Eight Hours
Christopher Setterlund
Copyright © 2006, 2023
All Rights Reserved
Cover Image by Emmanuel Acua/Christopher Setterlund
Fonts Used: Liberation Serif
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning: This book deals with the topic of suicide. If you or anyone you know is having thoughts of suicide help is available. Please contact the Suicide & Crisis Hotline at 9-8-8.
“I’m sorry John,” the man said with feigned sorrow, “but I do not think you would be a good fit with our company. We appreciate you coming all this way though.”
“Uh, you’re welcome?” I responded with confusion. In a haze, I stood and gave a weak handshake to the man behind a large desk. I took a deep breath and stood silently for a moment half-expecting this to not be the end of the meeting. The man sat back down at his desk and even spun his chair around.
With his back to me, I took the hint and proceeded out the doorway toward the elevator at the end of the hallway. Along the way, people stared at me. I stuck out like a sore thumb as an outsider in a sea of familiar faces. They likely wondered what I had done wrong to not get the job. It was a walk of shame but I did my best to ignore them. My mind was elsewhere. This failure of a job interview was a stench that would not be easily washed off.
I got into my car. The windows had been left open a bit due to an early-fall September heat wave. Before I could even rest my weary head on the steering wheel I began sweating.
“It’s over,” I whispered, “what do I have to live for now?” At that moment I truly believed those words. Moments earlier the interview for my dream job had flopped. It was a unique mix of photography and sales. I wanted badly to make a perfect impression. Instead, I was nervous and fumbled over the answers to simple questions repeatedly. I felt every bit like the impostor I thought I was. I couldn’t even sell them on myself.
Sure, I had been turned down for jobs before, but this time it was different. I had driven eight hours, and five hundred miles, just to sit down for a twenty-minute interview. I had driven eight hours to follow my dream. I wanted to get out of the rut I had been in and do work that allowed my creative juices to flow. Those dreams had shattered on the office floor with a dismissive stare from the boss. All that was left was to sweep the pieces up and throw them away.
I had left my second-floor apartment in a suburb east of Providence, Rhode Island before five that morning. It was a long trip to get to my 2:00pm interview on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Here it was barely 3:00pm and I was staring down a much different future than I had anticipated when I left the apartment.
There was more to the sadness that I felt. It was the sadness of finality. I drove eight hours to the interview because it was my last resort. It was my last chance at happiness I thought. This was the proverbial final nail in the coffin, my coffin.
In the weeks preceding the interview, my live-in girlfriend had left me. This was a double whammy as not only did I lose her but it also meant I would lose my apartment because I could not afford the rent on my own. To top it all off my grandfather, who was my hero and role model, had passed away. The job I had interviewed for was going to be the silver lining that made all of the suffering worthwhile.
Foolishly I put all my stock in one interview and all of that added pressure caused it to blow up in my face. I sat in my car sweating and rubbing my forehead which had turned red due to resting it for several minutes on the steering wheel. I wondered what the next step was.
I had no home. My family had long since scattered across the country. I had no job. I had quit my job because I was so confident that getting the sales job in Pittsburgh was my destiny. My world, as I had left it before I drove the eight hours, did not exist anymore. I was a complete and utter failure. There was no purpose to being alive anymore.
“I have to end it,” I whispered. The gravity of that thought cut through the hot air like a knife. I had made the sad decision that suicide was more appealing than picking up the pieces of my shattered life. It was not worth it to keep getting built up and knocked down.
Once the initial shock of thinking about suicide had passed the question that sprang to my mind was how. How could I do it? I was never one to inflict pain on myself, at least not intentionally, and death I imagined would be a lot of pain. I was afraid. I was more afraid of the uncertainty waiting for me back at my apartment though. It was one pain or the other. I remembered reading a magazine article about people who committed suicide by forcing another to shoot them. ‘Suicide By Cop’ was the term for it. I decided that was the easiest way. I would have someone else do it for me.
I started my car which in and of itself was a minor win. Although paid off the blue sedan had a myriad of nagging issues that made it feel like I still was making car payments. I looked in the rear-view mirror at the office building that had held such promise only an hour ago. All I could do was shake my head. The next task was figuring out the directions I had printed off from my computer at home in reverse.
“God damn it,” I muttered as the car crept out of the parking lot onto the main road. I knew at that point I was about to cross a line that you can’t step back over. Death is final.
Thankfully the air conditioning finally kicked on after a few minutes. It was something I knew needed to get looked at but so did a lot of other things. At least now I wouldn’t have to worry about any of them.
I kept the radio off to keep focused. God forbid a happy tune come on and distract me momentarily. There was no more time for delays. Life over the past several months had felt like putting Band-Aids on a severed limb.
The biggest step in my plan was to buy a gun. That was going to be tough as I did not have the money. I also had no clue where to go to buy a real handgun or the protocol for purchasing it. It dawned on me that the gun didn’t have to be real, it just had to look real enough. It had to look like a real gun long enough to force a police officer to pull the trigger first.
I stopped at a dollar store. A toy gun would suffice. I wandered the aisles looking for toys but also marveling at some of the deals. I thought about buying a few other necessities but smirked when I remembered why I was there.
In the toy section, it was slim pickings. There was a small black plastic cap gun. I didn’t have the time, or desire, to go to other stores to compare. It looked real enough and would have to do.
I cradled the toy in my right arm and continued walking around the store. I didn’t want to appear suspicious. It was an irrational fear but I always had a slight paranoia about myself. I lived my life as if I was on some sort of 24-hour reality show. Maybe it came from wanting to be an actor when I was a kid, who knows? Most dreams just end up being erased by time, or so warped that they don’t even resemble what you wanted in the first place.
Thoughts of what life could have been like if I had become an actor flooded my head as I stood in line for the only opened register. Once face to face with the short heavyset cashier, I casually slid the toy gun onto the counter. Her name tag said Tina but I was never one to initiate conversation. Luckily, or unluckily for me, Tina looked at the gun and looked up at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Toy gun eh?” She said, poorly trying not to sound sarcastic.
