Eight
Hours
Christopher
Setterlund
Copyright
© 2006, 2023
All
Rights Reserved
Cover
Image by Emmanuel Acua/Christopher Setterlund
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Used: Liberation Serif
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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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