Syringe

Laughter and warmth. Dedication and determination. These are just a few of the words used to describe a man who was always there for his family no matter what situation tried to beat him into submission. Stiff and silent. Dead and cold. These are just a few words to describe the man lying in front of me now. Unfortunately, both men I describe are the same man. My caring, loving grandfather is no longer part of this world, the only remnant of his memory being his lifeless body splayed out on his bedroom floor.

Time has a way of getting away from you during a traumatic event. I couldn’t tell you if it was hours or minutes before the police arrived, or how long it took them to do what they needed to do and then pack his body in a body bag erasing the existence of a man who had spent seventy-two years trying to better this Hell we call Earth. I couldn’t tell you how much time had passed until a lawyer called myself and the rest of the family to read his will. Everything was such a blur from the moment I walked in and saw his body. That warm feel of his body, or was it cold? I can’t even remember. It all led to me sitting in his lawyer’s office with a little black book and a check for twenty thousand dollars. The lawyer said he left no letter explaining what I was to do with either item, but that it was made abundantly clear that this little black book was meant for me alone. That was always how he was around me.

I grew up with the man, my parents being drug addicts that ended up overdosing without a single thought for the sole child they brought into this world. His wife, my grandmother, was a no-nonsense woman who expected perfection in everything from everyone. How I hated her. It made my day when she finally dropped dead from an apparent heart attack. The pain my grandfather was in when she passed seemed unbearable, but he took that grief and formed a bond with me that benefitted both of us. It started with trips to the grocery store or coming along to run errands with him. It started off well enough. The memories still bring a smile to my face. Yes, the beginning was pretty great after the old lady died.

Looking down at this little black book I wondered what it could be that was so important that I had to have it. Part of me wanted to open it in the lawyer’s office right there, but part of me wanted to wait for privacy just to be safe. I stood up, thanked the lawyer for his time, and walked out the door. I was intending to head to my new apartment, but I haven’t even had furniture delivered yet thanks to the idiot across the hallway telling the movers they had the wrong address and the imbeciles believing him. They left without any questions, leaving me scrambling for a place to sit in my own apartment. I decided to go to a secluded coffee shop that had a perfect table in the back for privacy. My grandfather used to take me there after his wife’s death to tell me how proud he was of me. Sometimes he would grab my hand to reinsure me if I ever had a life question, or he would grab my leg if he saw me trembling with anxiety. The owner knew us by name and would have our coffee or iced tea’s ready for us at that table any time we walked in. Yes, I needed that table now, to see what was so special about this book.

On my way to the coffee table I deposited the check into my bank. Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of money, I would need time to decide how to spend it. After the deposit I walked the extra mile and a half uphill to the nice, secluded coffee shop. The building was an average office space on the outside. About fifteen feet high and forty-five feet wide. There was some old paint peeling off the corners where the weather had had time to wear it away. The inside of the building was dark, but not too dark. It had a calming ambience that allows you to sort of slip off the stress of the day and just enjoy the moment. It was lit with individual lights that resembled long, waxy candlesticks. I walked in and went straight to the back for my table. I allowed the memories to rush over me of my grandfather before finally opening the book.

The first page said forgiveness in a scratchy handwriting that would be impossible to read had I not seen it for years. I flipped through the pages quickly, just glancing at what was inside. Each page seemed to have a word like consideration, salvation, or justification. They were all written in the same scratchy handwriting. Under each word was a little blurb that didn’t seem to make much sense to me.

Under consideration were the words “You can’t understand what everyone else is going through”. Under salvation said, “Things aren’t always what they seem, and the only judgment should come from the Judge Himself”. On the page with the word justification it said, “things can feel wrong and still be right.” I had no idea what this meant, but I kept on flipping through the pages. I felt a special connection with the man who had shaped me into who I was today. Page after page, words with small blurbs flew out of the book. About ten pages from the end of the book was my name. Under my name was a small equation. It read, “$20,000 = truth” and below that were the words “5646 Ryker Trail”. The address to my parent’s house where they had died.