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed cap guns for some reason. They remind me of being a kid again.” In my mind, I was screaming to shut up but I always talked too much when I was nervous. Tina’s innocuous question threw me off guard. I quickly slapped three one-dollar bills onto the counter to pay for the $2.99 toy gun and tried to flee as inconspicuously as possible.
“Have a nice night sir,” Tina called after me. I threw a hand up to wave but never turned around. The sharp contrast from the air-conditioned store to the sticky early-fall air was a slap in the face.
The evening was thick with humidity. I took off my white button dress shirt that was damp with sweat again and tossed it on the passenger side floor of the sedan. I sat in a white cotton t-shirt and looked at my purchase. I held the package up and turned it ever so slightly, back and forth, catching the reflection of the store’s sign.
“Real enough,” I grunted. The black plastic gun was tossed on top of the dress shirt. As the sun sank low in the sky I decided to stop off for what would be my last meal at McDonald's.
What the hell did I care about eating healthy? I ordered at the drive-thru and decided to eat in the parking lot. I ate slowly, taking the time to enjoy it. There was ample entertainment through people-watching while I laid out my plan.
I would get back on the highway heading back toward Providence. I would speed and drive recklessly, doing anything I could to attract attention. I figured if I didn’t pass a police car somebody would call them on me. Either way, my behavior would lead to a high-speed chase. Even though I didn’t care what happened to me I had to do my best to not put innocent people at risk. I still had a conscience. Once I finally pulled over the police would be angry and on edge. That’s when I’d burst from the car screaming and waving the plastic toy gun at them. The police would have no choice but to shoot. It would be self-defense for them, ‘suicide by cop’ for me.
It was airtight, the highways had been crawling with police cars on the way from Providence to Pittsburgh. Hell, I had seen at least a dozen just going through New York City. A smile crept to my face as I saw my plan falling into place like completing a jigsaw puzzle. It was a sad scene when I stepped back to think about it.
I kept eating and people-watching. The smile slipped away. I envied the happy families and the young couples in love walking in and out of McDonald’s. They all seemed to have perfect lives. Deep down I still wished for that for myself. Naturally, I’d rather have a happy life than end the one I had been given. So many things had gone wrong to lead me to where I was at that moment. The terrible job interview was the final straw. It was the crowning failure in a line of them. Some problems that came to my door were my fault, I know that, but I had always held out hope that a big break was just around the corner. I had finally run out of corners.
I was beginning to pack my trash up when a car pulled into the parking spot next to me. At first, I paid little attention. Only when the figure passed my field of vision did I notice the uniform. I turned to the right and saw a police cruiser. I looked up to see a large male officer heading into the front door of the McDonald's. My adrenaline began to pump. I thought about changing plans. Maybe I could jump out of my car and charge into the restaurant brandishing the gun? To protect himself and the other people inside the officer would have to shoot first and ask questions later.
I thought it would be so much easier to get it over with right then and there. I tore open the packaging and held the black plastic toy gun in front of me. This was it. I opened the car door and stepped onto the asphalt. I stared at the officer placing his order. Then my eyes drifted toward the happy people I had just marveled at. Some of them were sitting and eating inside the restaurant. I didn’t want to risk harm to any innocent people, they did nothing wrong.
My nature had always been to not make too many compromises. I wanted to go about my plan, my way, on my terms. It had been a blessing and a curse throughout my life. Some good opportunities had passed by because I was too stubborn to compromise my own beliefs for the possible greater good. I feared that a compromise could leave me vulnerable and open to failure. That was the magic word, failure. I feared failure more than anything. I’d rather do nothing than try and fail.
What if I failed? What if I charged into McDonald’s with the gun and somehow was taken alive? Could I end up in jail for at least a few years? I couldn’t risk that. It was all or nothing. I threw the plastic gun on the passenger-side floor and got out to throw the trash away. The smell of the fast food overpowered the late afternoon, no wonder the place was always busy, you could smell the food for miles. I stood outside of my car for a moment after throwing the trash away. I turned my back to the restaurant to watch a few cars that were beeping at each other.
I took a look at the toy gun on the floor as I stepped into the car. As I looked up I locked eyes with the officer returning to his cruiser with his food. He and I held our stares for a few seconds with my eyes darting down toward the toy gun on the floor. I had no idea if the officer could see the pretend weapon and I had no intention of finding out.
My paranoia increased when I began slowly creeping toward the exit and the cruiser began to follow. I checked the traffic thoroughly and slowly pulled out heading for the highway. The cruiser followed and I could feel my palms growing sweaty on the steering wheel. I had planned to be on the highway when I enticed an officer to end my life.
I thought on the fly and decided I would floor it once I got to the on-ramp and let things happen from there. I followed signs for the highway and kept the speed below the limit. I saw more of suburban Pittsburgh than I had anticipated.
There was always a tinge of nervousness when a police cruiser was behind me. Who doesn’t feel like that? This time was different. Even the air conditioning couldn’t stop my sweating. I could see the officer’s face in the rearview mirror. I imagined he could be running my plates to see if there were any warrants on me.
Right before it passed I saw a sign for the eastbound highway notifying me it was a half mile ahead. This was it. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to psych myself up for a chase. I gave a quick look in the rearview. I hit the ramp and floored it.
“Woo hoo!” I screamed. The engine groaned as if it was asking me what the hell I was doing. There was an open lane ahead of me and the gas pedal was firmly pushed to the floor. A few seconds later I noticed something missing. The police cruiser was nowhere to be seen. My paranoia about the officer had been for naught as he had continued on his way not even giving a second glance to my reckless entry onto the highway.
I slowed a bit and gathered my thoughts. The sweating subsided and my heart rate began to slow down. The highway was surprisingly empty for an early-fall evening. The setting sun left a shade of red upon the wisps of clouds overhead, they raced across the sky as if trying to make the horizon before it got dark.
