of my life seemed like a series of unfortunate events. Or more like a Sunday night, made-for-TV special that suburban, two-parent homes would find heart-wrenching and would cause a whole lot of weeping and hugging of kids who don't believe that it's likely and therefore have no real urge to kiss their mom and dad goodnight. My routine was full of group homes, foster parent interviews, more group homes, a stint in juvey for having a knife on me at school during a fight (I never took it out, but after getting thrown to the ground it flew from my pocket). I got kicked out of the school… that was number three. And I did another stint for having a bit of pot on me at school (school number four… same result as previous). At this point, there weren't many people who had faith in me getting out of the rut. There were a few sympathetic counselors and such who urged me toward the right path. But in all honesty, it just didn't hold a lot of interest for me. I didn't see a point and didn't have much ambition to make more of myself. Having a warm bed was nice. The rest of it meant nothing.

Well, I guess you could say that the straw for this camel was the robbery. Yes, this time it was me. This kid Bobby from group home number five convinced me that we should get some cash by holding up a convenience store. He explained that it would be a simple hold-up job… that we'd just pretend to be armed (by flashing fake replica 9mms at the staff and jacking the register). Then we'd take off for the coast and start new out there. I know… in hindsight this doesn't seem like it could go anywhere but wrong. And that's exactly where it went.

It turns out that the replicas weren't exactly replicas. Bobby pulled his piece after we kicked in the door and after having a confrontation with the owner, blasted off two shots into the ceiling. I freaked a bit… in all my reckless behavior, I was never the violent type. The fights were more survival than anything and I never actually had the urge to hurt anyone. I just mainly wanted to be left alone and got a bit angry when people wouldn't comply. After the warning shots, Bobby took the owner to the floor and as I was shaking like a leaf, I started toward the register. I had the gun in my hand because the idea of blasting a shot into my groin did not appeal to me at all and I was scared as hell. So I jumped the counter, but in doing so, rested my right hand on the countertop. I've never attempted to hop a counter with a gun in my hand. Yep, another good guess… I accidentally pulled the trigger. And knowing my luck, you can assume what happened next: the shot avoided all merchandise shelving and advertising and went straight through the chest of some middle-aged guy who just wanted to buy a six-pack.

Maybe there was a way out. Not so much anymore. And anyway, I don't have any interest in going to jail… especially REAL jail. Nope. I'm ready to cut my losses. Even in all the bleary-eyed intoxication, mom always said there was something on the other side. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than this place. And a guy has to pay the price for his actions. I never expected it to be this way when Debbie stopped by when I was six years old, but my experiences brought me here and there's nothing I can do to escape them now. Just one more step… I guess I'll see you over there. Whatever that other side thing is.

TM

Brief Reflections

I reflect on all the happenings
Of all I've seen and all I've been through
And although I might be walking away
My thoughts continue to turn to you

You came in unexpected
Sat down and decided to stay
But now we're at a crossroads, darling
And I'm not sure if we'll live another day

I cannot tell you what the decision will be
Which way the wind will blow
So forgive my current uncertainty
About whether to stay or whether to go

T