Yeah, I'm starting to feel I shouldn't have left that at home today. Definitely a mistake, I think to myself as the world around me goes black. The gravel and twigs in the soil beneath my hands become surprisingly soft, where once they were rough; it is only after I try to move that I realize I can feel nothing at all. Soon the ground as well has disappeared, sending me spinning out of control and into a dark abyss… my sense of balance, place and direction, all lost. Footsteps on an earthen floor resound from somewhere nearby – yet far off, as if I am listening from underwater – followed by my brother’s voice: “So long, kid.” More words are spoken, but they get scrambled somewhere on the way from my ears to my brain, and my own thoughts are slowing down… trickling lazily out of my head like syrup… no longer a torrent but a whisper.
Did I leave it at home or did he take it from me?
Hello, Mom.
* * *
One after another, those ugly yellow buses passed by me as I turned the corner onto Amberton Pike from the high school parking lot, mindlessly watching the sidewalk go by underneath my feet. Only seldom would I ever see a familiar face through one of those dirty bus windows, and less often still would they notice me; I had, by that point, grown accustomed to not even looking. As always, out of boredom, I began to count the number of steps it would take me to traverse each rectangular section of concrete. One, two. One, two. One, two… three? I quickly and deliberately took one big step to get myself over the next crack. Inconsistency always bothered me.
Becoming suddenly self-conscious of the way I was walking, I thought I heard someone in a passing car laugh at me. Awkwardly, I looked around, saw nothing of interest, then directed my attention back down to the sidewalk. I had a bad habit of looking down instead of forward when I walked, even in the hallways at school. Still, it probably wasn’t a habit worth breaking, so I tried not to worry too much. I still knew where I was going. Besides, had I ever tripped over anything? Not once. After briefly looking up again, as I hurried across a street, I retreated back into my own thoughts to pass the time. Walking home by myself was lonely, sometimes, but I considered myself lucky that I lived close enough to the school to avoid taking the bus. I would rather walk alone than get carsick in front of two dozen of my peers.
Not that I had ever been very popular, anyway. I rarely ever spoke unless spoken to, I left school during lunch to avoid sitting with people in the cafeteria, and I had already learned that the best way to deal with gym class was to attract as little attention as possible. The problem was not that I was overweight, unathletic or out of shape. I simply had asthma and a lack of confidence. I knew it wasn’t my fault that I was unable to run for more than two minutes without gasping for air. I also knew that nobody wanted to hear whose fault it wasn’t. My mother kept telling me to remember to bring my inhaler to gym class with me, but I would never use it in front of the other students. I was better off not participating at all… pretending to be lazy, just as I often pretended to be dumb when someone turned to me for answers in class, hoping I would play along as the stereotypical nerd.
Lack of confidence, I thought, was the real problem all along. That’s what happens when you grow up as a punching bag. The fact that I hadn’t been beaten up since I was a little kid meant nothing.
Without looking up, I turned away from the main street just after the second traffic light, as I always had, to take a shortcut through part of a large wooded area that spanned across several properties. Instead of following the roads, I could cut through the trees and end up right in my back yard. These woods were a nice change of scenery after spending the past seven hours inside the controlled, depressing environment of a public school building. For a while, at least, I could pretend that I was apart from civilization, away from home, and safe from the bad memories attached to anything and everything familiar. The outside world was hidden from view, and there was much to be explored. This was the place to be, on quiet spring afternoons, when the only sounds to be heard were of one’s own breathing and the gently flowing water of the nearby creek.
On most days, the occasional sound of a bird retreating from my presence would also break the silence as I entered the woods. This time, there were no signs of life at all, nor even the slightest gust of wind. Subconsciously taking note of this, I didn’t question it. It was only when I thought I heard another set of footsteps nearby that I stopped and looked up from the ground. Holding my breath and looking in every direction, I searched the surrounding trees for any sign of movement. There was nothing. Nervously, I watched the area behind me until I was reasonably sure that I was not being followed. Everything was so perfectly still, like a painting.
