Chatter came to an abrupt stop when he entered the teacher's lounge. Three teachers huddled around the coffee maker looked up at him with guilty expressions on their faces. The topic of their conversation was no mystery.
”Morning, ladies. Mind if I get a cup of coffee?” He refused to let the awkward tension affect his workday. They could gossip until they were blue in the face. He was here to teach, not encourage speculation about the private lives of his coworkers.
The women made harried excuses, talking over each other before settling at a round table farthest away from the coffee machine.
Dex filled his travel mug, nodded at the women, and proceeded down the hall to his classroom. There was no reason to stick around when they were chomping at the bit to continue their conversation. They would either try to extract information from him with seemingly innocuous questions or they would over analyze every little thing about his appearance. He wouldn't give them any ammunition.
In surprising contrast, it took only a few days for his students to lose interest in his personal life and focus on a more fascinating subject of distraction. Something about a rapper and a country music star getting caught in a compromising position. He never could keep up with the goings-on of celebrities. Owen would know names, dates, and incriminating details. But that was neither here nor there.
His classroom gave him a sense of calm. The only other place that had ever had the same effect was, at one time, the apartment he shared with Owen. But he wouldn't go down that depressing path again this morning.
He reviewed his lesson plan, preparing for the onslaught of rambunctious eleven- and twelve-year-olds. What possessed him to choose teaching preteens? He recalled the fond memory of discovering his love for math at that age. Imparting his enthusiasm for the subject was essential to being a good teacher for him.
The ringing of the bell signaled the arrival of the students. The kids arrived in clusters of excitable, noisy groups. Dex didn't waste his breath trying to quiet the throng; they would settle down once everyone took their seats and Dex stood in front of the board.
“Okay, guys. Let's review order of operations. Everyone get your puzzles out.” Dex had made a game out of the concept, and the kids enjoyed drawing, coloring, and cutting out their designs. He broke the class up into groups and spent the rest of the class time stopping by each group to monitor their progress and correct any errors.
Altogether, it was a good morning, and Dex’s mind didn’t wander to Owen once first period started. That was a major accomplishment.
At lunchtime, Dex remained in his office, eating his sad meal of a plain turkey sandwich on wheat. Truth be told, he hadn't had much of an appetite lately.
“Mr. Atterbury?” came a timid voice from his classroom doorway. The student wasn't familiar to Dex, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. His reputation had a few of Mrs. Rathborne’s students seeking him out for extra help with assignments.
“Come in and tell me how I can help you.” He spoke softly and remained at his desk to avoid scaring the timid girl. The student approached his desk and stared down at her feet.
“Braxton told me you tutor after school?” Her statement came out like a question, and Dex sympathized with her. So many of Rathbone’s students were struggling, and not many were proactive about getting the extra tutoring they needed.
“I do,” he smiled at her. “We meet in the library after school on Wednesdays. Would you like to join us?”
The student lifted her head and looked Dex in the eye for the first time since approaching his classroom. Her cheeks turned pink, and she shifted her gaze. “Yes, please. My mom wanted me to ask Mrs. Rathborne, but I get too confused in her class.”
Dex chuckled to himself. “Of course. Your mom will need to sign a permission slip first. Let me get that for you, and you can bring it on Wednesday. How does that sound?” Dex opened a desk drawer and pulled out a form.
The girl nodded enthusiastically and took the paper from Dex.
“My cell phone number is written at the top. Have your mom call me with any questions.” He offered her another smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Atterbury.” The student returned his smile.
As she turned to leave, Dex called out to her. “What’s your name? So I can mark you down on my list and I’ll know who you are if your mom happens to call me.”
“Emma Hill.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. I hope to see you on Wednesday.” He smiled at her retreating back, pleased with the knowledge that with his help, one more student would have the potential to excel at his favorite subject.
