Sedatives, Whiskey & Apples

The two of us, one bottle of sedatives and a glass of whiskey sit here taking account of our life at this moment.  There are trees carrying the weight of the limbs bearing fruit falling occasionally with little effort.

I’m driving when a cop turns on his flashing lights. Amused I pull over, turn the ignition off, fiddle with the glove box, knowing how cops hate this activity.  Ma’am he says, please keep your hands where I can see them.  I look at my bitten fingernails, thinking when was the last time I had them manicured for such an encounter with the cops.  He asks the customary questions, license, and registration, insurance, all of which I fumble to find in my old Chevy, a gift from a previous relationship long ago.  He glances in my back seat at my trash and empty cigarette packs, lucky I threw the beer and empty whiskey bottles out at the last hotel.  He comes back with my license and asks if I know why he stopped me.  I am so tempted to reply “You wanted a blow job?” but I restrain myself and say “no”.  He said something about speeding and letting me off with a warning, winking at me as he gives back my license.  I put the car into 1st and leave gravel spewing behind.

I take another sedative and swig of whiskey, watching an apple fall from the tree.

The little boy was screaming as the waves took him farther out to the ocean.  His little blond head bobbing on top of the waves less and less as time went by.  Finally a jet skier pulled the boy up out of the water.  The boy looked both frightened and relieved to be safe in the arms of his rescuer.  The sun was just setting, allowing the boy to see his worried parents waving frantically on the beach. There was a chill in the air, happy hour was ending as I grabbed one more whiskey sour and walked to the cabana just in time to watch the sun kiss the ocean.

She never saw it, the truck barreling down the road as she discussed the birth of her grandchild.  The cop held onto the handle of the truck, the driver slammed into her vehicle. Her slippers neatly placed next to her husbands beside her bed at home.  I flipped off the cop and walked away.

The glass of whiskey is getting heavy.   The sedatives are holding strong. The dog is barking at the window, life is time.

He sits beneath his favorite tree pondering his tomorrows and forgetting his yesterdays.  He knows he will have fewer tomorrows than yesterdays and knows the glass of whiskey is half empty. The game is in its third quarter.  Why hasn’t the game gone further?  It has been days now and still the game is in its third quarter.  He hears a voice say the game is over and has been for quite sometime.  But he thinks how could this be?  He still has half a glass of whiskey and the game is in its third quarter.  There is no fourth quarter. Is today yesterday or tomorrow?   The sports paper recounts nothing of the game.

The ice in my glass is melting slowing.  The sedatives are now fewer in my container.  Dog has stopped barking.  More apples have fallen, making a soft thump onto the darkening soft earth.

I see her hiding in a corner, out of the sight from city pedestrians.  She has big brown eyes, twirling her pony-tail aimlessly with her fingers.  She doesn’t speak a word but watches intently as people walk too close by.  Something about her tells you not to speak or step into her carefully visible corner.  Something is lurking close to this child, but helpless, I too walk away.  The girl seems not to notice and continues to twirl her hair watching the people walk by within her grasp, yet she remains safely hidden in plain sight.

We are on our last journey as the whiskey is close to empty and in need of a refill.  Sedatives are holding up remarkably well.  Dog has grown tired of watching apples falling and has retired to the couch in doors.

A crowd gathered watching intently.  Who was he?  Was he alive?  Where did he come from?  Surely he wasn’t from this town.  His suit indicated he had a job in a factory outside of a less populated city. He wore shoes that of a working class family man.  But here he was in this old town population of 2089, 2090 if you count the old man on a breathing ventilator waiting for his family to give him his last rights, etc.  No, this man was indeed breathing and beginning to move. With one quick movement, without a word he stood and looked around.  A small white and black dog appeared and joined him, as he walked slowly out of town. He said not a word to the crowd.

The ice has melted, bottle of sedatives empty, the red apples are now laying in the darkness of the soft brown earth.  The dog has now succumbed to sleep, dreams of the tomorrows of basking in the sun.


About crystallball7

Creative,some say "eccentric", dark sense of humor,sensitive. Never the same for too long. Running from lost time. Longing to be on the beach, at the ocean, New England. Afraid of life, extremely afraid of life.
This entry was posted in alter's/colors, bipolar disorder, D.I.D., dissociative identity disorder, latuda, mental health, Mental Illness, MPD, multiple personality disorder, psychology; M.P.D., D.I.D., psychotherapy, "The Enemy",psychologist, Whiskey and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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