T. Keane
02-26-2009, 01:33 AM
The End of His Chain
I sat on the edge of my chair, hot tears staining my face. The ever present and ever clichéd question of “How” was churning and writhing in my mind. Joseph lay motionless on the hospital bed, looking as something not of this world. Tubes and wires protruded from his skin, face bandaged, head shaven. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t lay eyes upon what I was responsible for, what I had caused. I stared on as the door opened, trying not to notice the police officer strutting in. He didn’t need to prod, but he did. “Looks like he enjoyed himself,” he shot “Want to tell me what went down?” Grudgingly, I exposed my belly in a submissive manner and recounted my tale.
…
“Yo! Hurry up, we’re gonna be late, Kev,” Joseph yelled into the receiver.
“We’ll be fine, settle down,” I glanced in the mirror as I took another stroke with my razor, removing the stubble from my cheek. “You know, we wouldn’t have this problem if you had a car.” I finished shaving and waltzed into the kitchen, dropping my razor and empty lotion and shaving cream cans into the trash bin on my way to the freezer.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep rubbin’ it in. You know it was all that jackass’ fault. I’d be rollin’ as high as you are if that prick hadn’t picked a fight with me.”
“Joe, I was there, both of you were being jerks. And is it just me, or is a fist fight not that smart whilst one is driving?” I rummaged around in the freezer for something to eat. The only thing I could find was another Hot Pocket. This was my sixth in three days; I should probably go shopping soon, I was tired of choking down that manufactured meat, it was only fit for dogs.
“Details, details. At any rate, you done gussying up so we can get this show on the road? I’m friggin’ starvin’ and I’m itchin’ for a party. Who’s buying tonight? Garrett?”
“No, Julia. The liquor store’s on the way to the apartment from her way, so she’ll handle it. Anyway, I’ll be there in about an hour, and don’t complain, we won’t be late.” I threw the frozen abomination into the microwave. The only other edible objects in the apartment were a box of dried pasta and a leather boot. Right now, I’d rather consume the latter. I had eaten most of everything else the day before. I stared at the spent bag of bagels, empty jar of peanut butter and used up, half-crushed soda cans in the trash. My stomach rumbled and I immediately felt angry at myself for working out this morning without eating first. Even my energy supplements were gone. There was a box of fish sticks in the freezer, but those were for the party goers.
“But Ke-e-e-e-vi-i-i-i-n, I’m hu-u-u-u-ngry-y-y-y! Hurry it up, dawg. If we’re late to your own party, then I’ll never forgive you.”
“Ha, whatever you say. See you in a bit.”
“Yeah, later.” The line clicked off and I closed my cell phone, setting it on the counter. I strolled to the door, slipping my shoes on in the entryway. I hurdled down the steps to the parking lot, almost tripping on a trim board on the way down. Someone had already done so, as there was a scrap of denim attached to one of the protruding nail heads. My car waited for me on the sunny side of the building, the mid-afternoon light gracing its not-so-immaculate surface. I really should get the thing washed. I snagged the communal piece of oil stained cardboard from behind the stairwell and slid it under the rusted frame of my Toyota. A half an hour later, a new oil filter was in, with only an old souvenir t-shirt any worse for wear. I bolted back up the steps after replacing the cardboard and tossed the plastic tub I’d used for the old oil in the dumpster. After dressing in a battered pair of jeans and a light green t-shirt, I headed out the door, grabbing my phone, keys and CD player from the kitchen counter. I paused only to stare forlornly at the contents, or lack thereof, of my refrigerator. All that remained were scraps fit for animals.
…
“What took ya so long? I was sittin’ on my *** for almost an hour.” Joe reported.
“You, my friend, are one of the most impatient people I know.” He climbed into the passenger seat, upholstery groaning under his weight.
“What’s for lunch, yo? I’m feelin’ a burger myself.” He slammed the door and I put the car into reverse, easing my way out of the parking lot.
