Whiskey, Diet Coke, Two Dollars, and a Pistol

This is a true story. I have not done this on an island yet, but the story is true.

Trigger Warning: Suicide (not graphic)

The moonlight showed the way as I guided the little boat to the beach. I stepped out and was surprised – the water was warm. I guess I expected it to be cold this time of year. I dragged the boat up on the sand and walked in a streak of light along the water’s edge.

This is as good a place as any. I dropped down and took a long breath. The salt air felt so different in my Texas lungs. I opened the backpack, fished for my phone and turned it on, instinctively looking at how many bars I had. I’m on an island in the middle of nowhere! I laughed. Even out here, it’s a reflex.

The breeze rode the waves to the beach, brushed my cheek, and danced across the palms with a whisper. I heard her name – CONNIE – and I shuddered. Maybe that was the wind. Maybe more. There certainly had been more on other occasions. I took another breath and emptied the rest of the pack – Bluetooth speaker, two silver dollars, a can of diet Coke, a pint of whiskey, and a .22 caliber pistol. I paired the speaker, closed my eyes, and let Chris Cornell rip my heart out with Say Hello to Heaven.

The last note faded, giving my soul one final tug. I turned off the phone and speaker to save the batteries. “Don’t be wasteful”, she always told me. I held up the diet Coke. Cheers. God, it was awful! I never understood why she loved it so much. It was probably her favorite thing in life. When I had to identify the body, there were cases of that horrible stuff stacked in the corner. The rest of the soda ended up on the sand. I smiled a little, I actually feel sorry for the sand!

I picked up a silver dollar. Its features were worn almost smooth. She gave it to me when I was ten. The date on it was 1966, the year I was born. “It will bring you luck.” I shook my head. The jury is still out on that. The other dollar, a 2001, was in better shape. I turned it over and over in my hands. The year my daughter was born. I tossed it into the water. The year my mother died. She planned it. I took my daughter to visit when she was first born. She waited to meet her granddaughter first, and now I mark the years since it happened by how many birthdays my girl has celebrated.

I twisted the cap on the whiskey bottle. It made a loud crack that startled me. So quiet. She never had much quiet. Her demons were always there, but no one really understood it back then. I took a long pull. It burned and made me close my eyes tight. I held on to that small moment of darkness. Just like I did all those times before. Hiding from what was really happening to her. I sniffed the whiskey and shuddered. I took another drink. What a strong smell! That’s what I thought when I first walked into her little apartment. The officer said it had been a few days.

The gun was not as heavy as I remember. Even though I was warm on the beach, it felt ice cold in my hand. I held it to my temple, pressing hard. The metal almost bore into my skull. Was this what it felt like? I stood. Is this the year I toss it away? I shook my head, sat back down and began carefully packing up all the items. I thought back to the day I got the backpack – three days after my mother used that pistol.

*****

I drove around the city just trying to get away from what was happening and ended up in a neighborhood looking at a house we lived in when I was five years old. I couldn’t recall driving there. Across the street was an abandoned restaurant. Some kind of pancake place I think. I saw a woman huddled in a blanket against the brick wall. I pulled my truck into the old lot and got out. Never stopped to talk to a homeless person in my life. She started a little as I approached, “Ain’t breaking no law!” I backed off and held up my hands. She was so skinny. “This is my stuff! Ain’t yours!”

“Hi.” I felt a little dumb. I had no idea what to say to her. “Uh, you OK?”

“Fine.”

I nodded, “You hungry? Do you need anything?” To this day, I have no idea why I stopped.

“Always hungry. You got money?” She held her hand out.

I dug in my pocket. “Sure.” I handed her a twenty. She nodded and wrapped herself back up in the blanket. I just stood there.

“You need something?” she asked through a tiny opening around her face.

“Well,” I dug in my pocket again, “do you know it’s Thanksgiving?” She just stared at me. I looked at the bills in my hand. I had seventy-three dollars. “Here, Happy Thanksgiving.” I placed the bills on the concrete in front of her.

"Didn't know you get presents for Thanksgiving." She slowly picked the money up and pointed to an old backpack. “Let me give you a present.” I hesitated and she pointed again, “Go on, you can use it.”

I nodded and picked up the backpack. It was dirty with grease and had holes in a few places. One strap was gone. “Thanks,” I told her. “Happy Thanksgiving.” I turned and headed to the truck. When I got inside, I unzipped the pack. I remember I was shaking when I looked. An empty diet Coke can. I opened the window and looked at the woman.

“It’s not your fault.”

“What?” I got out and walked back to her.

“She said it’s not your fault." I just stood there. I had no idea what to do. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

I stammered, “Y-You too.”

I never found that woman again, and nobody ever believes me when I tell them!

*****

I loaded my backpack in the boat and pushed off. As I headed away, I stared up at the stars. Maybe next year I will do Thanksgiving somewhere up north. Might keep that nasty diet Coke a little colder.