Working Man's Blues Ch. 04	

         This isn't the ending you were expecting, it's the ending some of us actually experience

I had another cup of coffee then went to bed. I didn't even get undressed. I flopped down into bed and pulled the covers up over my head. I looked like a little kid who was afraid of the boogeyman in the closet or the monster under the bed. I like to keep the place clean, but lately the sink full of dirty dishes and the laundry piled up in one corner of my bedroom hasn't even registered on my mental radar. For some reason certain things don't matter as much as they used to. Things that usually catch my attention have been ignored lately. 

I mustered what little ambition I had left and decided to get up for work early the next morning. I set my alarm clock for an hour earlier than usual. I couldn't sleep worth a damn. I would almost doze off then something new to worry about would pop up. My mind races at night when I try to sleep. It's like I'm thinking of a hundred different things at the same time, all in broken strings of thought and scattered images. I will try to concentrate on one thing but something else will push its way through before I can resolve anything about the first thought. I'm sure it's just the caffeine. Or maybe it's not.

I played the staring game with the alarm clock on and off all night. I never really went to sleep. You know that falling feeling you get as you fall asleep? I don't get that feeling anymore. Sometimes I'll wake up in a snap, not even realizing I was asleep. And the worst part of it is, when you toss and turn in bed all night long then finally do fall asleep, you wake up feeling like you haven't had any rest at all. Maybe that doesn't make any sense to anyone but me. When I was a kid I used to sleep like a rock. I remember I never had dreams. When I turned thirteen I started having trouble sleeping. At first it was just when I was excited or restless. I was a much different person back then. Often when I can't sleep I have these memories of how I used to be. 

I remember one day in school, when I had my first real fistfight. I was a seventh grader. This senior named Nick decided that picking on me was his favorite past time. It started with shoves and pokes in the hallway then quickly degenerated to daily humiliations during break and getting shoved forward onto the urinals when I was trying to take a piss. After fall break his interest in me seemed to fade a bit. I went almost two weeks without his big redneck shadow looming over me. The day before we got out of school for the summer he made a sudden reappearance. 

I was walking down the hallway with all the junk from my locker in a big stack. Books, annuals, etc. I also had my lunch box. That was back when it was nothing uncommon for a kid to bring his lunch to school. My lunch box was one of those thin metal ones with hinges that always squeaked. It was white and green. I can't remember what was on the front of it. When I was emptying my locker I put my old biology textbook in the lunch box. I had another at home. It was a little secret between my biology teacher and I. 

Mr. McQueen was my biology teacher. He was an interesting guy. He made science interesting and fun. He could talk about sex all day long, and we all thought it made him the coolest guy alive. He had this subtle way of sneaking facts in that made you think, without realizing it. He was the biology teacher by title, but he gave all his students a very sensible lesson in sex education by showing us facts in a way that fascinated us. He was one of those people who truly planted seeds in life. I guess teaching us about sex was his big thing. Maybe his mom got pregnant when he was a teenager and they hard a hard life because of it, or maybe he had a teenage daughter who got pregnant. You could tell just by talking to him that the cared. In my mind he will always be one of the good guys. 

Best of all he paid attention to his students. I would finish my biology work early then sit and read that old biology textbook. I was always four chapters ahead of the rest of the class. While they were chewing gum and idly arguing idly about whether Slaughter's Up All Night would sell more copies than Guns N Roses Mr. Brownstone, I was nose deep in that big biology textbook. After class one day Mr. McQueen asked to stay. I didn't know what to expect. He told me we were getting new biology textbooks for the next school year, and he handed me a huge hardback textbook. It was heavy and the cover was shiny and new. He told me to keep the book, but just keep it between us. I have never been good at accepting gifts. It makes me feel so damned awkward to know someone is thinking about me. I thanked him and tucked the new book away in my backpack. I took the book home and started devouring it page by page. 

