Photo by Lee Cartledge on Unsplash
Ray drew a red X across another box on his calendar. Today, he was going to kill himself.
It was the last day of May. The fresh, colorful ambiance of spring still lingered, but the heat had started to settle in, and it was there to stay. Ray hated the summer. Pretty things bloomed in spring. Leaves changed in fall, and there was some novelty in winter's festivities. But summer was hot and stagnant. There was nothing to look forward to in summer but the heat and longer days. Longer days to stay awake and think about all the ways the magic of the season had withered away little by little every year since high school graduation. Ray didn't want to stick around to experience it again.
He took one last look at his apartment. He had spent yesterday making sure it was spotless. He'd swept and vacuumed it three times over, and even cleaned in between the couch cushions for good measure. The last thing he wanted was for people to remember how filthy his apartment was. He knew that once he was gone, none of it would matter, but he cleaned anyway.
Once Ray was satisfied, he grabbed his car keys and stepped outside. The sun blazed in the cloudless sky; it was going to be a hot day. But for now, it was pleasantly cool. Ray inhaled the faint scent of spring flowers. Vestigial traces of the jasmine that grew in his neighbor's garden perfumed the air, and a gentle breeze drifted through the apartment complex.
He unlocked his car and climbed inside. He put the key in the ignition, and it started on the first try.
"So far, so good," he said to himself.
He pulled onto the street and rolled his windows down. The smell of rubber and oil mingled with the scent of flowers. It reminded him of when he was a kid. He and his friends used to run around the neighborhood on weekend afternoons, and they sprayed each other with squirt guns until the streetlights blinked on. The world smelled like wet asphalt afterward, and in those childhood moments, he was happy.
The wind lashed at his face as he accelerated. The smell of flowers faded as he turned onto the main road. The mom-and-pop shops and local restaurants on the street corners were all gone. Now, grocery store chains and corporate restaurants clustered together in strip malls along every block like a succession of gaudy tumors.
One of the only surviving buildings was the local high school, which loomed large in both form and memory as he drove past. It was a compound of red brick buildings and white trailers that looked more likely to contain violent inmates than awkward teenagers. The only indicator to the contrary was the electronic billboard at the entrance. It flashed with bright orange letters that spelled: 'GO SILVER RIVER SALMON!'
Ray and his friends had graduated from Silver River High School eight years ago. They all stuck together ever since they were kids playing with water guns. Back then, they all knew in their hearts that they would all remain friends, long after the caps and gowns came off.
But little by little, they all went their separate ways. Some were accepted into universities out of state. Others got jobs in different towns or moved away with their partners. At first, they kept in touch with text messages and phone calls. But even those grew less frequent until they stopped altogether. Before Ray knew it, he was the only one left in his hometown.
He had never been close to his parents, and school always felt like a sanctuary, even if it did look like a prison from the outside. Once he graduated, there was no more structure in his life, except for his job at the warehouse outside of town, which he worked to support himself when his parents kicked him out after graduation.
Ray left the high school in his rearview mirror and turned right at the intersection. As he sped past the assortment of fast-food joints and grocery stores that lined the road, the gaslight blinked on.
"Shit," Ray muttered, eyeing the yellow symbol on his dashboard. He was so preoccupied with cleaning that he had forgotten to fill his tank the day before.
He pulled into the nearest gas station and parked next to the first vacant pump he found. The day had grown hot, and pearls of perspiration formed on Ray’s forehead as he climbed out of the car. He made his way to the store and walked past the homeless man who leaned against the wall by the automated door. The man looked up at him, but Ray averted his gaze. He felt the man's eyes following him, and the sensation stuck to him like the thin caul of sweat that had formed on the back of his neck.
A cold blast of air washed over Ray as he stepped inside. He got in line tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the teenager in front of him to pay for her soda. He glanced at the door and thought about how the man stewed in the heat as Ray basked in the air-conditioning. He opened his wallet and counted the bills. He had a hundred dollars in all. The teenager finished paying, and Ray approached the counter. He handed one of the bills to the cashier. "Twenty dollars on pump number eight, please."