He was glad to have his Wednesday afternoon tutoring sessions to keep himself occupied. Time alone meant time to mull over everything that went wrong with Owen. During more than a few of those moments, he’d been tempted to look for Owen. What he would do or say if he did come across Owen, he didn’t know.
He’d keep pouring his energy into teaching and tutoring, and maybe, one day, his thoughts wouldn’t automatically turn to Owen and what could have been.
3
OWEN
SNORTING CRUSHED UP OXY gave a better, longer-lasting high. At least that’s what Owen had heard. He equated putting something up his nose with injecting himself with drugs, and he wasn't that kind of junkie. He was a...careful junkie. Was that even a thing?
Not only did he try to be careful, but both blood and needles made him queasy. Combined with the risk of damaging the inside of his nose or contracting hepatitis or HIV from dirty needles, he had enough deterrents to avoid other methods of ingestion. Swallowing a pill was simple and quick. He’d gotten so good at it that he could swallow three or four without the aid of a drink.
Another line he wouldn't cross was graduating to other drugs, drugs he thought were somehow more harmful than opioids. He knew heroin was the go-to drug for opioid addicts, now that tougher regulations were making it much harder to access the pills. Leroy had offered him heroin as an alternative a time or two. It was cheaper, more accessible, and mimicked the high of Oxy. But, again, that was a step too far for Owen. Just call him a junkie with a firm line drawn in the sand that he wouldn't cross.
Ruining your relationship with the love of your life wasn't a step too far, apparently.
What was it Patrick had said about self-pity? Well, no one else was going to take pity on him.
He was back at the beach, flip flops tucked close to his side, knees pulled up to his chest. The sun was beginning to set, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The beach was deserted, and he was left to his thoughts.
His goofy nature and penchant for physical comedy was what had started the series of events that had Owen spiraling down a hole that felt too deep to climb out of. A better person would have resisted the lure of oblivion Oxy created. A stronger person wouldn't have succumbed to addiction. A more worthy person would still have a home, a job, a partner.
He wrapped his arms tight around his legs and clenched his teeth. Another cramp enveloped his gut, and he lurched to his feet, blindly shoving them into his flip flops, and reached a trash can just in time to empty his stomach of the applesauce and toast remnants from earlier in the day.
He coughed and spit into the can, his body shaking with tremors. He needed to find Leroy and hope he would take pity on him. He would have to re-evaluate his hard limits, at least until he got a job. He needed money for more pills; that would fix things.
No! No, more pills won't fix anything. Get it together, Owen.
His limbs ached deep down. Just one more pill – his last one, he promised himself – and he’d be in better shape to think clearly. He blinked his watery eyes to find his way to the public restroom. He blew and wiped his runny nose and swished some water from the faucet around his mouth to get rid of the taste of bile. He had a toothbrush and toothpaste in his car, and that would have to do for now.
Leroy could usually be found loitering at one of the abandoned shelters on the deserted end of the beach. There was less smooth, white
sand and more sharp, jagged rocks to navigate on that side. When he had a working phone, Owen would text Leroy who’d reply back with a meeting place. For the first time since he became a customer, Owen was approaching Leroy on anything but neutral territory.
The journey was hell on Owen’s ankle, the flip flops providing no support, and he winced with each step. God, he was exhausted. Maybe he could relax for a few minutes.
He was a couple feet away from the first shelter on this end of the beach. He could sit and close his eyes, rest his achy feet and throbbing ankle.
The shelter smelled of urine and was covered in graffiti, but it was, thankfully, empty. Owen dusted off one of the benches as best as he could and sat. He folded his arms on the grimy table and cradled his head in them. Closing his eyes, he promised himself this would be the last time.
The last time…
Several hours later, he was awoken by shrieking seagulls. The sun had set, leaving an eerie chill and strange, long shadows in the shelter. How long had he been asleep?
Chills hit his body in full force. He should get back to his car, away from the cold breeze of the beach. Goosebumps broke out over his exposed skin.