Two days before summer vacation we were all sitting in Mr. McQueen's class having our last biology discussion for the year. He announced that our textbooks were being replaced and the old ones were going to be junked. If anyone would like, you can keep your old textbooks to read, he told us. He wasn't looking at me, but I knew he was talking to me. I kept my biology book. It was a small thick book. I had got into the habit of carrying it home in my lunch box so none of the other guys would rib me for being a nerd. After class let out Mr. McQueen clapped me on the shoulder and told me he was looking forward to seeing me next year. I sure would like to see him again. Just to know how he's doing. 

So as I made my way down the hall with my big stack of books and stuff Nick materialized in the middle of the hallway ahead of me. He palmed both my shoulders and shoved me back hard. I fell backwards, books and papers went flying everywhere. My feet slipped out from under me on the slick wood floor and I fell on my ass hard. A painful jolt went through my whole body. My ears were ringing for a second, it hurt so bad. I looked up to see Nick standing over me. Everyone around me was looking down on me and laughing. My lunch box was lying next to me on the floor. I grabbed it and swung it hard at Nick's legs. It hit his left knee with a loud thock noise. His leg buckled and he leaned down, grabbing his knee and cursing. I stood up and grabbed the collar of his shirt with my left hand, then balled up my right fist and popped him a good one right on his big redneck nose. 

"Stop" I yelled, hitting him again. "Picking" Another smack, his nose bleeding. "On" Another shot, and this time blood flew from his nose like a water balloon full of red dye in his nose had popped. "ME!" I shouted, then nailed him square on the nose as hard as I could. He fell backward in the floor, students stepping back away from him like he was some kind of toxic chemical spilling across the hallway floor. 

Memories like that always relax me. They don't always come to me so clearly. From the time I was a teenager until now, my sleeping has gradually deteriorated from rest to a grand annoyance. Sometimes I will go three of four days with only a couple of hours of sleep. Every once in a blue moon I will lie down and fall asleep right away, then sleep like a rock for several hours. I don't know what triggers it. Most of the time I lie in bed trying to make sense of my racing thoughts. These days when I do manage to get some sleep, I start dreaming the second I fall asleep. The other night I dreamed there was a big mongrel dog chasing Ginny. She was running like hell and looking back over her shoulder with a frightened look on her face. I was trying to catch up with the dog but I couldn't get close enough to grab its tail. When I finally caught up to the dog I dove and grabbed its long shaggy tail with both hands. The dog turned and barked at me, saliva and foam caked around its mouth. It had big saber like teeth and hungry burning eyes. Only it wasn't a dog's face looking back at me through the growls and sharp teeth. It was mine. 

My dreams are always crazy and random like that. Sometimes I will have a brief dream full of crystalline clear images and memories that seem so real I would swear I could smell the honeysuckle and taste the sweet iced tea. I always wake up and lie in bed wrestling with memories and images of feelings and experiences I know I will never have again. 

I got out of bed fifteen minutes before the alarm clock was set to go off. I flicked the alarm switch off and stumbled to the bathroom. Not resting well makes me incoherent in the morning. I took a hot shower then sat down on the toilet and bandaged my foot. The cut was in a bad place. Every time I put weight on the foot it wanted to open back up and bleed. I wrapped the bandage tight and carefully stepped down on my injured foot. I picked my foot back up and looked at it. Good, not a drop of blood shown through the white gauze. I got cleaned up and made a pot of coffee. It was misting rain outside. The wind was whipping up. I didn't have a raincoat, but I did have a nice windbreaker. I finished my coffee then got dressed. It wasn't raining bad so I figured I could trot to work and I shouldn't get too wet. I would be a little damp, but not soaking wet. 