As if pulled by an ethereal cord connecting me and my grandfather, I searched for the first flight to my hometown, pulled out my debit card, bought my ticket, and then called an Uber to take me to the bank. I was in such a rush I didn’t even think how crazy it was that I would be following some little black book given to me by a dead man. I arrived at the airport within thirty minutes, ran through security as quick as possible, lucky to avoid the ‘random’ screening, and made my way to my gate with fifteen minutes to spare. I opened the little black book up again, turned to the page with the address, took a quick glance, and then turned to the next page. The word “water meter” was all that was written. I turned the page again and in giant, scrawling letters were the words ‘STOP UNTIL METER’. I wanted to see the next page, but my grandfather had always been so kind to me that I felt like I had to respect what could have been his final wishes. I closed the book and as I did, I was told to start boarding the plane.

The flight was a quick one. My grandparents only lived about a six-hour drive from my parent’s old house, so the flight was about half that amount of time. When I got the airport, I stopped at the food court and ordered a burger, pulled out my phone, and got an Uber to pick me up. It was about 11 PM so I stopped at a hotel for the night. Sleep came quick as the whirlwind of the day left me utterly exhausted. When I awoke, I was still groggy, but I got dressed and headed to my parent’s house. It was about a thirty-minute walk from the hotel. As I walked up the house looked renovated. There was fresh white paint of the wood of the house, the chimney lined with a nice, clean, red brick. The yard was mowed with children’s toys lined up against the porch. The house looked happy. I bet the family was too.

While admiring the house, and the lives of those inside, I saw the water meter. It was close to the sidewalk, only a few steps into their yard and I would be there. I walked over and lifted the lid. All I saw was dirt. I started digging through the dirt but there was nothing. I dig, deeper and deeper, still finding nothing. As I got deep enough to feel water I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around in shock.

“What’re you doin’ boy?” said a plump man with no shirt on. His belly was the size of a large, fluffy pillow and jiggled when he spoke. “Why’re you in my meter, there?”

I explained, as best I could, that I used to live here when I was small and that my dead grandfather willed me a bunch of money and a book telling me to look inside. I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t sure he believed me, but he said, “All that’s ever been in there, was a nasty needle.”

I apologized for messing up the dirt and walked away. A nasty needle. My grandfather sent me all this way for a nasty needle. I opened the book again. Was this all a waste of time? No longer caring about my grandfather’s feelings I went on past the ‘STOP’ page. For the first time the book had more than a few words.

It read, “Guilt can eat away at a person, ruining them from the inside out. My therapist told me that I should try to journal my emotions as a way to let it out without talking to someone in person. If you are reading this then you noticed my attempts to grasp control over my emotions were failed attempts. I could only write one sentence before I felt the pointlessness of it, sometimes I couldn’t even do that. As I lay here now, knowing my days are short, I finally realize what needs to happen. I need you to know the truth. In the meter was a needle that I buried, it was the needle I used to kill your mother and father. Yes, I killed them. I came for a surprise visit when you were barely old enough to stand, and there they were passed out on the couch, strung out of their minds, while you watched TV on the couch next to them. The syringe within your reach. What sort of monsters would do that? I took the syringe filled it with air and put some air into both of their arms and watched as they awoke to the insane chest pain that would be their death. Their last vision was me standing there with the syringe. They were declared dead by overdose and you were given to me. Your grandmother thought you would be garbage like were, so she had to go to. I needed you to be my redemption story for my worthless daughter. I feel guilt, but not for killing my family. I feel guilt that you had to face any of that due to my own offspring. Life isn’t fair. I do believe in karma though, so to help make sure it doesn’t come for you, I have a syringe here too, with my name all over it. Love always, Gramps.”

Tears filled my eyes as I read the final words. My grandfather killed his own daughter, her husband, and his own wife in order to make sure I lived happily. I didn’t feel happy though, I was taught by that same man the difference between justice and revenge. People died because of the man. The thoughts flew through my mind as I walked into the convenience store and bought my own syringe.