Lost but Not All Gone

         Today was incredibly hard. I’ve been running around the city all day, with various errands pulling me from one place to another and of course now I’m late for work. It doesn’t help my clients have changed their meetings four times this week, but hey, no one said this would be easy. Overseeing six bars in the middle of Manhattan, is the furthest thing from easy. But I needed the money, and the rest of my coworkers pulled a “onetwothree, not it!” on me. At least, it feels like they did. I don’t know if they saw me struggling to make rent and decided that I needed the promotion or just thought I was such a know-it-all that I’d be a good fit.

Either way, I’ve been on the subway so much I know the homeless guys who live here. I try not to make too much small talk but they’re good people. Just people trying to make it like anyone else in this city. And maybe because I was so close to getting booted out of my apartment, I have a better understanding. One wrong move and I’m here with them. Doesn’t make me or them any less human or less worthy of help or support, though I don’t have much to give. I barely skirted by on rent and these errands have basically taken the rest. Thank God I can bum stuff off from work. I basically don’t eat breakfast anymore and the bar menus have become my lunch and dinner.

Stopping at my station corrects my musings and I start bolting to the stairs that lead out to the streets. My cheaply made satchel slapping the side of my thigh as I jog up the stairs. I’m out of breath by the time I hit the street, huffing and puffing at the crosswalk as I take a small rest. Third Ave has always been busy with cars, so much so that it’s one of the few places in the city where people actually wait for the crosswalk signs. Well, most of the time, because right now I see a guy just sauntering out there. His eyes are glued to his screen too, and unfortunately, I think so is one of the drivers on the Ave. I wanted to call out to him, but my legs moved before my mouth. Apparently, my small rest was enough, and I shove the guy out to the medium before the car hit him and-

Crash!

Thud!

Today is shit! My girl broke up with me after three years of bein’ together. Not even through text or a call, just found all my stuff sitting in the middle of the street in trash bags with a sticky note slapped on top of em. “You promised.” I was hot at that, but she even changed the locks to the front fuckin’ door. I wanted to make sure I had my shit but nah, I’m locked out, and now I’m hoofin’ it. Tryin’ t call anyone who I could just let me sleep on the couch for a night till I get something goin’. Then some asshole shoves the shit outta me!

I’m ready to curse him out but the car side swipes him. The guy. I ain’t seen someone get hit like that. I go to check on him, phones are out everywhere, the driver is buggin’ out, begging like it’ll keep him alive. I’m over the guy, trin’ to take care of him like in the shows. But this ain’t a show, an I just get blood all on me. “Hang on man. We’ll get you some help.” The damn phone won’t stay still in my hand so I can dial 911.

“You okay?” The guy whispers to me, all I can do is nod. “Alright….Oh man…I’m so late. They’re gone be…” The guy’s voice just faded away; his eye stuck looking out somewhere. I wasn’t movin’ when the cops came, I got bum-rushed with questions and got ‘gently’ escorted to the back of a car. I can’t stop looking at my hands. He saved my life, and his blood is on my hands. The cops try and start a conversation, or ask me a question, I don’t know. I didn’t talk all the way to the cop precinct.

I knew they’d try to pin this on me if they look at my record. Why else would they put me in the room with the two-way mirror? I mean everyone knows this is where you ask folks questions you think are guilty. I don’t know how long I was in here, but my eyes went from bein’ locked on my hands to where I couldn’t look at them anymore. Shoving them under the metal table and my sponsor shows up. Great.

“How are you feeling Mark?” This bald fucker asked me, in that cheap ass suit and fake ‘caring’ voice. I know how he thinks. He looks down on me and now the cops got him here to pin my ass. “Are heard you were pretty shook by all this. They said you wouldn’t talk. Doesn’t sound like you.” His shiny head leans into the light, but I don’t say anything. Don’t even look his way. “I know today’s been tough….I heard Erica had enough.”

Looking him straight in his eyes, he really ain’t faking. “This wasn’t my fault… I didn’t.. Is he he okay? Or is he?”

“In a critical condition. You aren’t in trouble Mark. You don’t own a car, and the driver is being questioned. I’m here because I was worried and got a call from the cops.”

“I’m…Erica put my shit out on the block.”

“She says up haven’t been to NA. I hadn’t seen you at meetings either.”

“And look what happened…” I slam my hands on the table. “Look what I did! Look at what helping me does!” Even with the tears streamin’ I didn’t break eye contact. “I hurt Erica, Ma, you and a guy I don’t even know! So to answer your question, I ain’t feeling too good about myself.”

“Mark. I understand. And I think you should look into the options we talked about before.” I squirm in my seat at the suggestion but a glance at my hands prove that he’s right. With only a nod, I’m silent till he leaves, keeping to my scattered thoughts. The cops let me go just like he said, I saw the driver sitting in the waiting room, handcuffs on them as they slightly look up at me with their blood shot eyes and dry tear stains running down his face.

“It’s gonna be okay.” I mutter out, shakily putting a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me.”

“…How do you know that?..”

“I don’t know. But it has to be, right?”

“Right…Right…”

              Leaving the precinct, I thought about what I said. Pullin’ out my phone I called up that number I had saved for weeks but never called. Hand still trembling as I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Hello, my name is Mark, and I would like to check myself into rehab.”