“Seatbelt, Joe. Yeah, McDonald’s sounds pretty good right now, I’ve got a few bucks.” I heard the click of his seat belt and I pulled onto the abnormally empty drive.
“Sounds like a plan. Stoked ‘bout the party?” We sped along the highway a bit faster than the posted speed limit, my old Toyota making unnatural noises.
“I need some off time, I’ve been working all week, time to just kick back, you know? Is that girl you’ve been seeing coming or is she ditching you again? What’s her name, Linda, Lindy…?”
“Lindsey,” He replied with a hint of annoyance. “You’ve met her a few times, you should know by now. I dunno yet, she might have to work late. ” We pulled into the local feeding trough, as was a fitting title to the McDonald’s. I argued with the IQ impaired drive-thru worker about the amount of pickles on my Big Mac and took requests from the joker next to me. With only a short scuffle between Joe and the pay window drone, we were on our way back to the apartment.
…
“So are you seeing anyone?” The red haired thirty-something guy next to me asked. The sounds of the party not quite as overbearing as they were three drinks ago, I replied in an easy tone.
“Me? Nah, not right now, I’m not that great with relationships, always was. I usually get treated like a dog by most girls. Kinda jealous of Joe, he’s got this really neat girl; they’ve been goin’ at it for a while, couple’a months I guess. Lindsey, I think her name is. Re-e-e-ally neat girl.” I took another sip and look around the party.
“Well, that’s cool, good for him. Actually, that’s my fiancé’s name, small world.”
I gazed at him in drunken stupor “Whoa, small world, huh? Hey! Hey, Joe!” Joe answered unintelligibly from the back of the kitchen. I heard a stumble and the clink of glasses. “Hey, this guy’s girl’s name’s Linda too!”
“Lindsey, Kevin, Lindsey,” he laughed, slurring his words. I looked across the room as the door swung open and a short, blonde girl of about twenty-five strutted in, leather bag swinging from her bare shoulder.
“Well, speak of the devil,” I exclaimed, not knowing what I was getting myself, and more importantly, Joseph, into. I felt the man on the couch next to me tense up. I turned to him and exclaimed “She’s a looker, ain’t she? Boy, they look good together.” The man was sweating, his jaw clenched. He replied with a rough, guttural noise. Joe went up to kiss her, holding her tightly, unaware of the 200 pound man next to me grabbing up his beer bottle and charging like an enraged pit-bull. My vision swam as realization hit me.
I couldn’t help him. I could only watch. The five rum and cokes in my system weren’t letting me do anything but stare and scream, just as everyone else in the room. They roared across the apartment, slamming into the walls, the floors, the people. Broken glass and crimson rain poured from Joe’s face as the man obliterated the half-empty Corona bottle against his mask of surprise and terror. Muffled curses and groans emitted from the struggle. With a primal roar the man grabbed the back of Joe’s head and sent it careening into the sheetrock next to my bedroom door, barely missing the frame. I stumbled off of the torn sofa, feebly protesting, as a Pomeranian against Mastiffs. The twin combatants took the fight into the kitchen, bowling over bystanders like tenpins. Joe’s form bounced repeatedly off of the counters and floor, a mere toy in the jaws of a beast.
By the time the fight was finally broken up, the cops had been called and an ambulance was on its way. I stumbled over to Joe’s limp form, holding his head up off of the linoleum. He coughed and a tiny shower of warmth spewed from his mouth.
“How’zat fer a party crasher, eh?” He mumbled. The man had already booked it, Lindsey and a fair portion of the party goers with him. I can’t remember much after that, just the sirens, the questions, the panic and shake of alcohol and adrenaline, the smell of the hospital like disease and age, the ruined form of my friend.
Joeseph had made some stupid choices in his life, and I always helped him out. We had known each other for a good portion of our lives and I was always the one saving his ***. This time, I had caused quite the opposite effect. The only thing left to do was to lay by his side with my tail between my legs. I could have stopped it, I could have helped him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t bite back. I couldn’t fight like a true companion. All that I could manage was to run to the end of my chain and bark.