“Why am I doing this?” My mind traveled back to the events of the past few weeks and beyond as I tried to answer that question. In these thoughts and events lay the truth, or at least my view of the truth.
First and foremost my live-in girlfriend had just moved out of our apartment. For a few weeks before the move I had felt like it could be a possibility. I had chosen to put on my blinders and hope that things would get back to normal. They didn’t. Her departure from my life left me empty and lost.
I had always believed in love at first sight. I also had always believed it would never happen to me. That all changed the day I met Gwen. I had seen thousands of girls and dated some, a few serious ones, but I had never met someone that I could see myself growing old with.
She had wandered into the restaurant where I worked one warm spring afternoon wanting only a salad and sitting by herself reading a book. I had never imagined someone so beautiful could exist. She had the dark skin, hair, and eyes common among Latin American women. I never knew I had a type until Gwen showed up.
That first day I didn’t have the time or the courage to speak to her. She left as quickly as she arrived. I hoped she would come back in again. Maybe the food would be too good and she’d crave it again soon. Days turned to weeks and still nothing. I began to think it was all a dream, no girl that beautiful could exist.
Then a few weeks later, just as the image of her face was beginning to fade, she came back. Again she ordered but a salad. This time though she sat in a spot directly in my line of sight. It was a wonderful distraction from the hot and loud kitchen.
I was terrified she would again leave without me introducing myself, yet I was more terrified of actually initiating a conversation. I stared out of the small kitchen door window in Gwen’s direction. My boss snapped me out of it by asking if I’d like to be introduced. It turned out that Gwen worked for my boss’s friend. That was the in I was looking for.
I followed my boss out into the main dining room. I had heard from some people that when you meet your soulmate time can feel like it stops. I didn’t understand it until that very moment. The ten steps from the kitchen door to the table where Gwen sat felt like slow motion. I stood nervously while my boss made the introduction.
“Gwen, this is John,” my boss said with a smile. Gwen looked up and smiled a very wide smile that turned my legs to butter. My heart raced so fast that I swore it could be seen through my uniform.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I said. I then stood there waiting for the right words to pass through the air so he could grab onto them. Time felt frozen as I hoped I hadn’t sounded as nervous as I felt.
“You can sit down if you would like,” Gwen replied in a breathy voice thick with her Latin American accent. I fumbled for the chair in front of me and sat down. I was an introvert by nature, especially when first meeting someone. My first conversation with Gwen felt stiff and forced like I was in a job interview. She made me feel at ease. There was a way about her. She had a confidence that when coupled with a shy insecurity made her the type of person that could steal your heart and make you believe you had given it to her.
Things moved quickly after that. We made plans to go to a movie that night. Within a few dates, it was obvious we were very much in love, and it showed. I thought about her all the time. Her image in my mind made even the hardest work days seem worthwhile. Our relationship advanced further and faster than I had ever experienced. Yet it did not feel rushed, it all felt right. We met each other’s families, went off on weekend trips, and started thinking of a future together. In my mind, Gwen completed me. She was everything I had ever wanted.
The frustration with the overall path of my life meant nothing once she showed up. It felt like I had been living a different life and the day I met Gwen my real life began. We moved into a small apartment on the second floor of a five-story building after dating for three months. That was when things began to change.
There were a few warning signs that I looked away from. For one, Gwen was still very young, she was four years younger than me. There is a big difference between being in your early twenties and mid-twenties. I had the desire to settle down and focus on crafting a better life including marriage and a family. Gwen shared those feelings until they became feasibly real. I know she loved me very much, but she was not ready to settle down. There was so much in life that Gwen wanted to do before marriage and parenthood.
Ironically I had never had the impulse of marriage and children until I met Gwen. I had no idea how to bridge the gap between us. In trying to comfort her and assure her my goals were not the end all be all I became smothering and needy. I thought that if I showed her how much I needed her that she would stay. Things became tense after a little over a month together in the apartment. I could see she was not the same. Gwen didn’t want to break my heart and this made her feel trapped. Her resentment was a time bomb waiting to go off. Like a person drowning, I was trying to grab onto anything that would save me.
I can still remember the moment that bomb went off. We went out to dinner at our favorite restaurant. I hoped that a little trip down memory lane would ease the tension. I wanted her to be happy, but happy with me. It was a mixture of genuine love but also slightly selfish. I thought I had tried to show her that I wasn’t looking to hold her down. I wanted her to do everything she desired. I was her biggest fan. I just wanted to be a part of her journey. Her beliefs were set in stone, and she was very stubborn. As we talked about where we were heading in our relationship the dam broke.
“I am sorry John,” she said as her eyes began to well with tears, “I have to move out, tomorrow.” In an instant, all of my worries were realized. I felt like I was falling down an elevator shaft as I sat in my chair that night. She had not said we were breaking up, but moving out was a pretty big statement. Her saying that she had ‘things to do’ in life really meant ‘things not including you.’ The thing was that I was so devastated and deflated that I didn’t even attempt to stop her. In my mind, I believed we were meant to be. Even as my heart was crumbling inside my chest I still, perhaps naively, thought this was only a bump in the road.
True to her word, Gwen packed up and left late the next afternoon. I was like a ghost watching her pack. From the second-floor balcony, I watched as her car faded around the corner and out of my life. She had taken the sands of my hourglass and made a beautiful castle. The tides had finally come to knock it down.
We had been together a little more than five months and it felt like in that time I had lived and died over and over. I was dying then and there was no one to save me. We had signed up for the apartment together, splitting the rent. I knew with my current restaurant job I couldn’t afford it on my own. Did I give up the apartment and crawl back to my parents? At least my mother still lived within a reasonable distance. Or did I give it one big push to stay? I decided I had to look for a better-paying job and fast.
Desperation sometimes forces you to do things you wouldn’t normally think of. Within three days I had set up the interview for the sales job in Pittsburgh that I had just driven the eight hours to. My blind hope had been that I’d get hired and not even have to worry about going back to the Providence apartment. I could just fade away much like Gwen had done.
