by Tara Ellis
The sun had risen for a new day; Artemis was in the bathroom fixing himself his own version of breakfast. He first made sure his wife was still sound asleep in bed. He crept out, and went straight for the little brown baggie under the sink. All his favorite little pixie sticks were gone so he was back to powder coke. He used the lid of the toilet for a table. He cut a thin line out for himself and saved the rest for later.
This strategy he called bumping. He would take little hits of powder cocaine throughout the day as a pick me up. Cocaine was his version of coffee. He would take a hit every morning, and then he would do another bump when he left the house. And every time before, during and after a show he would need a little bump. If he were to suddenly stop, there would be severe consequences on his body. Like how drunkards get to shaking after a while without a drink. This drug had stayed in his system for more than twenty years. If he were to suddenly stop at his ripe age of 64 it would probably kill him. His body most likely wouldn’t be able to take the shock.
He rolled up a dollar bill making a straw out of it. He picked the joker card back up and evened out the line. It had to be perfect; when it came to his drugs he was very neurotic about how he took it into his body. It mattered to him keenly where he bought it from, who did he buy it from and where did the supply come from. And he would always ask the dealer if the supply was freshly made. Seven times out of ten a dealer would just tell him yeah for the sake of the sell. If a dealer hesitated then Artemis would carry on elsewhere with his business.
But this powder before him was pure white Colombian uncut. For a moment he stared at the little strip, it was fine to him. He was sitting around the base of the toilet; just only one line, his breakfast. He put the rolled dollar bill in his nostril. It only took one huff, in seconds he was struck by lightning.
It’s alive… it’s alive, it’s alive!
The monster within himself was awakened. The old man that harbored his body was elsewhere for the moment. With every huff he threw his soul away, when he came down his soul, the old man, always wandered back to him like a lost puppy. But for that moment, until the high wore off, the monster was in control of the entertainer.
“Whatcha doin in there?” asked Natalie. He peeked his head out from the bathroom and then stepped out in his silk red robe.
“Oh nothing,” he said. “I was just…” And then he trailed off. He stepped to the window watching the earth shift continuously in his train. The ring master didn’t like to share his train car with any other one of his performers and he certainly wasn’t going to share with the crew. He only saw them as the help. He viewed the crewmembers same way as a 1960’s southern housewife viewed her maid.
There were only four people in Artemis’s train car obviously one was himself; the other was his wife, his personal chef, and his assistant Steve. He loved Steve, that boy did everything for him.
He glanced back at Natalie, always looked at her like he saw a new day. He gave her four morning kisses starting in the palm of her hand, to the crook of her elbow, making way to the shoulder and lastly her cheek.
“And so it begins again,” she said chuckling.
“What?”
“You and all this mornin exuberance.” She stretched her arms out, opened her mouth for the yawn. “It never fails. And you’re blessed; most men your age are at the point where they ain’t got a lick a energy for nothin” Natalie is from Atlanta, can’t ya tell? Southern fried and fabulous.
There is this saying when a woman finds the right man it’s the right time. When a man reaches the right time he will find the right woman. Well these two have failed. There love was conditional; it was derived from the convenience of a rich husband and a beautiful wife. Cold fact but true. Don’t get me wrong they liked each other for sure, but it wasn’t love. She had time, he had money and they spent them both together.
“Ya hungry,” she asked. “I don’t know bout’chu, I’m a get me som’m to eat.”
“Let Allen fix you something. That’s why I pay him.”
“Go tell him ta make a good ole breakfast.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…” She curled her eyes up, like she wanted to see what was going on in her own head. Her blonde curls dropped in her face. “I’m thinking, scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits with jelly, pancakes, grits and some melon for breakfast.” She was a short woman, she had curves to her, and she could eat like a man. On a daily basis when Artemis was alive she would eat more than him.
“Why don’t we just have a smorgasbord?”
“Seems like you have the right idea.” She kissed him on the forehead.
In the train car behind Artemis, Scarlett was blasting music into her ears with the mp3. She sat next to the window watching the morning scenery flow by. The landscape seemed to be flat farmland but there were no distinguishable crops; just little green dots of growing buds that stretched for miles on the land. Scarlett felt the train come to a stop. “What is it now,” she groaned. She took off the headset, and then she heard the train blare its whistle for its passengers. She whipped out her cell phone and texted her mother, the texts read like this:
mom whats going on
were havin a smorgasbord
a what?
a buffet
oh my god not again
your bringin that keester of yours for breakfast
I was thinking cinnamon toast crunch
Scarlett Joan Thomas so help me god if I dont see you off this train when it stops you will never like me again
I already dont but you will see me for breakfast anyway