the end

he re-lit the end of his spliff too eagerly; the flame jumped quickly up his nostrils, singeing his nose hairs. he dropped what was left of his meticulously rolled marijuana with just a sprinkling of clove tobacco onto the unforgiving concrete. while furiously shaking his lighter hand and rubbing his face with his other to cool the burns, he knelt to examine whether the smoke was salvageable. the cherry had fallen out, and the paper was starting to come undone. not worth it. he stood back up, still tending his superficial wounds.

damned waste. he thought to himself. he would roll another soon, whether he had dropped this one or not, but that wasn't the point. the point was... well, he wasn't sure of the point. maybe the point was that he had expended his precious energy by kneeling to check the smokeability of nothing. maybe it was the fact that he had dropped it so clumsily. maybe it was that he had burned himself in his pursuit of that high, yet again. no, no, too deep. his nose crinkled as he rewound his thoughts. that's not it. it was simply his embarrassment at having dropped the joint. a clumsy and altogether unmaly thing to do. he finished his thinking on the subject and furrowed his brow, attempting to catch the next thought.

"chuck, it's last call. you want anything else?" charlie's friend, tim, poked his head out the heavy antique doors of the local alehouse as he spoke.

"no." came the only verbal reply, although his overall tone and demeanor sent the message, too. he wanted to be left alone. tim obliged.

the beloved brewery and eatery was facing demolition in the coming months, and charlie had the thought that its doors were worth saving. i hope someone takes them and uses them for something. another bar would be cool, a place to sit and smoke while we listen to music. preferably with a patio! but honestly, even if the city doesn't allow something like that, i hope someone just steals them before they tear this place down. they could put them in their backyard, i don't even care, they just gotta be used by somebody, somewhere. they're way too cool to be destroyed. he waxed on internally like this as the doors closed again, i'll spare you from the rest.

as he revealed, quite earnestly, charlie was a man who tended to spend his time outside of bars with patios that allowed you to smoke, maybe drink, and certainly listen to the music at the same time. he especially preferred it if they had lax weed policies. the reason that he told people he never stayed inside after ordering his drink was that he preferred to be able to smoke. he did believe this. and it was not entirely untrue, but the deeper reality was that charlie suffered from extreme social anxiety and certain other neurointricacies that led him to find himself quickly and severely overstimulated in loud, enclosed, and crowded spaces. he wanted to socialize, he wanted to make friends, but found it easier to navigate the rigors of it while outdoors, in a quieter environment with fewer people... self-medicating with his substances of choice.

at this particular establishment, the best place to hear the music and be outside is to stand in front of the window behind the stage, just around the corner from the exit. dark curtains block visibility, so, to charlie's credit on choice of location, it is essentially a private, backstage, outdoor show.

charlie knew people would be making their way outside shortly. he had to decide whether he would stick around for the dregs of conversation that occurred as musicians packed up their gear and patrons finished their final smokes of the night.

he was friends with some of the people playing, so he could help them carry their instruments. he could smoke one more with the new folks he had met through his buddy tim and get to know them better. he could join the circle forming on the sidewalk of previously minted companions and share his spliff as he listened to them all banter. but he could also just roll one for himself and start the arduous forty-minute journey home.

you see, charlie no longer lived in this town, although he did frequent the bars at night to support his musician friends. he wasn't particularly good at change or transitions, so he would make the nearly hour-and-a-half-long round-trip to socialize in places where he felt familiar and more comfortable.

was it wise for charlie to drive this distance at such a late hour after drinking and smoking as much as he did? certainly not.

did charlie care? certainly not.

he chose to leave. he would roll in his car and hit the road. no need to say goodbye.

charlie generally waited until he was on the highway to light up, but a phone call had delayed his usual timing on this. he was reaching for the spliff he had stashed in the nook on his dash when the call came in.

flashed across the screen as charlie glanced down at the phone on his lap.

shit, he thought. he declined the call. reaching for his spliff again, charlie began to wonder if he had made a mistake leaving without saying anything to anyone.

he had spent a great deal of time cultivating this relationship with mica. she was special to him, and he didn't want her to think otherwise, but he also had this great tendency to feel smothered in ways that left him acting more like a petulant child and less like an emotionally attuned adult.

i'm not going to ghost her, he thought, i'll call her tomorrow.

but she called back. again and again she redialed until, finally, charlie had no choice but to pick up. she was calling back so quickly he couldn't even catch a moment of his music without her disruptive ringing.

he answered.

"you're a mean ol' bastard, you know that?" she spat into the speaker.

"i'm sorry i didn't pick up," was charlie's reductive apology.

"didn't pick up. didn't say goodbye. didn't pay attention to me all night. in fact, i might even go so far as to say you intentionally ignored me. you haven't texted in days, not since we fucked. is that all you wanted from me, you fucking asshole?"

"i–" charlie started to defend himself, but stopped. he did feel bad, but he wasn't sure why. he was conflict-avoidant, but he didn't see that. he couldn't articulate any emotion that hadn't morphed itself into anger in order to be interpreted and released. the truth was, he had just wanted to sleep with her, but he didn't really see that at the time either. charlie was as adept at lying to himself as he was to others.

"you really are a piece of shit, you know that?" mica asked rhetorically before continuing. "i hope something happens to make you realize the impact you have on other people. you need to wake the fuck up and start treating women better. treating people better in general."

she hung up before charlie could stutter anything more.

for the best. he thought before reaching down for his spliff again.

the crutch rested easily in his lips as he sighed his relief. he reached for the lighter and brought it to the tip of the spliff to spark.

charlie knew he couldn't see well when the lighter was lit. he knew his vision at night was shit even without the extra light spilling into his eyes, but he lit that spliff anyway. he struck the flint a few times unsuccessfully, one hand steering, before placing his left knee on the wheel and raising his now-free hand to shield the flame and try again. the flame caught the paper and flared higher; charlie puffed and blew in an effort to extinguish the overzealous spark.

he didn't see the doe or her fawns attempting to cross the median as he rounded the curve on 94.

traveling nearly eighty-five miles per hour, he didn't see.