But what about Leroy? He needed to find him, now. His ankle was throbbing something fierce, and the deep ache in his bones made him feel ancient.
Get up, look for Leroy, and get what you need.
He took his first few steps hunched over, struggling to straighten his spine despite the flu-like pain he was feeling. He managed to get back on the beach, mostly upright. In the dark, he took careful, tentative steps toward the next abandoned shelter. He hoped his eyes weren't tricking him and the tiny spots of glowing orange coming from the structure were from Leroy and his crew smoking cigarettes.
The pungent scent of marijuana hit his nose the closer he got to the shelter. He could hear Leroy's raspy voice addressing the shadowed figures standing around him.
“Next time he tries to stiff you, you bash in his kneecap with that tire iron I told you to carry. You're a convicted felon; you can't get caught with a gun, so you fucking use the fucking tire iron, motherfucker!” Leroy punctuated the air with his joint at each obscenity.
“Lee, I’m not hitting anyone!” his lackey protested. For someone who had committed crimes previously, this man’s reluctance to use physical force during an illegal drug transaction struck Owen as almost funny.
“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this. I gave you a chance based on a word from your cousin, but I see that was a mistake. And, Georgie…don’t ever call me Lee again.”
There was shuffling and then a loud whoosh that made Owen picture a tennis racket slicing the air. A piercing scream cut through the background noise of crickets and waves rushing the sand.
Over Georgie’s painful screams, Owen heard Leroy say, “Get him the fuck out of here, and do it quietly.”
Owen watched as two men dragged the injured Georgie in the opposite direction, his cries muffled. Owen waited until the three were out of earshot before nearing the shelter. He didn’t want to startle Leroy lest he decide Owen deserved the same fate as the unfortunate Georgie. He softly cleared his throat and waited for Leroy to turn in his direction. Leroy shined a light from his cell phone at Owen and called out, “Who’s out there?”
“It’s Owen. I need to talk to you.” Owen’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat again.
“Owen, Owen, Owen.” He shivered at Leroy's tone. “Get your ass up here.” A plume of smoke floated in Owen’s direction, and he waved the smoke away with his hand. He didn’t need his view to be obscured.
Owen climbed up over a mound of rocks and onto the concrete floor of Leroy’s shelter. Leroy kept the light shining in Owen’s eyes, and Owen had to use his arm to shade his vision to see properly enough not to go tumbling down. Pair that with his bum ankle, and he was testing the limits of what his body could manage.
Leroy had a tire iron in his hand and was swinging it lazily back and forth. That must have been what hit Georgie.
Jesus, Owen, what are you getting yourself into now? He threatened you and cut your hair before, and he attacked that guy Georgie without remorse a few minutes ago. This isn’t your life.
But wasn’t it? This was the path he had been taking for years now. He wasn’t below homelessness and unemployment, so why not continue to associate with unsavory individuals? Those were the only types of people who would give him the time of day anymore. He was in far too deep to climb his way out now.
Leroy tossed the tire iron on the ground, the loud metallic clang reverberating through the shelter and startling Owen from his internal pity party. Leroy licked the pad of his thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the joint, tucking it away in his pocket.
He slinked closer to Owen and clapped him aggressively on the shoulder. Owen cringed at the rough contact. His heart leaped into his throat, making swallowing impossible. He would choke and die here, waiting for Leroy to do his worst.
“It’s been a few days. You found yourself some money? I came into a new supplier and got some of the good stuff for ya. Price has gone up, though. Supply and demand, baby.”
At the thought of scoring more pills, Owen’s mouth watered, his muscles relaxed, and he could swear his ankle stopping hurting. His heart dislodged from his throat and returned to its rightful place in his chest. Leroy wasn’t such a bad guy. There was no reason to fear him.
Leroy’s laugh was wicked. “Someone likes the sound of that. How much cash you got?”
