An Encounter for the Ages

I don’t know whether it was the coffee, the slap, the Adderall, the argument, or the other coffee soaring through the air to scorch my face, but I felt as though time itself stopped completely. Maybe I was the bad one here. Maybe, just maybe, I did something downright horrible to justify such a loud, violent reaction. But the timeline remained a jumbled-up jigsaw in my head. I had to think back to when this was all just a horrible nightmare…

Carla came home from work late that day. Said she was ending things, wanted me to move out. I played the long game and agreed. Quickly. She seemed taken aback by my eagerness, even a bit disturbed. But I had the rest of the game planned out: in due time, she’d realize she doesn’t need whichever poor sod was giving her “emotional reassurance” at work, realize how much she needed me financially, and come crawling back. They always do.

She gave me a week to move. I said no problem, and on that day, I decided to bide my time.

I went to the diner. Found my friend and dealer, Shane, the one who’s always got good dope. Said he pet a tiger the other day. Knew a guy who knew a guy, who owned a zoo, that owned a tiger, made some arrangements, and that was that. The rest of the story evaded me, but there was something about a deal gone wrong, gunshots, and a hasty escape...

He handed me the pack of 10 mg capsules. They were clear pills filled with little grains of blue amphetamines and dextroamphetamines. They're someone else's prescription, he said—they keep asking the doctor for more, telling him it's still working good and peachy. Extra money's worth more than staying medicated, apparently.

I told him I take it recreationally. He laughed. That's so like you, he said.

He tried to sell me on a new strain when my eyes landed on a sight behind him. A slim waist in a flashy, mustard yellow uniform. The curls around her head were a bouquet of roses. Her nose drooped off her face like a two-piece diving into the pool outside. Given the events of today I naturally felt inclined to talk to her.

After cleaning a few tables she circled around the aisle and moseyed our way. She chewed with her mouth open as she strolled down, and a pink bubble popped at the meeting of her lips. Have you two been helped yet? she asked, munching that gum.

Yes, but I'll take a coffee if you don't mind, I said. She scribbled on her notepad.

Hang on. Shane's hands perked up on the table. Didn't you already have a coffee?

Am I not allowed to have another?

Well yeah, but you know how that shit affects Addy. You'll be tweaking out of your mind, all that stimulant shit in your body.

I'll manage, I chuckled.

He shook his head disapprovingly and asked her for water.

Coming right up. Her monotonous voice was a melody to my ears. I stared as she left while something outside piqued Shane's interest.

Oh shit, he whispered. Shit, shit, shit shit—

What? What, what? I looked out the window, bobbing up and down frantically, and tried to look at whatever he was seeing.

My mom's out there.

So?

She's gonna yell at me about some stupid finance shit. Fuck this. And then he got up and trampled over to the front door, arms swaying steadily at his sides despite his fast gait. He slammed the door bar with his forearm and pushed his way out to greet her. Before the door closed, I already heard commotion. A snow-haired lady with dainty glasses waddled toward him, wavering her shaky finger in the air accusingly.

The same, bored voice from earlier came back to drop off a coffee in front of me. I nodded to her.

The fuck is going on out there? she asked, brows knitted at the arguing duo.

Dunno. Something about delinquent taxes, probably. That's how it always is with Shane.

She winced, but it was so fast I could tell nothing fazed her anymore. She went back to cleaning tables and I went back to staring outside as I took careful sips from my coffee. Though I felt bad for him, it made for a decent show.

Chris? A voice came up behind me as I watched out the window. I turned and it was Carla.

Why are you here? she asked, her eyes tired and naked.

My gaze fixed on her. I had a plethora of things I could say here, and somehow I knew I'd only pick the worst things.

Why should that matter to you?

Her head reeled back in minor offense. It's nothing, I just never see you here. I was having dinner with a friend.

From behind her, as though having just poofed into the far side of the diner, appeared a tall, generically buff dude. He had on a tank top and baggy shorts that went to his knees. Obnoxiously clean, cut hair. He waved at her before stepping out the door and tiptoeing around Shane and his mother's obstacle of an argument.

I sneered. Yeah, friend.

You seem upset. I don't think anything I say will reach you. I'll be leaving then.

She ignored my comment and a thought escaped my lips. I've been cheating on you.

Carla stopped on her heels. What?

I repeated myself. With the girl behind the counter, I said.

She scoffed. You're horrible, Chris, you know that? And with a dreadful turn she wound up her palm like a kid badly throwing a ball, and swung it at my face.

I couldn't breathe for a second. I didn't expect there to be so much force behind it. But before I could even do anything she was out the door too.

The thoughts hadn't quite reached my head yet. My body launched out of my seat and ran out the door.

Carla. Come on.

Don't 'Carla' me. She stomped over to her truck. Shane and his mom briefly stopped yelling just to look on at her.

Hey Chris, isn't that your girl?

Was.

The two of them gawked at her vehicle as it veered out of the parking lot, as if it were the strangest aberration they'd seen today. Then they turned to one another and started to yell again. The slap's sting, akin a mosquito bite, finally hit my face long after the impact. I cupped my jaw and groaned, bemoaning the thought of Carla and the current goings-on between my dealer and his elderly mother. Ignoring the pain as best I could, I shuffled back into the diner.

When I entered the door, the air felt strange. Maybe it was the pain surging through my cheek, or the sense of impending doom coming at me like a freight train. But instead of a freight train it was a fuming redheaded waitress. In one hand she held tightly a pot half full of joe.

She propped the free hand on her waist. Are you Chris? she asked with a deceitful smile.

A knowing laugh escaped my throat. Yeah, I muttered. My voice cracked a bit, as though I was shameful to admit my own name.

Yeah. I just got a text from Carla. We're friends.

Ah.

This is for you, she grinned pettily.

And with a graceful underhand swish, the pot jutted upward and its contents flew out like a ghastly apparition flying into my soul. I thought of Carla, of Shane, of Shane's mom, and of Carla's 'friend' too. A part of me felt guilty. A smaller part of me knew this would happen. Not in this exact fashion, but yes, to this extremity.

The door opened as the black liquid soared to my face. I could imagine the look on Shane's face, and I could only mentally plead with him to be on my side at the end of all this. At the end of the world, even. I pictured the end of the world, whether it was a mushroom cloud on the horizon or the color of hellfire sweeping the nation, but I felt a strange bliss. I pictured the events of my life, from when I was born to my childhood until today, and came to an epiphany. As the first caustic, bitter drops tickled my skin, I thought to myself: I've never done anything wrong. The world has failed us and my girlfriend left me. But I've never done anything wrong.