Ray sensed the homeless man staring at him as he walked out of the store. This time, he stopped and looked him in the eye. Ray flashed him a half-hearted smile. The man smiled back, and his bearded face split into a yellow-toothed grin.
The man opened his mouth to say something, but Ray spoke first. "Here you go, sir," he said, handing the remaining eighty dollars. The man's grey eyes bulged as he counted the bills.
Ray started toward his car. "Have a nice day!"
He opened his gas tank and started to fill his car. When he looked up again, he saw the man approaching him.
"Wait a second," he said, still holding the money. "I can't accept this."
Ray raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"It's too much," He held the money out, but Ray didn't take it. "Thanks, but you might need this later."
"I won't. Trust me," Ray said. His mouth twitched into half a smile.
"No offense," the man said, "but the people who can afford to give away eighty dollars at a time usually don't cruise around in Hondas that have been around since George W’s first term in office.”
Ray's smile grew wider “I insist."
The man kept his hand outstretched.
Ray sighed and took the money back. "I tried."
"I appreciate it," the man said. "My name's Albert. Everyone calls me Al."
"Ray," he said. They shook hands. "Shit, now I just feel bad. At least let me give you a twenty or something."
Al held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, I'll tell you what. I'm feeling a bit hungry. I'd be more than happy with a sandwich and soda."
Ray's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He had been so focused on his plans that he had skipped dinner the night before, and he hadn't eaten breakfast either. Al had distracted him from his thoughts, and the familiar ache of hunger crept in as soon as he let his guard down. He eyed the store again but thought better of it. It was his last day on earth, and he’d be goddamned if his last meal was going to be a gas station hot dog. “I know a diner down the road from here. You want something from there?"
"Sure," Al said. "Why not?"
Ray finished refilling the tank and climbed into the car.
“Hop in,” he called to Al.
Al slid into the passenger seat. Ray started the car again and turned onto the main road.
"So, what's so special about this diner?" Al asked as he buckled his seatbelt.
"Does there have to be something special about it?”
"I guess not," Al said. "But it has to be more special than any of those fast-food restaurants we just blew past."
"It's called Martin's," Ray said. "It's been around since I was a kid."
"You're a local, then?"
"Yeah," Ray replied. "You?"
Al guffawed. "No, no. I travel around a lot. But I'm always ready to try some of the local cuisine."
"Local cuisine is when Louisiana crawfish crawl out of the mud in time for gumbo season," Ray said. "The place we're going to is more of the pancake and greasy sandwich variety."
Al shrugged. "I'll take it."
Ray spotted the diner just as Al finished speaking. He pulled into the lot and parked the car.
Ray climbed out of the car and squinted against the sunlight that reflected off the tin roof of the red brick building. The faint glow of fluorescent lights filtered dully through the large rectangular windows that surrounded the diner.
"Looks like a nice place," Al said as he followed Ray to the entrance.
The smell of bacon and burned pancake batter washed over them as they walked inside. An old Hank Williams song played faintly through the speakers. Ray led Al to an empty booth by one of the windows. They sat down, and the hair on Ray's neck prickled at the wary glances and mutterings of the other patrons.
"It's alright," Al said. "I have that effect on people."
"That's not fair," Ray said. He felt embarrassed as the words came out of his mouth. He sounded like a child complaining about not getting his way.
"Maybe not," Al said. "But it is what it is. And besides, it doesn't mean that they're bad people. After all, you couldn't look me in the eye a few minutes ago, and now, we're eating lunch together!"
"I'm sorry," Ray said, grimacing. "I shouldn't have ignored you like that."
"It's already forgotten," Al said. He reached for the menus tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers. He handed one to Ray. "Now, let's see what this place has to offer, shall we?"
Ray was hungry, but Al was ravenous. He wolfed down his food almost as soon as the waitress delivered it to their table. He drowned his pancakes in syrup and butter, then dove in with reckless abandon.
"You might want to eat faster," Ray said as he reached for a piece of bacon. "If you don't inhale that entire stack in under a minute, the cooks might think you don't like their food."
"Sorry," Al said. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth; droplets of syrup clung to his unruly beard like flecks of dew. "It's been a while since I've had a good meal. This hits the spot."
