Whatever It Takes

TW: substance abuse, murder

I started using cocaine when I was 13. Back then, the worst thing on my mind was messing up my Mandela project for art.

And here I was at 28. Homeless. The worst thing on my mind now was stealing somebody else’s pizza.

I saw her through the window of an unsuspecting family on the TV when the 5 o'clock news aired.

From that day on, her frail body and injured arms became ingrained in my head.

My dust trodden shoes scraped at the asphalt as I walked through Newbury avenue. My hands were white from clutching my voucher. My right hand was drifting to my worn denim pocket, where my travel fare was.

I took a glance at the envelope, knowing that it contained my one way ticket out of Newbury - or the place that for 11 years, I called home. 

I still remembered those words. Melissa’s mom had shoved the envelope into my hands. “Take this. It saved my daughter's life. And it can save yours too.”

At first glance, it looked like any other voucher to a Tropical location.

Perfect families on swings, various people doing fun activities. 

Then, I looked closer. Underneath “Hawaii” it read “Say bye-bye to addiction”.

I opened the envelope and inside was 10,000 dollars alongside a one-way plane ticket.

I turned right into a forgotten alley. I swiveled my head, checking to see if anybody was with me. 

No one.

The first thing I did was smell the money. I held up one of the 100 dollar bills to my nostrils and let the smell waft in. 

It smelled . . . memorable.

My face hit the concrete and I heard a chorus of laughter coming behind me.

I turned around and saw 3 teenagers, maybe 15 or 16. The one in the middle wore a beanie with red and gray stripes. His sweatpants were a sickly shade of green, and so was his sweatshirt.

“Check out this old hag.” he jeered with a nasally voice.

The guy on the left gestured towards me. He wore a hoodie with faded jeans and tennis shoes. His body seemed to be made for running.  “What does she have in her hand?"

I quickly shoved the money into my coat pocket. “Nothing.”

The guy on the right asked the guy in the middle. “Did that look like nothing Rupert?”

“It sure as heck didn’t Bart.” Rupert murmured, his steely eyes focused on me.

The third guy rushed towards me, his blinding speed temporarily paralyzing me. Before I knew it, he was counting the bills.

“Please, give it back.” I pleaded. “I need it. Please. I need it.”

“Need it for what?” The fast guy asked.

“Shut up Logan. Don’t listen to the hag.” Rupert said.

Logan stopped counting. “Let’s listen to her. Alright? Besides-” He got in closer to Rupert, but just within earshot. “How are we gonna explain the 10,000 dollars to mom?”

Rupert nodded solemnly. “One minute.” He barked.

I unfroze. I desperately searched the ground for my vacation voucher.

I brought it up. “Here. That money is for this.”

Bart snatched it from me before I could finish the sentence. He gave it to Rupert, who examined it for a few seconds.

“We’re in Philadelphia. How the heck are you gonna get all the way to Hawaii? And why does a homeless hag like you need a vacation.”

“It’s a resort/addiction treatment center. The money. 1,500 for a bus leaving tomorrow, which’ll take me to St. Augustine. Then 7,500 for a boat to Hawaii. The rest is for food. Please. I’m telling the truth.” I explained patiently.

Rupert looked at his 2 sidekicks. He trudged over to me, and knelt down.

“And was that supposed to make me feel bad?” He growled.

He backhanded me, my voucher flying out of my hand. My mouth tasted concrete for the 2nd time that day. 

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Logan grab the voucher from the ground. They walked away, talking.

There was only 1 word I could hear: Hag.

The courtyard was my 2nd home. It was a big open space with a surprisingly lush garden. People milled around, not knowing where they were going and why.

Which was the perfect place for pickpockets like me. 

I stood in the shadows of a food truck as I observed my targets.

Target one: Guy wearing a Red Sox cap with an orange bandana. He was busy on his phone, holding his daughter. She had a pink lollipop with a pink and purple leotard.

Target two: Woman in a purple suit, eating a taco and talking on her phone.

Target three: A fellow pickpocket like me.

I settled on the pickpocket. 

She was walking near another taco food truck, and I saw her swipe one of the worker’s wallets. I quickly walked over there. 

“Hey! She stole your wallet!” I alerted him.

He looked at me and I pointed at the pickpocket. The pickpocket turned back, her expression a mix of shock and fear. She started running, her head still turned. 

I ran after her, my feet gaining newfound energy. Luckily, she wasn’t that fast. I grabbed her jacket and pulled her towards me. 