I set out to work. About halfway there I saw a big puddle of water in the road next to the curb, close to the big truck yard. The chain link fence around the truck yard looked the same color as the stormy sky. I knew that with my luck if I got within a mile of that puddle someone would damned sure drive right through it and splash me. I gave the puddle a wide berth, walking ten feet or so to the right of it. I was almost past the puddle when I hear a sudden noise from behind me. There was a sudden rush of wet splashy footsteps then angry growling and barks. I turned to see a big Rottweiler charging against the fence, growling and snapping at me. An image flashed across my mind, the dog in my dream. I took a few steps back, then tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my ass in the big puddle. 

The water was fucking freezing. It was like being hit with a low voltage stun gun. Just what the fucking doctor ordered. The bad part is, it didn't surprise me at all.

"You fucking idiot." I said to myself, slapping at the water indignantly. 

The dog was still barking at me. I gave him the finger and walked back home. By the time I got home I was freezing from head to toe. I put a fresh bandage on my foot then changed into dry clothes. My windbreaker was soaking wet so I went without it. When I finally made it to work I walked in the door at one minute past the hour. The kitchen manager was standing by the time clock holding my card. he was staring me down like I was the cat that ate the canary.

"You know today is our busiest day." He said. "If you like your job you might want to make it a priority to get here on time, otherwise you might be without a job."

I gave him the dirtiest look I could manage.

"I'm having a bad day. If you want to fire me, then fire me. You pull those nasty ass floor mars in yourself. You know I don't have a car right now and I'm doing the best I can." I responded in a stinging tone.

He handed me the time card then turned to walk away.

"Do better." He said, his back to me. 

Yeah, I really got a jump on the day, didn't I? I started pulling the mats in, two at a time. They were wet and slippery. As I was pulling the last two mats in I twisted my ankle and fell. One of the kitchen guys came over and held his hand out, helping me up. 

"Thanks." I told him. "Alot."

I guess he could tell by looking at me that I was just about beat.

"Don't sweat it kid." He told me before walking back into the kitchen. "Everybody gets a case of the working man's blues." 

The mats smacked against my legs when I fell, and the bottom half of my jeans were soaking wet. It seemed like I couldn't keep dry to save my life. I worked the rest of the day with my ankle throbbing and the pain from my hurt foot pounding away. The damp clammy fabric of my jeans felt like cold dead hands raking across my legs. The day seemed to draw out forever. At the end of my shift I was clocking out when the kitchen manager walked by on his way out the door. 

"Hey." I called to him. 

He turned and stopped. He looked tired. I know being a kitchen manager is like holding down ten full time jobs. He has to deal with the cooks, the servers being a pain in the ass, the owners expecting him to stretch a penny a fucking mile, and fifteen other things at once. I just couldn't let him leave without saying something to him. 

"Listen." I said. "I know my work hasn't been its best lately. I've been putting up with all kinds of unexpected shit lately and things have gotten the better of me. It's not like me to be late for work. I've just got alot to deal with right now."

He looked at me pensively for a moment then nodded his head. The expression on his face seemed to soften a bit. 

"I understand. Just don't let it cost you your job man. You know the owners watch every move I make. If I don't do what I'm supposed to then they can put my ass in the street, too. You let me know what going on and I'll work with you. Deal?" 

"Deal." I said, then shook his hand. "And thanks."

"Anytime." He said. "Anytime."

I left work feeling a little better about things there. I got off to a real shaky start, but I think I managed to salvage something good out of it. By the time I got home my foot was bleeding like a stuck pig. I was standing at my apartment door picking though my keys when I realized something wasn't right. My doormat has been kicked aside at an angle for the past couple of weeks. Now it was sitting nice and center of the doorway. The spot where I was standing had been recently swept clean. Ginny is the cleanest person I have ever met, and stuff like that is her trademark. I slid the key in the door and the knob turned by itself. 