"Tell me about it," Ray said as he chewed the bacon. "Me and my friends used to come here all the time. One time, we came here around midnight when we were coming down from an acid trip. I swear to God, my hash browns looked like they were squirming around like a pile of maggots!" He watched as Al's fork stopped short of his mouth. "Sorry, probably not the best thing to bring up while we're eating."
"No need to apologize," Al said, smiling. Believe it or not, I've seen my fair share of maggoty food over the years. Anyway, that sounds like a bad trip."
Ray finished the bacon and picked up his coffee mug. "Far as I'm concerned, Life's a bad trip."
"I don't know if I'd agree with that," Al said. He finished his pancakes and moved on to a plate of sausage links, buttered toast, and runny eggs. "Granted, there's a lot of suffering in the world. There's a ton of broken hearts and the like. You'll find no disagreement there. But as a wise man once said, there's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."
"I think I've heard that before," Ray said as he sipped his coffee. "Is that from a Red Hot Chili Peppers song or something?"
"Leonard Cohen."
"Ah," Ray said. His face grew hot with embarrassment, and he suddenly felt the urge to change the subject. "Where did you say you were from again?"
"I didn't," Al replied, mopping up the yolk with a piece of toast. "I used to be a real estate agent in California. I used to have it all. A nice car, a big house with a swimming pool. Even a boat, if you can believe that. Used to take my son fishing with it all the time, and--"
"Hold on," Ray interrupted. "You have a son?"
"A daughter, too," he said."And a wife--well, I suppose she's my ex-wife now. But I haven't heard from any of them in years,” Al slowly nodded, like he was dislodging a misplaced memory lodged in the folds of his brain. "To be honest, I was a pretty shitty husband and an even shittier father. When I wasn’t buying fancy toys, I was busy ignoring my kids and running around with other women under my wife's nose. She knew, of course, but she stayed for the sake of the kids.
"When the recession of '08 happened, we lost a lot, and a few bad financial decisions later, I lost everything else. Thankfully, she took the kids and left before I could drag them down with me. Ever since then, I've been traveling around and surviving by doing what I can." He laughed through a mouthful of toast "A homeless real estate agent. How's that for irony?"
Ray opened his mouth to reply. He thought about telling Al about his own family. He wanted to mention that his experiences at Martin’s diner extended beyond the gritty ending of an acid trip. He wanted to let the old man know that he used to eat breakfast at Martin’s Diner with his mom and dad every Saturday when he was a kid. Back when his dad’s smile was more than a phantom that haunted the corners of his mouth, and his mom still cared enough to get out of bed for more than a few hours.
He pushed the thought out of his head. Even if he told the old man, it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d already made up his mind. Ray nodded at the window, past their distorted reflections in the glass to the world beyond. “And after all you've been through, you're still optimistic about--all of this?"
"Sometimes," Al said. "And sometimes I'm not. But I try to take things as they come in the present moment. And right now, this meal is pretty great." He finished his eggs and took a bite of toast. "What about you? You said you're a local, right? I hope I'm not holding you up from running your errands."
Ray shook his head. "No, it's alright. The only thing I've got planned today is visiting the Silver River Bridge. I thought I'd do a little sightseeing. I don't get out much these days."
"No kidding!" Al exclaimed. "I'm headed there too. I was planning on walking there when things cool down in the evening. There's a homeless community in the woods next to the bridge. A friend I met during my travels was heading there last I heard, so I figured I'd stop by when I passed through. Say, if it isn’t any trouble would you mind if I hitched a ride?"
Ray hesitated. Letting someone hitch a ride to the same place he was headed to wasn’t part of his plans.
“I don’t mean to impose,” Al added. “I don’t mind getting there some other way.”
Ray already knew the answer. He didn’t need to feel guilty about refusing to give him a ride. He’d done so much for the old man already. They were eating food that he’d bought, for Chrissake. There was no need to be awkward about it. He wasn’t being rude in the slightest. All he had to do was look Al in the eye and say—
“Sure, I don’t mind.”
“Wonderful,” Al said cheerfully. “Thank you! You’ve saved me many hours of walking, young man.”