The worker thanked me profusely, his words belligerent. I pried myself from his grip and started walking away at a brisk pace.

The wallet tucked deep inside my jacket felt strangely alien.

The route from my home to the courtyard was something that I had to remember. Otherwise, I would’ve died a long time ago.

I found my cardboard box. It was laid next to the Arby’s dumpster. It was smelly. But at least nobody interrupted me.

I almost fell down, my legs exhausted from the running. I took out the wallet and started the counting.

When I was done, I counted it again.

No way there’s that much.

I counted again, my numbers yielding the same result.

$500. 

I fished out the 3 other wallets I got in the past hour and counted the sum. $756.

Not enough. But still decent enough.

 I laid back, wondering where I should go next.

Relax. You have $756. You deserve a break.

I threw that thought out of my mind. I couldn't start again. I just couldn’t.

I heard a long honk. I looked to my right at the source of the sound.

A large van with an ugly green had stopped to the side of the road. The person on the passenger side was waving emphatically at me.

Melissa got down, her brown hair bouncing while her brown eyes twinkled.

“Hey!” She shouted once she got within a few feet of me.

“Hey.” I glumly responded.

Her smile evaporated. “What’s wrong?”

Hesitantly, I answered the question. “All right, I lost it. The money. Some stupid teenagers stole it from me.”

She was silent for a few moments. I waited patiently for a response, hoping it was a merciful one.

Finally she chuckled. “You know, you really need to learn how to lie.”

“Wait, what?”

“Stop.” She held up her hand, making me stop talking.

“Why. Just why. We tried to help. Heck, even my mom, who’s one of the most arrogant people on the planet tried. We gave you 10000 DOLLARS.” She scoffed. “And you spend it on that?”

She pointed to my hand. I twisted sharply, realizing that I grabbed my stash unconsciously.

I turned back. “Please. You have to believe me.”

“You know what?” She exploded. “I DID believe you. But you have proven, time and time again, that you are unwilling to receive help. I can’t anymore.”

She turned around and walked away.

$5. That’s all I got spending the rest of the day pickpocketing.

I slid down the brick wall of a luxury apartment building. The rough texture scraped my back. The pain didn’t faze me.

I brought out my stash, and looked at it. 

A simple white powder. And it had caused my life to go down a spiral ever since I began being associated with it.

With white hot rage, I threw the Ziploc bag into an open trash bin beside me. 

Even doing that made me antsy.

Don’t think about it. Plus, the bus starts at 1:00 in the afternoon tomorrow, so pick yourself up and-

A flicker of movement caught my eyes. 3 teenage boys were chatting with their mother as they went into the luxury apartment building.

And one of them wore a beanie with grey and red stripes. His green sweats made me realize who he was.

My heart pounded through my chest as I crept towards the open bedroom door. 

I winced as the floor creaked.

My mind whispered Don’t do it. You’re already in enough trouble.

I twirled the screwdriver in my hand, the action taking the thoughts away.

I had never held a screwdriver in my life. It’s grainy surface felt alien to me, as a donut would be to a homeless person.

The grainy surface actually helped me unlock the door in record time: 2 min and 35 sec.

I counted.

I took a peek at the bedroom. It was Rupert’s. A huge Endgame poster took up a wall while Iron Man’s snap took up the other one. A big green beanbag chair was thrown to a side of the room as his keyboard suddenly lit to life.

I paused, unsure of what to do. I went to the keyboard and lifted it up.

Nothing underneath.

I checked the drawers, half expecting the Alien to jump out of them.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I surveyed my surroundings. There was no other place where he could’ve hid the money.

I froze. A faint beeping sound came to my ears. I went out into the hallway in a trancelike state. 

On the kitchen wall was a monitor. A red button kept blinking red.

I dropped the screwdriver in surprise. 

It made a huge thunk.

A groan and the lights turned on.

I lunged for the door when I heard police sirens. I backed away from the door, my hands held up.

A sudden force pushed forward. My face hit the carpet. I turned around, seeing who had knocked me over.

Rupert.

The expression on his face told me that he didn’t expect for the intruder to be me. 

What happened next was something that scarred me for life.

Without even thinking twice, I grabbed the screwdriver and stabbed him in the neck. 

Once I realized what I had done, it was too late. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

I ran towards the door, the last thing my mind was seeing was Rupert’s body. His cold and steely gaze was gone, replaced by something much more innocent and kind.