A Damn For the Road

A Damn For the Road

(Max’s Tale Ends)

Goddamn you: all of you. Damn you mother, for not letting me get to Aron when it all began, even if he was already finished. Damn you Sergei, for not letting me make you stay. Damn you Victor Alfaro, for not letting me escape Sergei, Aron, Johnny, you...

I drove and kept damning through my thoughts and lips and louder than whispers; after all, I was alone. The lash-outs grew louder as the highways went from cities, to mountains, to desert, to infinite desert. Then everything synchronized. Then. I got hungry.

I stopped at this gas station/convenience store called Bucee’s for snacks and gas. They carried beef jerky so I bought a bunch (BBQ, Smoky, Spicy Teriyaki) and some potato chips and a bottle of Dr.Pepper and even a pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cup because who gave a damn anymore. I didn't immediately rush out. There was nothing particularly interesting about the place, nor was there anyone there besides me and a big boy that had no business being near the potato chips aisle. After ten minutes of aimlessly pacing, I made my way to the register, grabbing a DVD copy of Tangled that was on sale for $1.99, (I would enjoy it if the kids didn't), and paid using the remaining $15 Victor Alfaro had given me as green pity.

The sun died down not soon enough. As its orange descendended into the earth, I reveled on how cool it was, then I reveled on memories of my favorite film school class and our lesson on "The Magic Hour.” We once shot this project focused on capturing this 6pm hour in filmmaking; I was all in and even got Johnny to be my model; we shot a week in advance to give time for a reshoot if something went wrong in processing. I got an A on it--and Victor Alfaro got a B on it--and I was actually invested in the class--Victor Alfaro was too focused eyeing me peripherally during its three-hour duration to pay attention. I did terribly on the exams, though (well, more like a C and D+); still—I got A's and one B on everything else! Victor Alfaro loved badgering me about study groups --I hated his study crowd--he insisted I pay more attention to school over leaving early to have dinner with Johnny. Even then Victor Alfaro was transparent. He didn’t want me to do better. He wanted me to do him.

Even with my greater content and Victor Alfaro's disconnection from the lectures— he got a B and I got a C—C! Not a C+—a C! So maybe his final project successfully developed while mine stunted through underexposure, but still--how did he manage that final shot at a superior grade. Damn you even then, Victor Alfaro!

The sun completely set and I was wired per my usual 8pm boost so I kept driving. The stars soon said hello. The night sky was rather clean, the stars scattered yet luminous. I pulled over to pee and looked up for an hour, remembering that talk I had with grandpa over two certain someones I randomly think about when the stars took over, no matter where I was.

It was 10:30 when I descended back to my reality, and the boost was still going. Maybe I would pull an all-nighter and drive straight down to New Laredo. I had done it on my way down to LA when it all began, so why not come full-circle--that and the sugar from my snacks further fueled my boost. Stopping would only lead to looking up.

I started playing this CD my friend Paulo gave me for my 30th birthday, back when I first got the call from that nurse with the ugliest voice on the planet, uglier than Victor Alfaro’s hyena cackle. It was a nice gift and all, considering how much I loved Jazz. The music was great and burning it had obviously taken great effort from someone who wakes up at 5pm--but he was so cheap! A secured rent-check and monthly leisure funds from his parents--he could have made a trip to Amoeba on my behalf--on his own conscience's behalf! Instead, I’d remember him by some burned CD he created the evening of my birthday. Damn you for being a cheap bro.

Even when I was diagnosed and looked into "alternative" medicine before starting my meds, Paulo only donated ten dollars-- ten measly dollars to my cause! Even when the "alternative medicine" called for more money, it was Victor Alfaro who covered the next session. He avoided my rejection by calling it an "early Christmas gift,"attaching this barely legible note inside the Batman Christmas card containing the coverage. He gave me a rosary too, which still hibernated inside my glove compartment. Goddamn you for that, Victor Alfaro.

I started humming as dawn approached. I hummed and hummed and hummed as Jazz took me to that place where I was first diagnosed, where Gregory died, where I decided to end it--not in the way I always imagined ending it because I wasn't terminally dramatic--but I was ending it. I was smiling as dawn ascended. Damn you too, Gregory. Damn you for showing me to let go. Damn you for making me owe someone something. Damn you for smiling. Damn you in your grave, friend.

It was 11:00 am and hot as always when I arrived in New Laredo. It reminded me of living in the valley; nothing too interesting ever going on, ten degrees hotter than everywhere else in the county, and lots of restaurants. Both places were routinely comforting.

I pulled up outside Gina's house for a breather. I started on my last pack of jerky so I could take my meds--a necessary breakfast. Ugh, I thought. Spicy Teriyaki with way more Teriyaki than spice--the type of sweet shit Victor Alfaro loves. Oh Victor—damn your sweetness.

I finished, put the empty bag in my cup holder, and clutched onto Purdy’s steering wheel: we needed a breathing extension. I reminisced on my last 11am there. There was no pausing breath then. Bags, toys, VHS collection packed and Suzie (Purdy's predecessor) was fully fueled. We were ready to end reminiscing.

“Que dios to benidga, mijo./ May the lord protect you, mijo,” grandma said as her parting blessing, crying.

“Catch you around bro,” Larry hugged me goodbye, a rarity on his end.

Gina hugged me tightly; my grandpa followed, patting me on the back: words always made for a fouth wheel between us three. Then she followed. She yelled out “papa” at my grandpa and ordered Gina and Larry back inside and then she continued looking at me, damning me from the front door, both feet on the other side of the exit. She yelled at me to never come back the night before that morning, swearing I’d come crawling back in three months. I proclaimed I’d take a death sentence before returning to her; oh damn her the most! Damn me and my prophetic oath. Damn us all forever!