“Yeah,” Ray said, equal parts furious and confused with himself. It was as if the words had leaped out of his mouth before he had a chance to think.
They ate until their bellies were full and the plates were clean. Ray paid for the meal with two crisp twenties and told the waitress to keep the change.
Al let out a satisfied belch once they reached the car. "That was delicious."
"Yeah," Ray said absently as he started the engine.
The drive to the bridge passed without many words exchanged between them. Al tried to continue the conversation they started at the diner. But Ray only replied with an occasional, half-hearted grunt or nod. The meal was a nice distraction, but now, his grim task was in front of him again; it was the only thought he could entertain. He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The greasy meal roiled uneasily inside his belly.
As they neared the bridge, the harsh chirping of cicadas replaced the sounds of the city. The concrete buildings became sparser until they gave way to longleaf pines and magnolia trees with waxy leaves. Ray turned down a pothole-cratered road and squinted against the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the tunnel of foliage above them.
"This road looks pretty rough," Al said.
Ray shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wanted to concentrate on the drive, but the pregnant pause was too much for him to handle. Besides, he felt the need to let Al know that he wasn't taking him down such a dismal road to butcher him and bury him in the woods.
"The Silver River Bridge may as well be a relic at this point," Ray replied. "People have been using it less and less ever since they built a bigger bridge downstream that connects directly to the highway. It wouldn't surprise me if they shut it down for good any day now."
"Everything must come to an end," Al mused.
As Al finished speaking, the arches of the bridge appeared in front of them. Ray drove to the middle of the bridge and parked his car. He didn't say a word to Al as he got out, walked to the edge, and leaned his elbows against the rust-covered railing. The glossolalic chatter of the river below joined the chirping of birds and the cacophonous symphony of cicadas. The river shimmered with a mercurial sheen as it snaked into the distance. Ray looked down and watched the frothing current curl around the smooth stones a hundred feet below.
"Looks like rain," Al said.
Ray jolted in surprise and found Al leaning on the railing next to him, staring into the distance. Ray followed Al's gaze and saw thick grey clouds steadily creeping over the horizon. The far end of the river darkened as the clouds smothered the sunlight.
"Me and my friends used to hang out here all the time back in high school," Ray said. "We used to park right here, smoke weed, drink whatever we could steal from our parents, and tell stupid jokes until the sun came up." he glanced up at what was left of the baby blue sky. "But I guess it's like you said, huh? All good things must come to an end."
"I said everything must come to an end," Al replied. "Good, bad, everything changes, and nothing stays the same. I think it was the Buddha who said that attachment is the root of all suffering."
Ray scoffed. "Everything changes, except for me. My friends, my family, the town--hell, even this bridge--everything is changing, but I'm in the exact place I was eight years ago." His face flushed in embarrassment, and he raked his fingers through his hair. "Sorry, you didn't need to hear all that. I don't know why the hell I mentioned it."
Al stared at him. Ray tried to ignore him, but Al didn't look away. Eventually, Ray sighed in defeat and turned to face him. Webs of deep wrinkles framed the sun-baked skin around Al's grey eyes, and a deep frown formed under his unruly beard.
"You didn't come here to sightsee, did you, son?"
Ray's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to try and talk me out of it?"
"I don't know if I'd be able to," Al said. He turned to the horizon. The storm clouds were closer now. "But if you did it right now, you'd be traumatizing a poor old man. Besides, I'm still admiring the view, and I might be here for a while."
Ray picked at the flakes of rust on the railing like they were old scabs. "I'm sure you've seen worse over the years."
Al said nothing.
"I mean, come on," Ray said. "Life dealt you the shittiest hand possible, and somehow, you've found the will to keep going. And here I am, ready to . . ." His voice wavered. Tears stung his eyes. He wanted to stop speaking, but the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop himself, just like in the diner. ". . . You know the worst part? It's not like I've been pushed to this point because I've suffered an awful tragedy or something. Just having to live a regular life is too goddamn hard for me, and I don't know why! Everybody else can get with the program. My friends have all moved on to bigger and better things, and I'm still stuck here on the wrong side of the bridge. Any time I want to try something new, I have this feeling deep in my gut that the universe is just waiting for the chance to pull the rug out from under me. I'm so afraid all the time like I'm still a stupid kid!"