The door opened and Ginny was standing there. She was wearing rubber kitchen gloves with a bottle of Windex in one hand. I was embarrassed as hell for her to see my apartment so dirty. To make matters worse after stepping into my apartment, I saw her mother sitting on the couch smiling at me. Ginny gave me a big hug and held me for many long seconds. I could feel sudden tears welling up, and I closed my eyes tight to fight them back. When I opened my eyes I saw her mother looking up at me. I recognized the expression on her face. It was the same as Ginny's. 'I know' it said. I sat down on one end of the couch and stared down at the floor. Making eye contact with them hurt like being slapped. 

"I'm sorry the place was such a mess." I told them with a resigned sigh. "You didn't have to clean up for me. I usually keep the place clean, I just...."

Her mother sat beside me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

"It's ok. Ginny had been worried about you, and so have I." 

Ginny sat down on the floor beside. She took her cleaning gloves off and sat them aside. My apartment smelled clean and airy. They had cleaned it spotless. She was looking up at me through those big pretty hazel eyes of hers. I couldn't help but cry. It seemed to take total control of my body, like the only thing I was capable of doing was to cry. I covered my face with my hands. I couldn't take someone looking at me that way. Ginny pulled my hands away from my face. Her mother spoke to me.

"We know how hard you've been fighting. When Ginny told me you were staying here through Ivan I decided we should come see you just to make sure you are alright." She said, her words soft and consoling. "I put the gun away for you."

The sudden embarrassment was too much for me. I had forgotten all about that fucking gun. Ginny and her mom had come all the way down here just to see if I was doing ok. The first thing they see after walking into my filthy apartment is a fucking suicide note on my kitchen table next to a gun. The humiliation alone was enough to make me wish I was dead. 

But that's just it, you see. I was embarrassed worse than I ever thought possible, my feelings were hurt and I felt like my tears would never stop falling, but at that moment I didn't want to die. I just wanted to lie down there between them and sleep. I don't know why but that was what my body and mind were telling me. I had a sudden mental image of a big black bear crawling into a hole for winter. 'Everything is alright now. My life is a huge fucking mess but now I can hibernate and let the problems slowly go away. The world is cold and harsh now, but now I can rest and life will slowly grow warm again.' I knew it wasn't realistic, but for that moment the thought of it gave me something I haven't had in a while. Knowing they were here for me gave me something I desperately needed.

Hope.  

"I called your job to tell you we were on the way, but they said you were outside doing something. We found the note and the gun and it scared me to death, baby." Ginny said to me. Her voice was almost pleading. "We decided to try and talk to you before we got you some help."

Sitting there surrounded by them, I suddenly didn't feel so small and helpless. It was shameful, yes. It tore at me for them to see how far down I had gone. The pain and the shame were slowly bleeding away with each tear I lost. 

"You are helping." I told them. "I just didn't want to ask for help. I wanted to handle things on my own. I didn't want you to know how down I have been. It's not like me."

I looked at Ginny. Her face was beautiful, and always will be. 

"I didn't want you to be as ashamed of me as I was of myself." I told her. 

"I couldn't be if I tried." She said to me. "I couldn't be."

Fade To Black

To the reader: This story wasn't written for any person in particular. I wasn't hoping to achieve a certain score or generate any mainstream fanfare. I have dealt with depression to many degrees over the years. I sometimes see my friends and loved ones suffer with the same depression I am all too familiar with. Not being able to do something is the most helpless feeling in the world, so I wrote this story. Chances are it won't make sense to alot of people. To those who don't understand it at all, I admire you. You're lucky, trust me. I left the ending open so the reader could draw their own conclusions, because we all have our own situation in life. We all have our on closure. If depression is weighing down on you, you are faced with a number of choices. All of them are difficult. I hope that you push and fight hard, and find the courage to do the one thing that can tilt the scales to your favor. Talk to someone. Hope is often dim. Our sight may be clouded, our hands may feel weak, but hope is always there. It may seem impossibly far away, but it can always be reached. I'm living proof of that. Matter of fact, so are you.

Dedicated to Michael Avery Wiggins

LE
Darkeyeddemon