But as I turned back around to continue on my way, something moved in the corner of my eye, causing me to stop and look back again. Stepping out from behind a tree, some forty feet behind me, was a tall figure holding something in his hand. Though startled, my first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t seen him… to mind my own business and hope he was going the other way. Looking ahead, I gradually quickened my pace, but not long after I started walking, I could hear his footsteps behind me again, now a constant, heavy pounding in the dirt. He was running. Who the hell was he?
As I peered over my shoulder to get a better look at his face, my eyes were drawn instead to the object he was holding: It looked like a small axe, like the kind used for splitting wood. For a moment, I could not believe what I was seeing. Fear so suddenly shot through my whole body that I could hardly hold in the scream that was trying to fight its way out. My heart was already racing as I broke into a run, heading deeper into the woods, towards home, to escape him. Still, the man came ever closer, and after only a few seconds, I had already become exhausted. It was the extra weight on my back. Just as my attacker came within an arm’s length of me and raised the axe to take a swing, I shook my backpack off of my shoulder and threw it to the ground. Suddenly thirty pounds lighter, I sprinted away from him, jumping over roots and ducking under boughs with every breath.
I could hear him just behind me, cursing as he tripped and stumbled over rocks and bushes and uneven ground, while I already knew exactly where to step. I knew every inch of ground along the path I’d always taken, and for a moment, I was hopeful. I even thought I heard him fall down, once or twice, but nothing seemed to slow him down for long. Every time I dodged a low-hanging branch, or pushed through a thick patch of underbrush, I heard him effortlessly cutting through it with the axe, coming closer to the back of my head with every swing. With the sun behind us, I could soon see his shadow stretching out in front of me, reaching half as far as my own.
Knowing I could not outrun him much longer, I made a sharp turn around a nearby tree, hoping that I was indeed more agile than someone who seemed so much larger. To my surprise, he fell behind rather quickly, and as I continued to zigzag between each tree trunk, his footsteps became softer. Taking a chance at running headfirst into a tree, I glanced again over my shoulder to see him slowing down to a casual walk, the splitting axe hanging at his side, as if he had given up. Still frightened, I kept running until he was completely out of sight, but the long sprint and the sudden excitement had taken its toll on me. It was becoming more difficult to breathe.
Coming to a dead stop, I bent over, struggling to get some air into my lungs and calm myself down. I could hear the blood rushing through my head, my heart pounding out of control. But before I could even reach into my pocket for my asthma medication, the man with the axe stepped out in front of me. I didn’t want to believe it, but there he was, standing right between me and the way home. I had a better look at him, now: The long blond hair, his muscular, yet slender, almost feminine figure, and eyes that seemed to stare straight through me. Something about him was so familiar, now that I had a chance to see his face, but he was no less terrifying. Calmly, he stood there, waiting for me to make the first move.
In no condition to defend myself, all I could do was take off in the other direction, knowing he would chase after me again. I was much slower than before, yet somehow, I still managed to stay just ahead of him, as if he were toying with me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I would last. The cramp in my side felt like a bullet lodged in my stomach. My asthma had never allowed me very much physical activity, and this was more than I could handle. Running up alongside me, the man took a swing at me with his axe, forcing me to turn and run off in another direction, and then another as he intercepted me on the other side. It seemed like he was trying to get me lost, and it was working. Too panicked to stop and look for familiar landmarks, I already had no idea where I was, or which direction to go. I just kept running, endlessly, not knowing if I’d ever make it out of the woods alive.
Momentary relief finally came when the sound of his footsteps suddenly faded away a second time. Praying that I had somehow lost him, I leaned against a nearby tree to catch my breath, cautiously watching out of the corner of my eye for any sign of movement. There was no one in sight, and I wondered how the hell he could have disappeared so quickly. It took me a few seconds to realize that there was a large object on the ground a few feet away from me. It was my backpack. He had been leading me in a circle.
