Tomorrow, Yesterday

Chapter 10

          I didn't register anything that happened as I ran. It was just background noise, awful blue-white lights, feet hitting tile, cold night air. The next thing I knew I was in my car, driving down a dark road I only halfway recognized.

          Johnny was dead.

          My hands were shaky, and no matter how hard I gripped the steering wheel they wouldn't stop. My head was pounding. I realized I still hadn't had a cigarette. I needed a smoke. That would make this better. It would make me calm down. At least long enough to get my shit together and cool off.

          I didn't want to cool off. I wanted to explode. I wanted to scream and hurt someone and drive into a gas station and blow up with the rest of the world.

          Johnny was dead.

          Driving was the same. Driving was normal. I was always good at driving. It was always something I liked. But tonight it was awful. It made me sick. Every turn made my stomach lurch and the faster I drove the more dizzying the passing lights became. My ears rang with the constant blaring of horns outside.

          Johnny was dead.

          I shoved my foot down harder on the gas, watching the meter tick up to seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour, faster and faster. Suddenly, I recognized what street I was on. I didn't slow down, but veered into a hard left turn. Around that corner there was a convenience store. I'd been there a few times. Once, Two-Bit and I had showed Johnny the ropes of shoplifting there.

          Johnny...

          I slammed on the brakes and pulled into the parking lot, tired screeching. The sound felt real. I parked the car without any thought, leaving it slanted across three spots in front of the store. There was one worker there, staring at me with wide eyes through the windows. I ignored him.

          Johnny was dead. He was gone.

          I dug around my car for change, or cash, or anything. All I found was a dime and two pennies. And the unloaded heater in the glovebox. I pocketed the coins, then shoved the gun in my waistband. I tried to cover it with my jacket. My hands were shaking. My head was pounding. I couldn't breathe. I wanted a cigarette.

          I didn't want a cigarette, but everything I wanted was gone and I didn't know how to not want. So I wanted a cigarette.

          Johnny had been dying and I left him.

          I walked into the store, hands shoved deep in my pockets. The metal of the gun was cold against my skin. It was real. It felt harsh and cruel and real. I stopped in front of the magazines, trying to catch my breath. I thought I might get something about cars or girls or some shit Steve might like. I could give it to him. I owed him.

          I left Johnny and now he was dead.

          I flipped through the magazines. I noticed some of the pages were bloody. Then I realized that it was because of me. There was blood on my hands and I was getting it everywhere. I wondered whose blood it was. It wasn't Johnny's. He hadn't been bleeding. I decided I didn't really care. The guy at the counter was watching me like a hawk. I wanted to turn around and scream at him to leave me alone but instead I just took another shaky breath and kept looking at the stupid magazines.

          Johnny was dead.

          "Look, buddy, if you're gonna buy something —"

          I whirled around and walked up to the counter. I guess I looked pretty scary because he shut up as soon as I looked at him. I wondered if it was the blood and bruises or if the raging burning screaming anger I felt was showing in my eyes.