I had to pull over at a rest area as my eyes were red from the tears that the memories of Gwen had brought forth. It was as if I was watching her car turn the corner all over again. The wounds were still fresh, and the pain became overwhelming. Even the clear night sky and bright moon rising couldn’t raise my head.
I took a few deep breaths. Soon enough that pain, and any other pain I felt would be over. Ironically despite planning on ending my own life I felt I needed a palate cleanser after the sad trip down memory lane with Gwen. I ended up putting some music on and losing myself in it.
A few hours passed. On the horizon, I could see the lights of New York City. Luckily rush hour had passed so the trip through would not be too rough, although no drive through the Big Apple was perfect. It was as I drove through the capital of the world that I realized that I didn’t like cities. They were fun to visit, but as far as living there I’d rather be in the suburbs, or even better the rural countryside.
I had always dreamed of being my own boss and buying a house far away from anyone. There I could live life at my own pace. I laughed out loud. Then why did I interview for a job in Pittsburgh? Its metro area contained well over two million people. Maybe I felt I needed to prove myself by going somewhere I didn’t want to. It was a poor mindset.
Growing up it felt like success was my birthright. I was borderline genius-level smart into high school. I think the accolades and praise from most of my family and friends got me believing my hype. It made me lazy. It made me think I could coast through and still come out ahead of those who were hustling. Still when I felt myself getting a little too wrapped up in thinking I was better than everyone there was one voice that could bring me back to reality.
My grandfather had passed away less than two weeks earlier. I hadn’t recovered from that loss. The conversation that I had with my grandmother beside his casket is forever etched in my mind.
“He always believed in you John,” she had said with such sincerity. The words did little to comfort me.
“He was my hero.” I had always felt isolated when it came to pursuing goals. My family had their own lives and very little encouragement was given to me when needed. My grandfather was the exception. He had always taken the time to encourage my dreams and talents.
“He knew,” my grandmother replied. “He lived a very full life.”
“But I never did anything to deserve his faith.”
“Well he will never be gone, he is always with us. So do something to show him. He will see it.” I had always felt like my grandfather understood me. He had said that the only person who needed to believe in me was me. Even as I felt like I was falling behind in life he made it a point to calm my fears of failure by saying it was never too late to be what you might have been. This a famous quote from poet and novelist George Eliot, but to me it was purely from my grandfather. I guess with his death I lost the will to believe in myself.
My grandfather had an imposing legacy that he left behind. He was a World War II veteran, Olympic track and field star, and successful businessman. Above all that he was a loved and respected family man. I had always wished he could be half the man my grandfather was. That was how I would define my life as a success.
As the traffic slowed a bit going through New York City I had to smile. I wondered what 14-year-old me would think of staring down age 30 with nothing to show for my early educational achievements. At 14 I was never lacking self-confidence. I ranked among the highest scores in standardized testing. Hell, I even was allowed to take the pre-SAT test from a prestigious university.
Boy, how things changed the further I got into high school. Unsurprisingly being told day after day about all my potential and how far I was going to go started building pressure. Sure, it was important to me to become successful, but it was even more important to my family. They were counting on me to be the savior of the family. We never had much growing up, but we always had each other.
Once I got out of high school and lost that structured environment, I lost that drive and motivation. I tried college, but it was a small local school, not a major university like everyone had thought. Weeks and months turned into years, and suddenly I was not the savior of the family anymore. I was just another guy, just another face in the sea of humanity. I never thought that could happen.
I ended up confused, frustrated, and bitter. My mid-twenties were filled with regret and bouts of depression. The first time I truly realized how far I had fallen was when I found myself in a hospital Emergency Room.
I had been taking three different types of anti-depressants and they had mixed poorly and begun eating away at my stomach causing internal bleeding. I was laid up in the hospital for four days, in and out of a morphine-induced haze. In moments of clarity, I took stock of my life. I thought I had found the answer a few times, but after I left the hospital and the drugs had worn off the answers were gone.
‘Everyone said I was going to be someone. Now I am no one,’ I remembered thinking.
Shortly after leaving the hospital, I had a heart-to-heart with my best friend James.
“I am losing it man,” I confessed, “I feel like I don’t know who I am at all.”
“Have you ever actually stopped and thought about what you really want to do with your life?”
“I have had dreams, but they fade once the going gets tough.” James’ next statement stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Well I don’t know what else to say. I don’t think you want it bad enough.”
That ate at me forever, because I wanted nothing else but to become something that my family and friends would respect. Now it felt like any respect was there to mask pity and disappointment. I didn’t want pity from anyone. There had been opportunities I had passed on. Some jobs had growth potential but I was too impatient to wait it out.
My self-worth and self-esteem were damaged beyond repair. The failure to live up to my potential, the loss of my grandfather, the loss of Gwen. Everyone else it felt like had given up on me. All that was left was for me to prove them all right.
I had been driving for over four hours and my eyes were getting weary. I decided to stop at the next rest area to stretch my legs. Night had fallen. The road was dark except for my car’s lights. One was brighter than the other which was another problem my sedan was facing. In recent years my eyesight had begun to fade. Glasses were likely in my future. Night vision was an issue. I rarely drove long distances after sunset for fear I might crash. Maybe that would be a fitting end to the night?
The rest area I stopped at had a scenic overlook. There was a good-sized lake lying at the foot of a thirty-foot hill, and the entire area was surrounded by trees. It was probably better to view it during the daylight but the smell of the trees was a pleasant distraction.
It was only 8:30 yet it felt much later. My body was tired, and my mind was numb. Still, I wandered over to the guard rail where the overlook was. The moon was not quite full, but it lit the sky and presented an amazing reflection off of the lake in the distance. At this moment, standing all by myself in the parking lot, and by myself in my mind, I felt as if I was already dead. There was not much of any sound or movement but the soft crunch of the gravel underfoot.
