Tomorrow

by Tabitha Cornell

  And break them we shall.

  Sometimes you’re found, often you get lucky.

  Heading the injunction is a rush.

  Be prepared to face the consequences.

  Actions demand results.

  Break the law to make the law.

  The person you are, it’s your decision.

  Do you buy it if you break it?

  Certainly so.

  It’s your obligation to obey, for the safety of all.

  Unknowingly or subconsciously, the eye doesn’t care.

  Fight the chance and justice will be sought.

  Can you survive the results you’ve created?

  We shall attempt to suppress the urges.

  Reality may not be failed.

  Those that deserve may walk the road.

  The rest get the green mile.

  Are you an abiding citizen?

  Adam

  The next morning, Kris and I discuss the logistics of our business plan. The agreement is that he will show me the list of products he needs. He will get a cut of the earnings in return. We agree to do a job together so I can get a good sense of how he does things.

  He has a client that wants a Nintendo DS for her kid. It would be $225 brand new in the store. She agreed to give us $150 for it. We hit up a couple of electronic stores that sell Nintendo products and scope out how accessible they are. All three places we visit have this device behind locked glass. To me, that’s a deal breaker—how do we get through the glass cases without anyone noticing?

  “We break it.” I get the feeling this guy likes to break stuff.

  “It’s simple, Adam. There is no clean way to do this particular job. Some people work this shit out and come up with an elaborate plan; I just do it. I’m in and out before anyone has the chance to blink.” We plan to meet up later tonight. We call it: Operation Midnight Bust.

  Jason was kind enough to vouch for me to his dealer friend. He fronted me the ounce of weed to get gone ASAP. I feel like this is a test. He wants to see how quick I can sell it and get him his money back. I hold the bag in my hand and pause to etch this moment into my brain forever. I have never held this amount of drugs in my hands. I feel like a badass, and I like it a lot. I get a feeling of rebellion that slithers through my being. I don’t want the sensation to go away, I could get used to this. I start calling up buddies and people from work that might be looking to buy some sweet herb.

  The problem is that I’m not a pothead myself. I have baked in the past but never sold it. People don’t know if they can trust me. They don’t know if the product I have is decent smoke or shitty. It takes some good skills to sell my first dime bag to a guy I work with. None of my old school buddies are looking at this time. Most of them get their shit from Jason and Jose anyway.

  I need to come up with customers, and quick. I take a couple of smokes and head downstairs to think up marketing strategies. The hot hooker that lives in my building is outside, leaning against the wall, scoping for dick. I wish she would scope my dick. I almost convince myself an STD would be worth her pussy.

  “Hey guy. What’s your story?”

  I turn to see her watching me. Did she know I was thinking about her just now?

  “No story, lady. Just thinking.”

  “You think a lot. I see you down here smoking all the time. Don’t you know them things are bad for you?” Is she flirting with me? It’s a lame attempt, if that’s the case.

  “I can smell the reefer on ya. Don’t you share?” She appears from behind me and sits down on the curb next to me.

  Fuck, I never thought about the smell. Here I’ve been all over trying to sell the shit, and people can probably smell the skunkiness leaking from my pockets. An idea dawns in my head.

  “Not sharing. Just selling.”

  She smiles at my comeback and gets up to walk away.

  “I’ll give you a taste if you can bring me some customers.” She stops and turns around.

  She holds her hand out while I take a bud from the bag inside my pocket and place it into her palm. I tell her it’s called Cherry Diesel and it will make her guys want to fuck for hours. Could be good for someone in the hooking business, right?

  I take off to my room and watch a movie while thinking about the plan for tonight. What am I doing? I’m selling drugs, and now I’m planning on stealing from a store with a guy I just met. All for what? Money. Everything revolves around money, and if you don’t have it, you’re fucked in this world. I get a feeling of exhilaration for a brief moment just thinking about tonight, and it makes me feel better about my decisions.

  I’m almost to the end of my horror flick when I hear a knock at the door. I peer through the peephole and see the hot hooker standing there. What the hell? How does she know which apartment I live in? I open the door and she lets herself inside.

  “Hey guy. You were right about that reefer. I want some more of that diesel shit.”

  “How much you looking for?”

  “I want it all. How much?” She is dead serious.

  “I can get you an ounce for $450.”

  “$400 and I’ll be back in five minutes,” she says as she leaves my apartment.

  I close the door behind her. Did that just happen? Did I just sell the rest of my stash? I’ve only sold a dime bag from the bag. She would never know it’s not a full ounce. I owe Jason’s guy $250 for the front and I can pocket the extra $150 for myself. This chick is my new best friend!

  I wonder if there are other working girls I could sell to on the street downstairs. This could be my opportunity. I’m in the perfect location for it. I just have to be careful for undercover cops.

  She opens the door without even knocking. She tosses $400 on the counter next to me, and I give her the product.

  “Can you get me another next week?”

  “Yes. You know where I live.” It’s difficult to contain my excitement.

  “Good. Next time don’t short me. This ounce is light.” She tosses the bag between her hands deciphering the missing weight. She gleefully pecks a twenty-dollar bill from the wad of cash on the counter and hoards it in her pocket.

