I watched as people exchanged their hard earned money for glasses full of amber brown beer. It was happy hour and every patron visiting was ordering the cheapest drink, all except for one, me. The price was not a determining factor in my order, but the effectiveness of the drink to drown away life, which is the exact reason the glass in my hand held a couple of fingers of whiskey and not cheap bear. As I reached the bottom of yet another glass, my mind began to wonder.
Where had it all gone? Where was the passion and the desire for life? One day I was reaching for the clouds, striving to grasp the heavens and then the next moment the only thing I wished to grasp was a glass of whiskey. All my dreams vanished, burned away as if they never existed. Yet they did. I remember the feelings, the memories, the view and the pleasure of sweating to accomplish something out of my reach. Now it is all gone. All I can accomplish now is lifting this glass from the bar to my lips. What have I become?
At first I blamed those I loved, my friends and my family. Yet as each day passed, it became clear. I was to blame. I swirled the remnants of the whiskey as it stared deep into my tear glazed drunken eyes. In the faded distance I could hear the bartender asking if I wanted another. My instinct was to nod and continue down the road I knew so well, but I hesitated. My jaw vibrated and I could feel pin pricks of heat behind my eyes.
Before my mind processed what I was doing, my feet were carrying me across the swaying floor. To where I wasn’t quite sure. Then my hands were in front of me pushing open a door. Cold crisp air washed over me and I gulped it in like a man thirsting for water. The air filled my lungs as I clung to the trunk of a tree for support. Then I cried.
Tears flowed down my cheeks as I sobbed. I cried for all the lies I uttered. I cried for all the pain I caused. I cried for all the dreams I killed. I cried for all the memories which never would be, and for the terrible ones I now held. Mostly I cried because the man I once was, the one who held dreams and hopes and true friends, was dead.
The rough tree bark slid between my hands as I lowered myself to the ground. I was still sobbing but my tears were all used up. A metallic clink sounded off to my right and I looked over to see a worn and used quarter spinning chaotically on the sidewalk. A small girl stood a few feet away, her hand tightly gripped in her mothers. She had a disgusted look on her face as she gently tugged on her daughter’s hand and gingerly tried coercing her away.
The little girl slipped out of her mothers grip and skipped over to me, throwing her little arms around my neck and hugged me. The mother quickly retrieved her daughter and dragged her away. As fresh tears filled my eyes, I could hear the little girl being scolded by her mother. Through the drunken haze, the glaze of tears and the drum of the street, I watched her walk away and what I heard slip past those tiny lips, I would never forget.
“But mommy, that man is a good man, he is just a little broken.”
Mile 29 