I wondered if perhaps my poor night vision had indeed caused a car crash. Everything was so peaceful. It was realistic to me to think I had crashed miles back and my ghost was now standing before this wondrous scene waiting to be called to wherever I was headed for eternity. This feeling lasted for a few minutes until another feeling got the better of me. I had to use the restroom.
I walked around a narrow sidewalk that encircled three sides of the main information building that was common to many rest stops. The area was not particularly well-lit. It had me on my guard for the type of crazy people who like to hide in the shadows and prey on unsuspecting drivers.
Entering from the dark the fluorescent lights of the restroom hurt my eyes and buzzed constantly. The restroom too was empty. The whole situation seemed off. If this had been a movie I would have been yelling at the screen for the person to get back in their car.
I chose a urinal near the far back wall, just in case someone decided to sneak up on me. As I was washing my hands I heard a noise over the water. I stopped and listened, maybe it was my imagination. Hearing nothing I headed for the exit. I heard a cough clear as day coming from one of the stalls. This was followed by a groan. It sounded like a person who was just waking up. I bent down and spotted a pair of very shabby sneakers resting on the stall floor nearest the exit door.
“Hello, is there someone in there?” There was no response except for a loud yawn that seemed to shake the stall door. I probably should have just left but I called out again. “Hello who is in there?” A man finally answered.
“Who is it, the police again?”
“Uh no, just a passing driver, stopping in for a piss break.” The man unlocked the door and swung it open revealing a neat little bedroom setup. He had a large knapsack by his feet half open, and a bulky garbage bag next to his head that appeared to be stuffed with newspaper.
“Oh hi,” he replied sounding relieved, “thought you were the cops. They usually stop here once a night and throw me out. I pack my shit and head toward the lake, but once they get out of sight I come back here to my little piece of paradise.”
“Jeez, that sounds rough. How long have you been living in here?”
“It’s been close to four months at this rest area. But I have been on the streets for five years now. Ever since life kicked me in the balls.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I sure as hell wasn’t born homeless kid! I had a pretty good life, great job, beautiful wife, cozy home. I fought for my country and was rewarded handsomely for it. Then what I had wasn’t good enough. I got greedy, I always needed more, more money, more women. Never did I think that you could lose what you earned, but I did.”
“How did it happen?” By now I was leaning back against the counter with all of the sinks. The homeless man was leaning forward on the toilet, in a very familiar position.
“First off I got caught by my wife with another woman. Long story short, that evidence against me kind of made the divorce proceedings a one-way street. She got the house and half of my earnings. I struggled for a while in a much smaller apartment figuring I’d be back on my feet soon enough. But the backlash to my choices affected my work and eventually I was let go. After that it was bouncing from meaningless job to job, then it was doing anything I could for money. Eventually, when you’ve been kicked enough you learn to take it and never question it.”
I could feel the man’s pain as he spoke. I could see this one-time wealthy and comfortable life the man had, then having it dashed because he got greedy and made a mistake. His problems made mine pale in comparison.
“Do you ever think about going back and trying to put it back together?”
“I do, but it never gets far. I am so far removed from that life. The longer I am here the harder it is to try again. I give up faster than I begin. So where are you headed?”
“Back home after a road trip.” I avoided sharing my problems. They didn’t seem to matter much after listening to his hardships.
“Well best of luck on the rest of your trip. My name’s Ed by the way, if you wanted to know.”
“My name’s John, it was nice talking with you. It gave me some perspective on my own life.” With those words, I leaned forward and shook Ed’s hand. It was surprisingly clean, but then again he was living in a bathroom. I gave him ten dollars and walked back toward my car.
Ed’s words were echoing in my head. It was a very appropriate cautionary tale. I could easily end up like Ed. I was almost certain that I would not be able to pay the rent at my apartment alone. This meant eventual eviction. Then where would I go? Where would I work? I did not leave my job on great terms. My problems had not gone away just because someone had gone through more.
My head was spinning. It felt like someone was choking the air out of me. I knew there was no way to go back on my plan. Starting over would be too difficult. I sounded just like Ed. Once back in my car, I looked over at the plastic toy gun still lying on the floor. It was tempting me, calling me.
“You know this is the only way,” I could hear it saying.
I had thought about stopping to look at the moon’s reflection on the lake again, but it seemed like a waste of time now. I had no time for any more distractions. I peeled out of the rest area and raced along the deserted highway knowing my destiny still lay ahead.
I had barely gone a mile when I realized I had forgotten to get gas. My low fuel light had been on but as per usual I paid it no mind until it was almost too late. I got off at the next exit and quickly found myself twisting and turning down a very dark desolate stretch of rural Connecticut road.
Streetlights became scarce and I had to turn on the car’s high beams to keep from flying off the road. Up ahead a small white light grew bigger and brighter by the moment. I finally made out the name of the gas station. ‘Jimmy’s Gas.’ The price was right but I figured it was probably cut with water or something.
There were four pumps in a row, two on each side. I noticed there was a car on the other side of the same pump I had stopped at. While waiting for authorization for my debit card at the pump I peered around the side. The other car was a police cruiser. Inside the station’s mini-mart the officer was buying a few snacks and chatting with the clerk. This was the moment.
I stopped pumping the gas and flung the passenger side door. I snatched the black plastic toy gun. I would sneak up on the officer, put the gun in his face, and then allow him to get his gun out and fire it. It was simple. Soon my desire for the end would be over.
With the gun now firmly in my pocket, I went back to pumping the gas. I kept one eye on the price and one on the exit of the mini-mart. I could feel my palms getting sweaty as I awaited the upcoming confrontation. The sound of the gas pump was rhythmic. Coupled with a cooling breeze my mind began to wander. The sound of a car door slamming snapped me back to the present. The officer was now sitting in his front seat opening the packages of snacks he had purchased.