  Later that night Kris and I dress in our dark hoodies and everyday jeans. We nonchalantly make our way to the Radio Shack store. It’s later than I’m used to and I’m starting to feel groggy. My body is telling me to go to bed, but my mind is on the prize. As we walk toward our destination, I start to feel guilty about what I’m about to do. I know stealing is wrong; I was raised with enough decency to know this. I’m worried that things will go sour and I’ll end up in jail tonight. What will happen if I get caught? I could lose my apartment. Hannah definitely won’t let me see Russ anymore. If that’s the case, then this was all for nothing. I just need some money so I can see my kid and help buy him the things he needs.

  Every bone in my body is telling me to stop and go back. I am so much better than this. I convince myself that I need to man up and do what I have to do to survive in this world.

  We approached the building and Kris pulls out a crowbar. I wait for him to pry the door open, but he doesn’t. He takes the bar and swings it hard into the glass door. Shards scatter across the inside of the entryway. My heart is pumping as we climb through the first door. I glance around and check for watching eyes. There are two homes that are visible to my eye, both of which are dark. I’m thankful for this.

  We step through the doorway and into the entryway, where we are met with another door leading into the store. He looks at me as he hands me the crowbar. He wants me to break the glass this time. Okay, I can do this. I hesitate for a second. My brain tells me to run, run far away and get yourself out of this situation while you still can.

  “Do it now, Adam! We have 30 seconds once we enter to get the shit.”

  I swing the bar into the bottom half of the glass door. Nothing. Kris snickers at my lack of strength. How does the glass not even crack? I turn to the side and put my weight into it. The second swing proves better. As soon as that g
lass hits the carpeted floor the alarms start going off. I panic and start to run back out the doorway. Kris grabs my hoodie and pulls me through the broken glass.

  “Break the glass cabinet and grab all the Nintendos you can.”

  The cabinet glass is easier to shatter. I take the four Nintendo’s that are layered inside and throw them into the backpack. I hear him break more glass behind me. I sprint over to him, and he throws a bunch of small boxes at me.

  “Put those in the bag and let’s get out of here.”

  We make our way through the two broken entrance doors and head off into the darkness. I can faintly hear sirens in the distance. My body immediately feels exhilarated. We stalk off into a nearby dark alley where he pulls out two long-sleeved shirts that are colored, and we change clothes.

  “I don’t want to look so conspicuous walking in dark clothes, someone might think something.”

  We ditch the black shirts, masks, and book bag after we pile the stolen goods into our pockets and around the waistband of our pants. We then walk home with nothing to hide.

  “I thought we were only taking one Nintendo. You said you only take what you need.” I’m disappointed that he lied to me. I should have known, though, coming from a thief.

  “I only said that to make the whole thing sound better to you.” I’m not in the mood for his bullshit answers. I’m pissed.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me again. I need to know things if we are going to be working together.”

  “Okay, okay!” he shouts.

  “I didn’t think we were full-on robbing a store, Kris. I thought this was going to be quiet and discreet. That was a shit show in there!” I shout

  “What did you expect, Adam? That I would have the magic key to open all the doors and the magic code to silence the alarms? When you want big shit, you have to act big to get it. I usually don’t have to break doors down to get what I need, but electronics are different. This was a big job and I chose it because I knew I would have your help.”

  We step into the apartment and unload our clothes. Four Nintendos, three iPhones, an external hard drive, and six pairs of wireless earbuds. We stand over the articles and relish in our work. Then he packs it all up and heads out the door.

  “I have to unload this shit. I’ll be back later.”

  I love taking extremely hot showers. There is something about the warmth on my bare skin that is cathartic. When my skin simmers under the water, it awakens my senses in a way I cannot explain. I lather myself up in all the right places. I pull the smelly coconut shampoo off the shelf and scrub my hair. The last chick I was screwing left her shampoo and puffy sponge here after we broke up. I still use it because it smells like her. We used to screw in the shower every morning when she stayed over. I guess I always thought she would come back to me after we broke up, at least for hot, wet sex. I decide to crank one out while I’ve got the place to myself. It doesn’t take long for me to come. I stand under the hot water and let it flow down my back until it turns cold. I decide to shave my chin stubble and buzz my head in an attempt to look halfway decent.

  I hear Kris enter. That was quick. I come out of the bathroom a new man, smelling all fruity and shit with a lot less hair on my body. He smiles and throws me a wad of cash—$900 in crisp twenties. Holy fuck!

  “That’s your cut. I took some off the top for unloading.”

  I look at him in disbelief. Score!

  “You need to understand, this was a big job. Usually, I only do smaller jobs that make pocket cash. If you and I keep working together, we can get serious and do some more of these bigger jobs. I won’t do them alone. I need a second set of eyes with me.”

  I plop myself down onto my favorite bean bag chair. I am more alert than I have been in months. I almost feel euphoric, but why? Part of me wants more. I want to do it again. Yes, for the money, but also for something even more. The charge I felt when that glass exploded onto the ground was addicting. I felt like I was breaking out of this shitty life that I’m stuck in, and created my own opening to escape. The alarms sounding throughout the small building made it even more intense. Every time the alarm chimed, I felt the pulsation through my body. I want to feel like that again and again. With all this energy still clinging onto me, I decide I need to celebrate this newfound feeling.