Suddenly, I heard a strange noise, and before I could even guess what it was, something hit the tree just inches from my head. Terrified, I shot away from the trunk and fell to the ground. When I looked up, I could see the axe embedded in the side of the tree. Farther off in another direction, I could see the man walking quickly and silently in my direction. My instincts told me to run, but I was too exhausted to move. My airways were constricted, and every breath must have sounded like my last. My legs were shaking. In a panic, I began to crawl away from him, unable to get on two feet without falling. When I reached the spot where I had dropped my belongings, I stopped and looked back. Without breaking his constant gaze into my eyes, the man reached out with one arm and pulled the axe from the tree has he passed it. It was then that I finally recognized him. I knew why he looked so familiar.
* * *
“Hey kid,” the man said, as I backed away from him on all fours, propping myself up against another tree trunk. I tried to stand up and failed… gasped for air, and got none. It felt like my lungs were getting smaller and smaller, while the rest of my body was demanding more and more oxygen. I had experienced more than enough asthma attacks to know that it would only get worse if I kept running.
“Nicolas?” I said weakly. I was getting dizzy.
“Anthony,” he said back. “Buddy. I knew you hadn’t forgotten me. I’m sure you wanted to though.” His voice quickly went from friendly to furious. “You thought I wouldn’t come back? You thought those ten years would be forever?” My mind was deluged with a waterfall of memories that I had tried so hard to forget. “I bet you thought you’d be tougher by the time I got out. Looks like you were wrong.”
“What do you want from me?” I asked, gasping for air. My chest was beginning to hurt. The only way to offset the terrible feeling of suffocation was to inhale as deeply as I could, but I already felt like my rib cage was in a vice. “What do you want?”
“I want a fucking decade of my life back. But you can’t give me that, can you?” Stopping just inches in front of me, he squatted down on the ground to face me eye-to-eye, and pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket. The house still smelled of them years after he had gone. I almost miss the putrid odor, the way the scent lingered on him always. It was on his breath, even now, and I could smell it before he even lit the match. “I was released just today. Two weeks before scheduled, I know, but good behavior always has its rewards. Mom wasn’t expecting me to show up at the house after lunch today. Did you know she’s been planning to sell it?” He took a long drag from the cigarette and held it in for a few seconds, staring into my eyes. “I loved that house,” said Nicolas, the smoke spilling from his mouth and nose as he spoke.
My eyes, for some time now, had been fixed on the axe, which was now hanging from his belt. Realizing that he had no immediate intentions of hurting me, I reached into my pocket for my asthma inhaler. It wasn’t there.
“Some part of me expected her to give me a hug, when I arrived… you know, be all friendly. We’re family, after all,” said Nicolas, while I frantically checked my other pockets to no avail. Any hopes of staying calm were now lost, along with any chance of controlling my breathing without the medication. “And I wanted to make amends, but she would never apologize, would she? You know how she is. She just told me to leave.” Reaching over to my backpack, I opened it and felt around inside. It was nowhere to be found. “Are you looking for something?” he asked.
I stared at him, breathing heavily, unable to speak.
“So she told me to leave,” he continued, looking off into the distance. “And then she started crying. I told her she had no right to be upset, that she wasn’t the one who lost a part of her life… that I had never cried, not once. I told her what I thought of her, and I told her I should have stayed with Father, and I asked why she had always blamed me, and not herself, for the way I was raised.” His eyes drifted back to my horrified face. “She went into her room when I told her I was going to pick you up from school… and… Jesus, Anthony, I think she shot herself.”
My heart skipped a beat inside my chest, but he continued without stopping, without even showing a single shred of emotion. “Things just never go as planned, for some people. Me, on the other hand…” He put the cigarette to his mouth again and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke in my face. I coughed, tried to speak, and coughed again, gasping for air after each painful spasm in my chest. My vision began to go dark, for a moment, followed by that lightheaded feeling that I sometimes get when I stand up too fast. It hadn’t ever happened to me while I was sitting down, before.