He was a bit large for a police officer but had the chiseled facial expression of a man who had seen years of service. He whistled a happy tune as he began to enjoy his late-night feast. I stopped pumping the gas. The nozzle stayed lodged in my tank as I slowly reached into my pocket. My heart pounded in my ears so loudly I swore the officer could hear it.
I nearly stumbled stepping over the pump hose. The officer’s window was rolled down and I could smell the man’s cologne in the breeze. I squeezed the gun so tightly that I thought it might break. Only a few steps across the island the pumps sat on separated me from the finish line. The element of surprise would be the best way to elicit a violent reaction.
I took a deep breath and held it for a moment. It was now or never. The toy reflected the overhead lights as I removed it from my pocket. I could see my blurred reflection in the car’s wax job. The officer was so into his snacks that he had not noticed the silent intruder now only a door length away. As the cool wind blew the sound of a car engine broke the silence. At first, it was far off, but then it slowly got louder. This engine was roaring and approaching fast. A pair of headlights came screaming around the corner. It was a sleek sports car, that’s all I could make out because in a flash it had passed by probably going 65mph at least. The officer whipped his head up as the tail lights passed and the dust rose. In an instant, the sirens were on and the police officer was gone in pursuit of the speeding motorist. The sound faded and the gas station was quiet.
I stood in the wake of exhaust dumbfounded. The toy gun was still in my hand pointed toward where the cruiser had just been. Before my mind could wander too far I was startled by the figure of the mini-mart clerk. He was coming out to see what the sirens had been for.
I quickly threw the gun back on the car floor and resumed pumping gas. All that was missing was a nonchalant whistle to show I was an innocent bystander. The clerk approached me. He knew I had seen what had transpired. My heart rate was still coming down when he began to ask questions.
“Hey did you see what just happened?”
“Yeah a guy went flying by in his car and the cop went chasing after him.”
“Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that. This area is very quiet. That’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen since I’ve worked here.”
I thought about how close the clerk had come to seeing something much more memorable. If only that car had passed two minutes later, he would have had a dead man by the pumps. I was frustrated. Killing myself was proving to be harder than I had thought. The clerk was still talking, but I had tuned him out. Then it hit me. Maybe the clerk had a gun in the store for protection? All I’d have to do is pull the toy out in front of this clerk while I was paying for items in the store.
I cut the clerk off in mid-sentence. I told him I was in a hurry and needed a drink for the road. We started toward the store. I had to run back to the car to grab my ‘wallet.’
I picked a soda from the fridge, paying no real mind to exactly what I chose. This was a bonus opportunity. I needed to make sure this clerk had no choice but to put a bullet or two into me. I stood at the counter fishing around my pocket for the gun. The store’s phone rang and the clerk began to speak to someone. This gave me a few extra moments and that’s where the doubt crept in.
What if the clerk missed? He said it was a quiet area, how often had he needed to grab a gun? What if I was only wounded and ended up in jail for attempted robbery? I needed this to be done right. For me, it was death or nothing. Once the clerk hung up the phone I paid for the drink and walked back out to the car.
I chugged much of the soda while I stared at the toy gun back on the car floor. Why was this so hard? All of the police cars I saw on the drive to Pittsburgh had seemingly vanished. It was as if they all got word of my plan and wanted no part of it. I headed back up the dark winding road destined for the highway. The night was not over. I still had a few hours of driving to go. Surely someone would answer my prayers before I got back to Providence.
That optimism didn’t last. The feeling of panic began to swell in me as I passed exit after exit. Had I wasted earlier opportunities? At McDonald’s and at the gas station I had the chance to provoke a violent reaction from a police officer. Maybe I should have ignored my conscience and not worried about what might happen to anyone else.
I always had a guilty conscience. I always worried too much about what others would think if he did certain things. I always wondered how his actions would affect those around him. Sure enough, it reared its ugly head again even as I was trying to commit suicide. It needed to be a situation so perfect that it never ended up arising. Stubbornness mixed with a conscience was like oil and water.
Upon seeing the first sign on the highway for Providence I let out a disappointed groan. My apartment was not far away. I figured there were less than two hours left to go. I was growing desperate, but I was also growing tired from the nearly sixteen hours of driving I had done in one day. My mind was nearly blank.
The panic set in and I started sweating again. I had to roll the window down to let the air blow in my face. For the first time since leaving the parking lot in Pittsburgh, my thoughts moved away from suicide. Now I was wondering what happened if I made it back to the apartment alive.
As of the following morning, I would have two weeks until my rent was due. Could I get an extension? I always paid on time, maybe that would give me a little leeway while I either got a bank loan or a credit card. What about work? I had left pretty abruptly from my cooking job, but those jobs were a dime a dozen. In all honesty, I could easily find a comparable job in a matter of days.
Had I jumped to conclusions? Maybe things weren’t so dire? Maybe I had overreacted? After all, those bad events that had been fueling my suicidal thoughts hadn’t killed me. There had to be a reason why. What would those closest to me think of my suicide? My parents would be crushed. All of my pain and disappointment had never truly been shared with them. For all they knew I was happy with my lot in life.
However, my best friend James and my sister Rosie had been there to listen and give me advice throughout everything. What would they think? I was tired of the stress in my daily life. I didn’t feel like I had the strength to start again if I was forced to. With every breath, my view changed.
Breathe in: ‘I can’t face the uncertainty anymore.’ Breathe out: ‘You can, you know you are meant for something more, you just need to find out what it is.’ Breathe in: ‘What if I never do, what if I grow old without ever having done anything?’ Breathe out: ‘What if your destiny is never fulfilled because you were a chicken shit and took the easy way out?’
Amid my inner turmoil, I was snapped back to reality. My car began pulling to the left. Going 80 mph it was easy to feel it. I had somehow just blown a tire on the highway. Ironically I didn’t have a second thought about pulling off the highway and into the breakdown lane. It hadn’t crossed my mind to press on the gas and let my car do what it wanted to.
