Roadrunner

Chapter 1 When the house cleared and the kids were off to school, his wife off to work, he moved swiftly to his black Nike bag hidden in the garage, unzipping it with the excitement of a child left home alone. So many choices: Percocet, Demoral, and Vicodin for the pain, Xanex and Prozac for the mood swings, Diazapram or Valium to simply sedate. All his. The prescription stickers neatly typed in small black letters, Dellonzo Fletcher with instructions: two times a day, four times a day, two at bedtime, one before bedtime. He decided on a small sample of each, swallowing seven tiny pills from six separate yellow prescription bottles. He grimaced at the bitter taste as the pills disintegrated before he could completely swallow them. Within minutes the numbness had set in, making his limbs feel like flat rubber inner tubes, his mind a hazy fog of irrelevance. It didn't matter. He'd already arranged himself on top of Josh's skinny twin-sized bed, staring up, counting the baseballs on the tan papered walls. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be by a certain time. Off into the peaceful bliss he went floating above the storm cloud his life had become. No paparazzi, no reporters, no questions he couldn't answer. His long lashes comfortably closed over his dark brown eyes. Smooth sailing, riding the waves of oblivion where he was unknown, even to himself. He didn't recognize himself as the man that women used to throw themselves at. Nor the man who commanded more attention than the King of Pop himself when he walked into a packed stadium. Here, he was safe, worry free, until midday, when the smorgasbord began to wear off. Always right on time. He didn't want to die, but by chance if he did, he wouldn't be too upset about it. The hazy Los Angeles sun filtered through the miniblinds. He could sense the hour of the day by the alertness of his mind. Two o'clock, maybe three in the afternoon. Somehow the drugs had made an agreement with his internal clock, knowing precisely when to wear off, knowing exactly when to free his brain. His eyes involuntarily fluttered open. His elbows wobbled as he pulled himself up to focus on his surroundings. Again, the dancing baseballs, gloves, and bats, coordinated with the burnt red color on the upper portion of the wall. A large framed print of Dell himself, sliding into home plate. This was Josh's room. His safe place. Leah, his bride of fifteen years, rarely came down the hall past the point where organization and structure became disheveled, where mess and clutter lurked behind every closed door. Leah had given up making sense out of the household chaos when Josh started kindergarten. She simply asked that the children's doors be kept closed so what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Dell took that for its full meaning. He could hide here as well, blending in with the chaos of dirty clothes, books, and decapitated still figures, Power Rangers, X-men, cars, and dinosaurs with lost seniority. If she ever came home unexpectedly, she'd never think to look for him here. The mess strewn all over the floor faded in and out of foggy waves. He felt wobbly when he stood. His foot twisted on an empty plastic Knott's Berry Farm water bottle. Underneath, Snoopy smirking, Had a wild ride at Knott's. The door, only a few steps away, seemed an infinite distance. He inhaled deeply the mixture of dry musty air, knowing his own breath was partly responsible. Standing with his head sandwiched between the open door, he peered down the long wide hallway before taking his first step out. His feet sunk into the plush thick carpet, making him aware he was back in the real world. The one where elegant wood-framed art lined the wall. On the other side, pictures of the life and family he'd created. His fingers trailed the textured walls as if seeing them for the first time. Dell and Leah fifteen years ago in a wedding portrait. She wearing a white satin dress, smiling broad, and unaThomas, Trisha R. is the author of 'Roadrunner' with ISBN 9780609605844 and ISBN 0609605844.