it's: long way down
by: bj
in sum: today i'm leaving this bullshit one-horse town.
label: ephram. ephram/omc. implied ephram/colin.
rating: pg13.
sissies: i know you'll have no spoilers.
legalities: don't own, don't sue.
i say: "conscious"-verse. before "she was invulnerable."
muse: "long way down" by matthew good.
you say: all comments appreciated, answered, and archived.
The weekend after Colin leaves for college, or maybe the weekend before he comes home for Christmas, Ephram puts two clean shirts and a dozen condoms in his backpack. He tells his father he is teaching all afternoon in Old Springs, that he is having dinner with his boss and her family. Maybe it is the weekend after New Year's.
He throws his bag in the passenger seat of his truck and he drives. He teaches a class of six-year-olds for an hour, he collects his money from the school's director, he keeps driving. It is the weekend before Spring break.
Ephram meets Brad at the Red Diner in Denver the weekend after Easter, they eat cheeseburgers and fries and talk about music. Brad is very serious as he sucks the last of his milkshake from the glass. He says, "I need to take a leak," and Ephram follows a moment later.
When Ephram comes, he pulls Brad's hair, his head hits the mirror behind him. He tells himself this has nothing to do with anybody. He doesn't care that Colin and Amy drove to town together for summer vacation.
Labour Day weekend is big at clubs. The music is loud, the kind he used to make fun of, jittering repetitive beats and droning melodies, lights timed to tempo changes. He lets Brad slip a tablet of E between his lips. He dances, he kisses strangers, he loses Brad in the crowd. He loses everything.
He drives home half-drunk, mouth sticky and sour, and he can't shake the feeling that he should be glad Colin is coming home for Christmas next week. All he has is a hollow stomach, fear, and the certainty that he is not good enough. The night is wrapped around the truck and it's so dark.
Ephram wakes on January 2nd with a vague headache, his entire body sore and angry. He gets out of bed and dresses. He can't feel his face. He opens the medicine cabinet in the washroom to avoid the mirror. He sits against the tub and swallows aspirin after aspirin. With a start he realises he can't remember how many he's taken. He caps the bottle. He has to stop or go all the way. No more half measures. No more commuting to hell.
He dresses and goes downstairs. He lets Delia hug him and he lets his father hug him and he goes outside. He tosses his backpack in the loaded truck. He drives south, he heads for Denver for the last time. It's not warm enough for March, he thinks.
End.