My rear left tire was nearly flat. I had fixed tires before so it was not a big deal. The highway heading east toward Rhode Island was quiet. I could even hear peepers in the nearby woods. The weather had changed in the few hours since I left Pittsburgh. The heat and humidity had been replaced by a cool breeze. That was the weather for the northeast, especially in the fall, it could be 80 during the day and then drop to the 30s by nightfall.
I was cold and pulled a light windbreaker from my backseat. It was amazing how my body swung from pouring sweat to the chills. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick. When grabbing a small flashlight from my glove box I grabbed the toy gun and put it in the pocket of the windbreaker almost subconsciously.
I popped the trunk and pushed aside the clutter to get the spare tire and jack. I rested the tire on its edge against the car. The clunk of the jack as I dropped it to the asphalt echoed. It was a surreal moment as the time was well past ten.
I knelt beside the flat tire, flashlight in hand. After removing the hubcap and tossing it like a Frisbee to the side I loosened and removed each of the lug nuts. They were placed in a neat pile a few feet away. I began to crank the jack’s handle to start raising the car when I spotted a pair of headlights approaching. The vehicle slowed down and pulled behind my car. The lights went dim. A door opened and closed.
“You need a hand?” The voice belonged to Officer Stanley Johnson, a local policeman who was on his way home. He was a large man, at least six foot, and all muscle as well. He walked over to where I was kneeling.
“Yeah, unfortunately I blew a tire.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“I had a job interview in Pittsburgh this afternoon, but I am heading home to Providence.” Officer Johnson’s eyes grew wide when he heard of the length of my journey.
“Wow, that’s a long drive, it must have been a hell of a job!”
“Yeah eight hours, too bad I didn’t get it.” I faked a smile and shrugged my shoulders like it was no big deal. It was pretty embarrassing to admit my colossal failure to a total stranger.
“Ah don’t worry, I had plenty of jobs before I finally became a cop. I wanted to be an actor when I was young. Sometimes you have to try and fail a bunch of times before you find out what you’re meant to do.”
I smiled and nodded. I understood where Officer Johnson was coming from as I had also wanted to be an actor as a kid. But I had heard all of the same reaffirming lines from family and friends for years. He knelt beside me, we were face to face. I could see that his face was hardened from years of work. In his eyes though I could see the human side that some officers seem to lose along the way.
“Okay I’ll jack up the car and you swap the tires.” He had the car up in mere moments. I definitely would have needed a few minutes and a few breaks.
I rocked the tire side to side as I pulled it off the axle. It dropped with a thud of the rim on the asphalt. The spare was easy to put on. I tightened each of the lug nuts to keep the tire on once it was lowered. Officer Johnson lowered the jack and there was a soft crunching sound as the tire reached the road.
“I’ll tighten those nuts for you,” Officer Johnson said, “I’m pretty sure I can make it so Superman can’t get ‘em off!” He knelt with the tire iron in hand and began to tighten the lug nuts. I stood and watched. Putting my hands in my pockets I felt the toy gun I had grabbed. This setup was all too perfect. I wrapped a finger around the trigger and the others around the handle.
Officer Johnson was too busy proving his superhuman strength to notice that I had removed the gun from my pocket and now had it pointed inches from the back of his head. If he had leaned back at all the nose of the gun would have pressed against his skull. This was the defining moment, either I moved the gun an inch and went ahead with the ‘suicide by cop’ plan, or I put it away and no one would be the wiser.
In those few seconds, a million thoughts seemed to wash over each other. One thought broke through the muddled chaos. This man had stopped to help me. He was likely tired from a tough shift and heading home maybe to a family. It would have been understandable if he pretended he didn’t see me and kept on driving. Out of sheer human kindness, he did stop though.
It was then that I had another awakening. I realized that the world was not as cold and lonely as I had thought. There was no need for this extreme action. There would always be a tomorrow. Sure life might not be easy all of the time, but with each new sunrise comes a chance to try again. I put the gun back in my pocket moments before Officer Johnson finished tightening the lug nuts.
“There, that should get you home easily,” he said while wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Thank you very much,” I replied “I really do appreciate it.” I smiled and shook his hand, it was a strong grip. I was glad I hadn’t provoked him.
“Drive safe, and good luck with your job hunt, never give up.”
Officer Johnson got back in his car and drove off leaving me alone in the dark on the side of the highway. I leaned against the trunk and put my head down and breathed deeply. All of the panic, all of the sorrow, and anger faded. Sure there were still problems that needed to be solved, but I felt hopeful for the first time in quite a while. I have no idea how long I stood there in the dark letting my mind rest. It could have been a few minutes, or hours. Eventually, the wind began to pick up which forced me back into the car.
I turned the radio and the heat on. I let myself get lost in the music. I could focus on the next step tomorrow, which was not too far off. It was barely a half-hour later that I crossed the border into Rhode Island. It would feel good to sleep in my bed. I felt as if I had been away for weeks even though it had only been a single day. I would make a few calls tomorrow about a cooking job. If all else failed I might even see if I could go back to the old job. It had only been a few days since I left and they probably hadn’t hired anyone yet.
Even though nothing had happened physically I felt different mentally. I felt like I had lived a month in a day. All I wanted to do was call my friends and family. I had been so close to never seeing them again. I realized I needed to be more open with people about how I was feeling. Those close to me cared and wanted to see me do well. I had to be willing to be vulnerable and not so stubborn. I smiled a deep genuine smile, something that had been rare the past few months.
The rest of the trip home was rather uneventful. I passed through Providence, it seemed quiet and peaceful. A few minutes later I exited the highway and began the last leg of the trip. I started recognizing stores and street names. I was excited to get home. I wanted to prove not only to myself but to everyone that it wasn’t too late to succeed.
I turned down my street. In my head, I named the people that lived in each house. Then the lights of my apartment building came into focus. It was like a five-story oasis in the desert. I was so happy to see it, even if there were only a few scattered lighted windows since it was after midnight. Entering the parking lot I found my usual spot. I liked being able to see the windows of my apartment from my car. I turned the car off and looked up. The apartment was dark as I had left it early the previous morning.