Good dog. Sit. Stay. Good dog.
I sat on the edge of my chair, hot tears staining my face. The ever present and ever clichéd question of “How” was churning and writhing in my mind. Joseph lay motionless on the hospital bed, looking as something not of this world. Tubes and wires protruded from his skin, face bandaged, head shaven. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t lay eyes upon what I was responsible for, what I had caused. I stared on as the door opened, trying not to notice the police officer strutting in. He didn’t need to prod, but he did. “Looks like he enjoyed himself,” he shot “Want to tell me what went down?” Grudgingly, I exposed my belly in a submissive manner and recounted my tale.
…
“Yo! Hurry up, we’re gonna be late, Kev,” Joseph yelled into the receiver.
“We’ll be fine, settle down,” I glanced in the mirror as I took another stroke with my razor, removing the stubble from my cheek. “You know, we wouldn’t have this problem if you had a car.” I finished shaving and waltzed into the kitchen, dropping my razor and empty lotion and shaving cream cans into the trash bin on my way to the freezer.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep rubbin’ it in. You know it was all that jackass’ fault. I’d be rollin’ as high as you are if that prick hadn’t picked a fight with me.”
“Joe, I was there, both of you were being jerks. And is it just me, or is a fist fight not that smart whilst one is driving?” I rummaged around in the freezer for something to eat. The only thing I could find was another Hot Pocket. This was my sixth in three days; I should probably go shopping soon, I was tired of choking down that manufactured meat, it was only fit for dogs.
“Details, details. At any rate, you done gussying up so we can get this show on the road? I’m friggin’ starvin’ and I’m itchin’ for a party. Who’s buying tonight? Garrett?”
“No, Julia. The liquor store’s on the way to the apartment from her way, so she’ll handle it. Anyway, I’ll be there in about an hour, and don’t complain, we won’t be late.” I threw the frozen abomination into the microwave. The only other edible objects in the apartment were a box of dried pasta and a leather boot. Right now, I’d rather consume the latter. I had eaten most of everything else the day before. I stared at the spent bag of bagels, empty jar of peanut butter and used up, half-crushed soda cans in the trash. My stomach rumbled and I immediately felt angry at myself for working out this morning without eating first. Even my energy supplements were gone. There was a box of fish sticks in the freezer, but those were for the party goers.
“But Ke-e-e-e-vi-i-i-i-n, I’m hu-u-u-u-ngry-y-y-y! Hurry it up, dawg. If we’re late to your own party, then I’ll never forgive you.”
“Ha, whatever you say. See you in a bit.”
“Yeah, later.” The line clicked off and I closed my cell phone, setting it on the counter. I strolled to the door, slipping my shoes on in the entryway. I hurdled down the steps to the parking lot, almost tripping on a trim board on the way down. Someone had already done so, as there was a scrap of denim attached to one of the protruding nail heads. My car waited for me on the sunny side of the building, the mid-afternoon light gracing its not-so-immaculate surface. I really should get the thing washed. I snagged the communal piece of oil stained cardboard from behind the stairwell and slid it under the rusted frame of my Toyota. A half an hour later, a new oil filter was in, with only an old souvenir t-shirt any worse for wear. I bolted back up the steps after replacing the cardboard and tossed the plastic tub I’d used for the old oil in the dumpster. After dressing in a battered pair of jeans and a light green t-shirt, I headed out the door, grabbing my phone, keys and CD player from the kitchen counter. I paused only to stare forlornly at the contents, or lack thereof, of my refrigerator. All that remained were scraps fit for animals.
…
“What took ya so long? I was sittin’ on my *** for almost an hour.” Joe reported.
“You, my friend, are one of the most impatient people I know.” He climbed into the passenger seat, upholstery groaning under his weight.
“What’s for lunch, yo? I’m feelin’ a burger myself.” He slammed the door and I put the car into reverse, easing my way out of the parking lot.
“Seatbelt, Joe. Yeah, McDonald’s sounds pretty good right now, I’ve got a few bucks.” I heard the click of his seat belt and I pulled onto the abnormally empty drive.