  I need a drink.

  Time

  It comes without warning.

  Sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow.

  Reality says it never changes, but you know different.

  Begone we want in the worst way.

  Wished to the well.

  Lost in a trance as we get on.

  Wishing for more before it’s too late.

  A fortune paid.

  Fast to be slow, slow to be fast.

  Always the same, tranquil moments decide.

  Minutes to the day is never enough.

  Play the clock, turned back twice.

  Grounded in the moment for not long enough.

  Betrayal of the senses.

  Memories brought as depth deepens.

  Created for organization.

  There’s pleasure in the irreversibility.

  Circulating like blood through our veins.

  Constant velocity.

  Indefinite to life.

  When all we want is to snooze.

  Is there ever enough?

  Janny

  I’m driving. I know I’m going too fast. I know I’m turning too sharp. I know something is wrong.

  An accident can be anything.

  He tripped and fell? Maybe a fender bender? Was he attacked? Did he break something? Is he alive? He has to be okay. Georgia would have told me if it was bad. Why did Georgia call me instead of Sean?

  Oh my God, it is bad.

  I feel my hands trembling as I latch onto the steering wheel. They called his parents to the hospital, so something bad had to have happened. They came from two hours away. Sean has always been a momma’s boy, so maybe he wanted her there for comfort. Deep breath, Janny. What happened from 7:30 a.m. until now? It’s been five hours since he left work this morning.

  Jesus, this is bad.

  I get out of the car, and my legs can barely hold my body. I get so discombobulated that I get lost in the parking garage.

  Think. Think. Think.

  I keep walking until I find a sign that points me in the right direction. I find the ER and wait at the desk. I ask where I can find Sean Mason. She checks her computer and lets me know it will be a few minutes. I sit down in the waiting room and watch the clock.

  Ticking. Ticking.

  Ticking so gradually that I cannot comprehend why it’s taking so long. My arms quiver as they lay on my lap. I cannot just sit here and wait. Every second feels like an hour as I wait for my name to be announced. My feet are cold as ice. My breathing is shallow. My body is ready to fight, run, collapse. After 10 minutes I can’t take it anymore. I go back to the desk and ask again.

  “I was told it was urgent that I come here. Can I please see Sean Mason?”

  The receptionist, who is obviously annoyed with me, places a call.

  “Someone will be right out to take you to his room.”

  Every person that walks around the corner makes me want to jump to my feet. Soon enough, a short, older woman approaches the waiting area and calls for me. She introduces herself but I cannot fathom remembering her name.

  She takes me down a long hall into a pod full of rooms with glass doors. I feel hot, there is sweat on my face. My clothes are sticking to my skin. Each room says trauma and a number above the door. The smell of antiseptic and rubber fills the air around me. There are people wearing green uniforms hurriedly pacing, standing at computer screens, consulting each other. It is noisy, I can’t hear myself think. There are doors opening and closing. The constant beeping sounds could drive a person insane. The phone is ringing. There is laughing, there is crying. Someone is moaning. Someone is coughing.

  I glance at a large television screen wit
h patient names and room numbers. I stop at the room labeled Trauma 2 while the nurse peaks her head inside. A woman steps out from behind the curtain. She looks exhausted and I notice the fresh tear streaks running down her cheeks. It isn’t until her eyes meet mine that I realize,

  it’s Georgia.

  I can’t describe what her eyes told me at that moment. I could feel her emotion through the glass door. She struggled to find her words. Her grief latched itself onto me and squeezed around my throat. I can’t breathe, I have so much anger right now. I don’t want her there. I don’t want to see her anymore. I enter through the glass door and walk past her. I pull back the curtain to see the room, the bed, the body in the bed.

  I see what I see before my head explodes into a

  Million.

  Little.

  Pieces.

  Secrets

  Secrets in disguise, disguised as lies?

  Unknown in the moment, will it last with time?

  Seeking the end, troublesome be said.

  Taking chance, for trust is never a must.

  Reveal or play the game.

  You decide.

  The truth to be told, is it worth it?

  You hope for the best insulted by touch.

  It’s all a test to see what shines.

  It might be better to be left untouched.

  Some things are better in the dark.

  Not just for me but for all.

  Dare to relate and you could be changed.

  Be fierce but not bold.

  Powerful bribe gives you the courage.

  Ask and you shall receive.

  It brings you intensity and a desire to know.

  To know what you don’t deserve.

  Your entitlement may be your demise.

  What’s your surprise?

  Mark

  I let myself into Lana’s apartment without knocking. The aroma in the air brings visions of forced childhood dinners and a sweet treat baking in the oven. Her apartment always smells strongly of something that isn’t really there. It makes my mouth water. I hear her voice telling me to come in, she knows I’m here. I take a couple of oxy pills from my pocket and swallow them dry. Something to take the edge off. The place is dark except for her bedroom, where there is a dim essence oozing from the cracked door. I let myself into the room and find her in the master bathroom, laying in the tub.