The car quieted down to a few pops and rattles. There was so much I needed to have fixed on it, but even that didn’t bother me. I rested my head gently on the steering wheel just as I had done after the Pittsburgh sales job interview. It had only been eight hours yet I felt like I had come so far. The circus-like atmosphere that was my life for the past few weeks was now calm. All the thoughts drifted from my mind like feathers in the wind, but one thought remained. Fate.
I had always believed in fate, destiny, and the idea that everything happens for a reason. However, on this night it was something that did not happen for a reason. I was not meant to end my life on this night. All of the worries and stress of recent events were given to me to make my resolve stronger. The fact that I had looked for death and couldn’t find it was not a coincidence. From this moment on I would no longer be afraid of living.
There was a reason why things happened as they had. Maybe I was meant to be something more than just another nameless face. Maybe I was meant to be an inspiration and not a cautionary tale. I could help others like me who had fallen off the horse and did not know how to get back on.
I had no idea what to do next. Part of me wanted to sit and enjoy this newfound peace. Part of me wanted to scream and yell to express his relief. My conscience didn’t want to wake the neighbors though. I decided that I would go to sleep in my bed, in my apartment, while I still had it. I didn’t know about rent. I didn’t know about a job. The difference between now and even two hours ago was in my mindset. I finally felt confident in myself and my ability to overcome the troubles that life can dish out. Tomorrow, by that point it was today, would be a huge day. It would be as big as any of the other days that had played in my head throughout my eight-hour drive home.
The car door creaked as it opened, and I stepped back into my world a changed man. The fall night was still. Crickets were the soundtrack of the moment as they chirped a song echoing in the outside hall of the apartment complex. I paused and breathed in deeply. The air smelled different. It was as if I was experiencing it for the first time again. I stretched my arms toward the sky. My shoulders, back, and neck all made audible cracks. I figured I was just getting old.
It was only a few steps from the car to the elevator that took me to the second-story apartment. I was so caught up in this reawakening that I had not noticed a shadowy figure that had crept up behind me. I did however feel a poke in my back.
“Give me your money and you won’t get hurt.” The voice was deep and gruff. The man sounded like he had done this before.
“Okay, okay, be cool man.” I had never been robbed before. My adrenaline immediately kicked in much as it had done several times during my drive home. I feverishly searched the pockets of my pants and windbreaker for my wallet. I frantically grabbed the first object I felt and whipped it out. It was not my wallet.
It was the black plastic toy gun that had been stuffed in my pocket since I had the flat tire. It was now pointed at the robber. The few moments of silence played in slow motion. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my ears. The silence was broken by two loud pops echoing off of the walls.
The robber had fired twice into my chest. I was not a doctor and had no idea exactly where the bullets had gone or what they had hit. I just felt a burning pain that knocked me back into the elevator door. I bumped the buttons and within moments the door opened. I took a step into the elevator but the strength was leaving me. I tried to sit down but ended up on my back halfway inside the elevator.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” the robber shouted, “why’d you have to do that!” He quickly rifled through my pockets but didn’t find my wallet. He fled knowing that the gunshots probably woke up everyone in the building.
I tried to get up but my hand slipped in blood and I went down again. Breathing was getting difficult, my stomach felt like I had just downed a pint of beer. I stared up at the elevator’s lights, they all blurred into one large white light. My mind which had been so clear just minutes before was racing again. Why did this happen now? How ironic was it that all night I had wanted to take my life, and the moment I found peace of mind this happened?
“Fuck me,” I muttered weakly. The burning pain began to dissipate. I know little of death. Nobody can tell you what it’s like. It’s something you have to experience on your own. There was a mix of confusion and peace. I had learned so much about life by trying to end mine. I realized life is about the journey, not the destination. I understood. I finally understood, and that was what I had wanted all along.
I closed my eyes because the lights were too bright now to look at. The elevator door comically repeatedly tried to close jabbing me in the hips. I waited for something, anything.
The gunshots had indeed awakened many of the tenants. The first voice I heard was a familiar one. It was slightly muffled but it was one that had routinely made my heart jump. Gwen had returned earlier that day because she had realized that no matter how tough life got, she’d rather face it with me. She had been waiting for me for hours and was worried. She had even called the police. She had experienced her own awakening.
The gunshots had awakened her and a few minutes after the initial commotion she came out of the apartment and looked around. The elevator did not work because I was blocking the door. She came down the stairs and opened the door to see me a few feet away flat on my back. She let out a scream which startled me. I let out a gasp and opened my eyes. There was that face, the one I had fallen for the moment I’d lay eyes upon it. Now she stood over me with tears streaming down her face.
“Please John, please not now, not this way,” she grabbed my hand not caring about the blood that covered it.
“I love you,” I whispered. I could see Gwen’s lips moving but the sound was muffled. I tried to squeeze her hand but there was no strength. In the distance, I could faintly hear sirens. The light above my head began to grow dimmer. My breath was so labored but I kept on trying. Other familiar faces began to gather around us. Gwen knelt and rested my head on her lap. She gently caressed my face with the back of her hand but I couldn’t feel it.
So here I am staring at the woman I love as her face begins to fade. What happens next? It is a race between the sirens and the white light. I am hoping the sirens find me before it all fades away.
THE END
About the Author
Christopher Setterlund is a proud 12th-generation Cape Codder and comes from a large family. He has previously written seven books. The In My Footsteps travel trilogy through Schiffer Publishing, a Cape Cod history trilogy through Arcadia Publishing which includes Historic Restaurants, Cape Cod Nights, and Iconic Hotels and Motels, and most recently Cape Cod: The Heart and Soul Beyond the Beach through Fonthill Media. In addition, he hosts the In My Footsteps Podcast. Lastly, he is also a Certified Personal Trainer and Medical Fitness Specialist.
Gracias Wendy ♥
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