Owen fidgeted. He had no cash, save for a few loose coins in the center console of his car, but that wouldn’t get him far with Leroy. He’d probably end up the way of Georgie for wasting Leroy’s time. He shoved his hands in his pockets, desperately racking his brain for something he could use to barter with Leroy. When his fingers touched his dead cell phone, he felt hope and despair simultaneously.
He and Dex had both upgraded their phones earlier in the year. Owen was happy with his old phone, but Dex wanted them both to get the new model. He was on Dex’s plan, so he went along with it. Dex even got him a phone cover with a rainbow design, close enough to match the one on his old phone that he loved.
Owen hadn’t been able to use his cell phone in weeks after he lost his charger somewhere in the eviction shuffle. It didn’t matter much anyway; it’s not like he had a place to plug it in. All of Owen’s contacts, photos, videos...basically his only connection to the outside world and proof of happier times were on that phone. But what good would all that do him with a dead battery?
“I don’t have any cash,” Owen haltingly started, “but I do have the latest iPhone.” He removed the cell phone from his pocket for Leroy to get a glimpse. Leroy snatched it out of his hand and inspected it in the moonlight. When his attempts to power it on proved fruitless, he snarled and threw the phone back at Owen with such force that Owen’s hand stung upon contact.
“What the fuck you expect me to do with a broken phone?” Leroy’s hostile words were like projectiles pounding into Owen.
“It’s not broken!” Owen was quick to explain. “The battery died, and I haven’t been able to charge it. It still works like new. I promise.” He was getting jittery again, the earlier moment of hope that he was scoring long faded.
Leroy stared at him for a moment that stretched to what felt like hours. Owen was becoming concerned that the tire iron would make a reappearance. He could walk away. No, scratch that. He wouldn’t put it past Leroy to come chasing after him and doling out his own brand of justice. And Owen couldn’t run on his bum ankle.
He was trapped. He would have to wait it out and hope for the best.
The silence and Leroy’s unwavering glare put Owen on edge. “You can take my word for it,” he said to relieve some of the tension. “It’s only a few months old and I’ve taken excellent care of it, but I lost my charger.” He hoped he sounded sincere and believable. After his last altercation with Leroy, to say he was gun-shy was an understatement. Owen extended the phone in
Leroy’s direction, his hand trembling.
Leroy plucked the phone out of Owen’s hand. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”
Tomorrow? I can’t wait that long. Tomorrow was supposed to be the first day of getting clean, like I promised myself.
“But-”
“Tomorrow.” Leroy’s tone left no room for argument or compromise. A shift in the clouds had the moonlight illuminating his face, giving Owen a clear look at Leroy. His blue eyes were bloodshot, his skin sallow. On a good day, he was terrifying. Tonight, his appearance and the violence Owen witnessed made him look sickly evil, like a cancer.
Defeated, Owen nodded and turned to leave.
“However, there is something you can do.” Leroy’s words stopped Owen in his tracks. He turned around, wary of what Leroy would ask – no, demand – of him.
“You know the mobile phone and accessories kioski on the boardwalk?”
Owen nodded again. The kioski was staffed by college and high school kids and had random hours of operation depending on the employees’ school schedules. As much time as he’d spent lately at the boardwalk, Owen couldn’t figure out a routine.
“Get me two iPhones by the end of the week, and you can have all this Oxy.” He held up a small baggie of pills. Owen started but stopped himself from lunging for the pills. His fingers itched to snatch the baggie from Leroy’s hands. “And you’ll get your phone back,” Leroy added.
Surely, Leroy couldn’t expect Owen to steal the iPhones from the kioski. Stealing the flip flops was done out of necessity because his shoes were stolen, and he couldn’t not have any shoes. But to steal for drugs was a completely different matter altogether.
Why is that, Owen? If you can rationalize stealing footwear but not for drugs, then maybe the drugs aren’t that important. Maybe you should walk away. Do the cold turkey thing now.
His mouth watered at the thought of those pills. His gut clenched, and chills wracked his body. It was simple enough to snatch two iPhones.
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