“You were the one who called the cops that night, weren’t you?” he asked. “Good kid, Anthony. I think you did the right thing.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and more surprisingly, a bit of sincerity. “You know I wouldn’t have done anything, though. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Mom was just scared.” He put his face closer to mine and blew more smoke into my mouth as I tried to inhale. “I suppose it was my fault for having an unregistered weapon. But… damn it, Anthony, the drugs weren’t even mine. The way things went down was just unfair. Do you know what it’s like to spend ten years in jail for losing your temper? If she had just listened to me, there wouldn’t have been a problem. None of this would have happened, you would never have picked up that phone, and I wouldn’t have to do this to you.”
Still coughing and gasping for air, I looked down at the axe again. He noticed, and chuckled.
“Oh, that? No, there’s no need for that. It’s for show. I was just having a bit of fun. I’m not going to hurt you at all. I’m not stupid, Anthony, and I’m not like I was before. Prison changed me.” Indeed it had. I hadn’t recognized him right away because he had gotten so thin; he was a bit taller than he used to be, but so much of his muscle mass was gone. It was the opposite of what I had expected, and I began to wonder how he survived.
“Look,” said Nicolas, staring down at his hands, “I’m sorry I used to beat you up as a kid. I’m really not like that anymore. After being in jail for ten years, I’ve realized that all those other people in there – fucking animals, you know, goddamn savages – well, I could be like them or I could be better. Understand?” He took another puff from the cigarette and blew it into my face as if it were nothing. “Trying to be tougher than everyone else… that’s not the way to be. It’s not about being tough, it’s about being quick. It’s about being smart, more than anything. You know that, Anthony, don’t you? You know that better than anyone I’ve ever known. If you’re smart, you don’t need to be tough. There’s always a better way to get what you want.” More smoke in my face. “There’s always an easy way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, managing to croak out four words before coughing again.
“If I chop you up and leave you in the woods, I’ll go back to jail again, Anthony. If I even lay a finger on you… how would it look if you’re murdered right after they release me? That would be careless. Suicides and accidents don’t raise any suspicion, though.” I tried to hold my breath as he blew more smoke it my face. My heart was still racing as if I had never stopped running. “And after all,” said Nicolas, “I have to make you pay for those ten years, somehow. I was afraid you had grown out of your little weaknesses, but I guess not.” All I could think about was that familiar smell that kept entering my nose. All those memories.
“Cigarette?” He held out his hand. I stared at it, expressionless, as my breathing became more shallow, less pronounced. Without thinking, I reached one more time into my pocket for my inhaler, felt nothing, and pulled my hand out again. I must have left it at home. “Tough luck, buddy. You know, you really shouldn’t run around so much. It’s bad for you.” He paused, and sighed quietly. “Do me a favor, will ya? Say hi to mom for me.” He stood up and turned away.
For the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of dying. Never before did I ever imagine it would happen like this. All I needed was my medicine, and without it... Was it that easy? Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have left it at home today. Definitely a mistake… but I could have sworn I had taken it with me. I had put it in my backpack… in the front pocket… right where I had just checked. But it was gone. Had I really left it at home or had he taken it from me? Of course he had. He wouldn’t have taken any chances. There are no accidents.
Slowly, that lightheaded feeling began to return, and as my next breath escaped my lungs, the world around me went black. The gravel, twigs and soil beneath my hands turned to pins and needles, as my fingers went numb, then disappeared. Soon the ground as well had vanished, sending me spinning out of control and into a dark abyss… my sense of balance, place and direction, all lost. Footsteps on an earthen floor resounded from somewhere nearby – yet far off, like a distant childhood memory – followed by my brother’s voice: “So long, kid.” More words were spoken, but they got scrambled somewhere on the way from my ears to my brain, and my own thoughts began slowing down… trickling lazily out of my head like syrup… no longer a torrent but a whisper.
And then, a moment of clarity.
“Hello, Mom.”
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