Ray put his head in his hands and sank to the ground. He leaned against the railing and sobbed. It came from deep within him, somewhere reckless and turbulent; he could taste the despair, like bile, on the back of his tongue. He sat on the bridge, howling until his throat burned and threads of saliva dripped from his mouth.
He didn't know how long he had been crying for, but when he finally stopped, the sleet grey clouds had covered the sky, and Al was seated on the ground next to him. He placed a hand on Ray's shoulder.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Ray sniffled.
"Like you said, I've seen worse," Al said gently.
"Shit," Ray dried his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm such a coward."
"I don't think you're a coward," Al said. "I've met countless people over the years who thought they were tough, but most of them didn't have the courage to look me in the eye when I sat in front of them begging for change. You bought me a meal and didn't give a shit what everyone else in the restaurant thought of you. You showed me compassion-- treated me like a human being. As far as I'm concerned, that makes you pretty goddamn brave in my book."
Ray laughed wryly. "You're going to sit here and tell me that with a straight face after what you just saw?"
"And so what?" Al said. "If we weren't supposed to cry, we wouldn't have tear ducts, would we? If you want to stop feeling like a kid, the first thing you need to realize is that crying when you need it is the first step to being an adult. We fuck up, we feel awful. We cry. And then, we do better the next time."
"I wish my dad told me that when I was younger," Ray said.
"To tell you the truth," Al said, resting the back of his head against the railing, "I wish I were wise enough to tell that to my son when he needed it."
Ray frowned. "You ever think about reaching out to your family again, Al?"
Al shrugged. "Last I heard, they were somewhere in New Mexico trying to start over. But I lost touch with them years ago. Occasionally, I think about looking them up and trying to reconnect, but--" he trailed off.
"But," Ray continued. "It's too late, isn't it?"
"I don’t know,” Al replied. “But if I stopped now, I’d never have to chance to try down the line. That’s as good an answer as I can give. But now that I’ve said what I can, I’d like to ask you the same question. Is it too late?”
Ray took a deep breath and stood up. His muscles tensed as he gripped the railing with both hands and peered over the edge. The clouds smothered the sun, and the river no longer glowed with the white-hot reflection of its burning light. The steely current viciously kneaded the rocks.
He exhaled slowly, let go of the railing, and stepped away from the edge.
"No," he said. "Not today. We'll see how things go tomorrow, but not today."
"That's the trick," Al grunted as he stood up. "One day at a time. Life always looks like too much trouble when you imagine the finish line, but it gets slightly easier when you deal with it in tiny chunks."
It started to drizzle. Fat raindrops pelted their heads.
Al nodded to the pine forest on the opposite side of the bridge. "My friend should be somewhere in that patch of wilderness if he's still hanging around. I should get going."
"It was nice meeting you, Al," Ray said.
"Likewise."
They shook hands, and Ray watched Al walk to the other side of the bridge. He stopped at the edge of the forest and whirled around.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Ray! Take care of yourself, OK?"
Ray waved. "Same to you!"
Al nodded crisply and continued his way until he disappeared beneath the shadows of the trees.
The rain came in torrents now, and a peal of thunder rolled across the sky. The roaring downpour drowned out the chorus of cicadas and the distant gurgling of the river. Ray reached for the car door. He paused and leaned against the beat-up Honda instead. His face was still stiff with dried tears. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the rain wash them away. Ray inhaled the loamy aroma of wet asphalt and remembered the water gun-soaked streets of his childhood. He opened his eyes and watched the steam rise from the ground like the ghosts of summers past.
Alec Kissoondyal is an English major at the University of Florida. He plans to pursue a writing career after graduation. Alec divides his time between his roles as a writing tutor, fiction editor, and interview transcriber. His fiction has been published in Zephyr Literary Journal, Bacopa Literary Review, The Bookends Review, Roadrunner Review, Let’s Stab Caesar! Magazine, and Retro Press Magazine. You can read more of Alec's work on his website, https://www.alecauthor.com/