Walking out of This World

Eighteen

Days flee from the grasp of October and November, hanging like t-shirts on a clothes line, in my brain. Each one bearing a message for each fleeting day. Classes missed...Homework forgotten...Draining Dad's money from the ATM...Weed exchange...On and On...Everything hidden in a green fog...Gathering them and whisking away memory of another world that I have walked out of. Then, on the last day of November a letter peaks out of my box—from the Office of the Registrar.

The mail slot seems to breath a sigh of relief when I pull the white envelope out of its protective grasp.

The envelope gives up its treasure in the sound of a quick rip. The letter unfolds and straddles the opening between my left and right hands.

My attention is drawn to the defining message neatly typed across the white page.

Subsequent to a comprehensive review of your grades and attendance record, we intend to inform you that your scholarship will not be extended for the winter quarter. If you have questions please call...

Not extended! That phrase rolls around in my brain like a snowball stampeding down an unforgiving hill, picking up layers of white until the impact of it all meets conscious recognition with the message. Boom!

A moment of silence takes hold of every conscious molecule available for thought. Then, a rush of anger explodes in my hands. The letter rolls around closing fingers, its message crushing into a ball that falls to my feet.

I leave the garbage behind and head for the street. The flame from my lighter springs into action at the end of the green smoke. Time to get smooth before I call Dad.

"Good to hear your voice Dad. How's everything on the farm?"

"I'm not complaining."

"And Mom?"

"She misses you, son."

"What's happening on your end?"

"Just had some unexpected news today," I say.

"Shh. Just keep talking."

"What's that?"

"My scholarship ends this quarter."

"How's that? I thought it was good for the year."

"Shh. Lay it all out. You can talk him into helping. Pull out the new start speech."

"I didn't qualify."

"You've been telling me everything was fine."

"Yeah...Well...Maybe not."

"What are you going to do about that?"

"I can improve my grades next quarter and get it back. I just need you to help me out with tuition for winter quarter."

Smothered breathing whispers from his end. The moment twists and his voice shifts into stern mode. "I had a call from your room mate yesterday."

"Warren?"

"Yes...He says you've been smoking some high octane pot for a while."

"Oh...Come on...He's joking!"

"Exactly what I was thinking...until he sent me this picture." Dad forwards the revealing picture to my phone's face.

There I am in all my long hair glory, a bushy beard eating my face beyond normal recognition. A greenie is sticking out from the brown bush.

"I've been watching your bank account. A lot of money has been pouring out. Warren tells me you've been buying that stuff every week."

Old Warren is setting me up for a fall. That's his revenge.

"I stopped payment to the House...You need to come home and get straightened out, son!"

Straightened out! Yeah, I know how to get straightened out!

"Pack your bags. I'll be there tomorrow at around two o'clock to pick you up!"

Plan B.

"Okay, Dad. I'll be ready."

"Shh. Let's get busy."

A crowd of french fries are slumbering around a juicy hamburger. It's my last dinner at the Road House. I'm sitting at a corner table and trying to ignore eye contact with the other guys. My nose is stuck into a book to make this little charade look believable.

I finish and shove my plate and silver ware into the little wash window. I make my way...a nod to a passing brother. No one knows what's rolling around in my brain.

The room is empty. Warren is probably out on some urgent business. He certainly has a lot to attend to...school...business...and of course Tonya. He's obviously behind everything that's going bad with me.

"Shh. Keep your eyes on plan B."

Yeah. Plan B. I think I'll sleep on that one. A quick smoke out the window will keep me going.

One more call. "Hi, Tonya?"

"What's up, John?"

"Lacey's not answering my calls."

"She left, John!"

"Why...How?"

"She lost interest in her classes...Stopped going...kept smoking...dropped out and moved back to New York."

The light in my heart goes pop.

"Ashes...Ashes...Ashes...We all fall down."

"Oh." I tap the red hangup button. I have nothing more to say.

There's nothing left except the cool sheets embracing my body and inviting me into the night, into the depths of what lies beyond a conscious brain.

Web...screaming yellow.

Silky strands collapsing, rotting away into the green haze.

Pumpkin collapsing into the yellow glow, dry and shrinking.

One is lost and wondering down a green trail, around and around.

This is an ending.

Grace...shaking her head...telling me to get cleaned up before I came again.

Walking out and lighting up—smooth.

Warren's looking the other way, refusing to speak, eyes buried in a computer game.

A tomb stone—here lies Lacey's phone. "This number is no longer in service."

Jeff's house twirls into the green mist and evaporates. Friday nights and s'mores...green kisses disappearing into the mist. All going up in smoke.

Turn it offffffffff!

"Ashes...Ashes...We all fall down."

The morning sun forces its way through the window and into my eyes. I rub the remaining tears away with knotted hands.

Dressing and packing consumes my attention.

I stand back, take a look around the corner of the wall that divides us. Warren is gone. A quick look at my watch tells me it's twelve o'clock. I have to get this show on the road!

There is some reasonable sense left for my thinking. I write a note and prop it on top of the suitcase. Thanks, Dad. I'll call when the reasons work out for me.

I put on my winter coat, hoist the back pack into place and walk down the stairs. It's been a trip.

I pause for a moment. I breath out the last Road House air left in my lungs. The grand front door closes behind my back. There's no way back.

"Shh. Let's get on that buss!"