“Sounds like a plan. Stoked ‘bout the party?” We sped along the highway a bit faster than the posted speed limit, my old Toyota making unnatural noises.
“I need some off time, I’ve been working all week, time to just kick back, you know? Is that girl you’ve been seeing coming or is she ditching you again? What’s her name, Linda, Lindy…?”
“Lindsey,” He replied with a hint of annoyance. “You’ve met her a few times, you should know by now. I dunno yet, she might have to work late. ” We pulled into the local feeding trough, as was a fitting title to the McDonald’s. I argued with the IQ impaired drive-thru worker about the amount of pickles on my Big Mac and took requests from the joker next to me. With only a short scuffle between Joe and the pay window drone, we were on our way back to the apartment.
…
“So are you seeing anyone?” The red haired thirty-something guy next to me asked. The sounds of the party not quite as overbearing as they were three drinks ago, I replied in an easy tone.
“Me? Nah, not right now, I’m not that great with relationships, always was. I usually get treated like a dog by most girls. Kinda jealous of Joe, he’s got this really neat girl; they’ve been goin’ at it for a while, couple’a months I guess. Lindsey, I think her name is. Re-e-e-ally neat girl.” I took another sip and look around the party.
“Well, that’s cool, good for him. Actually, that’s my fiancé’s name, small world.”
I gazed at him in drunken stupor “Whoa, small world, huh? Hey! Hey, Joe!” Joe answered unintelligibly from the back of the kitchen. I heard a stumble and the clink of glasses. “Hey, this guy’s girl’s name’s Linda too!”
“Lindsey, Kevin, Lindsey,” he laughed, slurring his words. I looked across the room as the door swung open and a short, blonde girl of about twenty-five strutted in, leather bag swinging from her bare shoulder.
“Well, speak of the devil,” I exclaimed, not knowing what I was getting myself, and more importantly, Joseph, into. I felt the man on the couch next to me tense up. I turned to him and exclaimed “She’s a looker, ain’t she? Boy, they look good together.” The man was sweating, his jaw clenched. He replied with a rough, guttural noise. Joe went up to kiss her, holding her tightly, unaware of the 200 pound man next to me grabbing up his beer bottle and charging like an enraged pit-bull. My vision swam as realization hit me.
I couldn’t help him. I could only watch. The five rum and cokes in my system weren’t letting me do anything but stare and scream, just as everyone else in the room. They roared across the apartment, slamming into the walls, the floors, the people. Broken glass and crimson rain poured from Joe’s face as the man obliterated the half-empty Corona bottle against his mask of surprise and terror. Muffled curses and groans emitted from the struggle. With a primal roar the man grabbed the back of Joe’s head and sent it careening into the sheetrock next to my bedroom door, barely missing the frame. I stumbled off of the torn sofa, feebly protesting, as a Pomeranian against Mastiffs. The twin combatants took the fight into the kitchen, bowling over bystanders like tenpins. Joe’s form bounced repeatedly off of the counters and floor, a mere toy in the jaws of a beast.
By the time the fight was finally broken up, the cops had been called and an ambulance was on its way. I stumbled over to Joe’s limp form, holding his head up off of the linoleum. He coughed and a tiny shower of warmth spewed from his mouth.
“How’zat fer a party crasher, eh?” He mumbled. The man had already booked it, Lindsey and a fair portion of the party goers with him. I can’t remember much after that, just the sirens, the questions, the panic and shake of alcohol and adrenaline, the smell of the hospital like disease and age, the ruined form of my friend.
Joeseph had made some stupid choices in his life, and I always helped him out. We had known each other for a good portion of our lives and I was always the one saving his ***. This time, I had caused quite the opposite effect. The only thing left to do was to lay by his side with my tail between my legs. I could have stopped it, I could have helped him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t bite back. I couldn’t fight like a true companion. All that I could manage was to run to the end of my chain and bark.
Good dog. Sit. Stay. Good dog.