[Trigger warnings: addiction struggles and death/physical harm to children]
[Names have been changed out of respect for the dead and to protect the privacy of the community]
It’s been over fifteen minutes of debating with myself. Do I say something to him or not? Would he even take the warning seriously? Would he just write me off as the town lunatic or, worse, have me committed for being mentally unsound? Would I ever be able to look Lilly in the eye again if I don’t say anything?
That last question is the one that sticks the most stubbornly in my head, echoing throughout my internal struggle. I can’t escape it and I know there is no way around it. I have to say something.
I walk down the street to Eric’s home and am reminded how quickly the sidewalk quality deteriorates as you move away from the town center with cracks deep enough to lose whole wallets in, nevermind a single coin, and great slabs of concrete heaved from years of freezing and thawing cycles. I stop at the bottom of a similarly cracked and uneven concrete stairwell making a roughly one story ascent up the hillside to the home’s entry. As I face the house, I glance to my right, where the street meanders of into the town center, and to the left, where the road vanishes suddenly in the perilous blind curve of Deadman’s Turn. I try to talk myself out of going up the steps because maybe he is not even home yet. That excuse evaporates when I turn to check behind me. Eric’s beat up vehicle, constructed more of rust than metal at this point, is parked in the small gravel lot across the street facing the house. That’s it, no more delaying it. I straighten myself up and begin the climb up the exterior stairs.
Not even halfway up the stairs, a friendly voice greets me from the front porch.
“Hey there, haven’t seen you in awhile!” Eric smiles down at me and leans forward to rest his elbows on the railing. He has always been slender, but he looks especially gaunt today in the harsh late afternoon sun. The wrinkles in his face deepen and multiply as he smiles and the gray curls of hair sticking out from under his baseball cap threaten to creep into his eyes as even they smile.
“Hey, Eric. How’re your folks doing?” I reply, relieved to not have to go straight to the hard conversation.
We exchange a few pleasantries about the warming weather and family, but it isn’t long before his smile slumps. He studies my face for a moment and then asks, “so, what can I do for you, neighbor?”
I gulp, draw a deep breath, and start. “Eric, I need to tell you about something that is going to happen, but first, I need to tell you about something that already happened…”
[REDACTED]
Eric has not taken a single drag from his cigarette in at least five minutes. The ash just tumbles off in silent, little cascades with each tremble of his lip. His eyes stare off in the direction of the far wall, but it is clear his mind is still in the memory. Finally he clears his throat and breaks the silence, removing the cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray on the railing before speaking.
“I never told nobody about that before… and I know John took it to the grave.” He paused and looked up suddenly to lock eyes with me. “So, what’s this got to do with something else gonna happen?”
“I just needed you to know that this is for real so you would take this next part seriously… I’m sorry. Tonight you are going to get drunk and in the morning you will still be drunk when you get into your vehicle to go to the pharmacy for your mom’s medicine. At that intersection there-“ I point to the end of the block headed in toward town, “-you hit a family in the crosswalk. Two-year-old Bella is pronounced dead on the scene and seven-year-old Anthony is permanently scarred, physically and mentally.”
Eric has the thousand yard stare as he looks through me and into the depths of some unknown universe. I can see on his face that he believes me as he silently processes everything I have said. The silence grows deafening as each second passes. Or is it minutes? Whatever the case, the golden hour light is now bathing the entire street as the sun settles into the horizon.
I continue, “You know this means you can stop it from happening, right? You know what happens and the events leading up to it, so you know what to avoid.”
“To avoid?” Eric’s eyes return to the here and now and he is back to looking me in the eyes, pleading in them this time.
“This all starts because of getting drunk tonight.”
“Ah.” He nods lightly and lights a new cigarette.
“Eric…” I start, but he is miles away again, staring off into the setting sun. There is nothing more I can do here and I know it. “You take care, ok?”
As dusk creeps into night, I pretend to turn in early for the night and turn out the lights so I can watch more discretely from my porch. It isn’t long before his poker buddies start arriving. Pretty soon the night air is filled with the chatter of indistinct conversations punctuated with bouts if laughter. The sound is reminiscent of rolling thunder in a distant summer storm, building and waning, but more continuous. The noise all begins to fade to the background as my rouse of sleep becomes reality.
To be continued in the morning…