Story

I met Jack when I was five years old. We had just moved into the house next to his. Jack and I went to the same elementary school and we quickly became friends, mainly because we were both disliked by the other kids. Jack was disliked because he was smart. He had good grades but couldn't play sports. I was disliked for just being different. Jack was always a very smart kid, which was one of the reasons he was so often bored. He was born into a normal American working class family on September 12, 1960. His father worked long hours in a factory on the outskirts of town and his mother would stay at home to take care of Jack. This was the best time of Jack's life, anything was possible, and his father, Earl, couldn't be prouder. Earl was an adequate provider for his family. His wife was never very happy but that was how she had always been. Earl didn't really care about her that much though, she was just someone to take care of Jack. Jack was the only thing he cared about, Jack would be everything that Earl wasn't. Jack would be a lawyer, a devoted husband with a loving wife. Shortly after Jack was born, Earl started to cheat on his wife. She would find out about this a few years later when Jack was three. Eighty-five painkillers would end her misery. Jack was doomed to a boring and unhappy life. Jack spent his school years being pushed by his dad. Everything was going according to his father's plan, but because Jack was so good at school he alienated himself from the rest of the kids. By high school he didn't really care, he was solely focused on getting out of his hometown. Until high school he hadn't realized what a shithole his town really was. They would all grow up to be their fathers or mothers, living unhappy existences. The continuous grey fog from the factories settled down on the town and only added to the gloom. A few fast food places were the closest you could come to a restaurant and the movie theater was the closest thing to culture the town could offer. Nobody was going anywhere in that dead-end of a town. But Jack felt he was different, he would be successful, he would get out and would never return. And because of his grades it looked like he actually might. He traded four years of service to the military for four years of college. We both went to the same military college. During my last year of high school I started to sell weed. I didn’t make much money because I was being extorted by my boss, but at least I was making money. When Jack found out how I was making money we had a bit of a falling off. We didn’t speak for a year, not until late in the first year of college. By this time I was making real money selling heroin and other hard drugs. Jack was finding it hard to cope with not being the smartest in his class. He had never been challenged before and this caused him great stress. He was a perfect target for me. He was in his first year of college when I introduced him to heroin, the fountain of youth, elixir of life. He had never felt anything like it, every time he shot up he was younger, life was better and he was smarter. He couldn't get enough. It was necessary, so instead of using the money his dad gave him for food he used it for more fountain of youth. Soon he gave up on classes and just focused on drugs. Jack flunked out of college, but still owed four years to the military. He dodged duty by shooting himself in the foot. I went off to serve and wouldn’t see him again for many years His dad was pissed and couldn't understand what had happened, when Jack came back from college his dad found a different person, Jack no longer cared about getting out of this hell-hole of a town. In fact Jack didn’t care about anything but the fountain of youth. For the first three weeks he did nothing but stay in his father's basement getting high. He ran out of heroin in a month. With none left he fell into a deep depression. His body was ruined. His skin was grey and he was thinner than usual. Life was unbearable and he would have killed himself had he not been so physically weak. His father started to make him eat. His father kept him alive by feeding him to keep him alive but this was only adding to Jack's misery, he just wanted to die. His father knew this and was getting back at Jack for letting him down. Jack hated life more than anything. After many months of his father slowly feeding him back to life he was almost healthy enough to go outside. It was so bright, after being locked in that dungeon for so long his eyes hurt. He was twenty-one when he got his first job. It was at a little diner down the road from his home. He paid his father rent for living in the basement and Jack was finally forming what was supposed to be a normal life. It was at the diner that he met his wife. They got married and shortly after a child followed. Jack looked for a better job to pay for his new family, at this time they didn't have a home for themselves, they lived with Jack's father.

"Hello?" I said into the phone, "Hey man, it's Jack" He didn't have to tell me his name I'd recognize that scratchy voice anywhere. "Wow, hey, how's it going?" "Actually pretty good, I just wanted to wish you happy birthday, you know?" My birthday wasn't for another week or so but I didn't correct him. "Thanks, wow," I never thought I'd never talk to him again, I was speechless. "How are you?" I was doing pretty good I had just finished my service to the military and was getting into writing. "Good I'm finished with the military actually so now I’m free, and I'm actually writing shit now" "For real? Sounds pretty good." It was alright, I told him, then I asked what had become of him. He told me about how he'd gone clean and had turned his life around. He had a wife and kid and it was a little rough but they'd make it. He told me all about his life, then we promised to meet up sometime soon. From then on every year about a week or two before my birthday he'd call to say happy birthday and catch up. His story was intriguing, but there wasn't much there for me to write about. Jack was twenty-seven when he got a job working at a factory making cars. He finally had enough money to buy a small apartment for his family. His son grew up in relative poverty slightly worse than Jack himself. Jack worked long hours at the factory and even took a part time job at a fast food restaurant to make ends meet. By his thirty-fifth birthday he hardly talked with his wife or child. Jack was drinking heavily. As Jack kept working for his family and kept drinking he got to thinking about how it was unfair that he worked all day for no reward, and that his family got all his money. They took so goddamn much, and he took none, or at least that's how he saw it. In reality his wife had got a job because her husband spent so much money on alcohol. She hated her life, her husband and even her own son, because of his resemblance to his father. Jack's son hated his parents and felt all alone in the world. It was the true American family, and Jack wanted out. He’d had enough, he didn't know his son, it was as if he hadn’t had a conversation with him for years, but still he stayed. He was driven to provide for his son by his father. When his father died Jack was devastated. His dad was the only anchor in his life, and his father's death sent him into a depression not unlike the ones he had had in between hits. It was because of this that Jack relapsed, stopped paying rent one day, took all his savings from the bank and left his home town and seventeen year old son for good. "Hey" his voice sounded rough and more scratchy than usual, "happy birthday" "Thanks," I knew something wrong, every year his report about his life had gotten worse, I was finding myself more and more intrigued with his story."How are you?" "That sucks bro. My wife left me you know?" Oh, god. I didn't know what to say. I just stood there listening to the phone unable to say a word. "So I just left, you know? What I always wanted to do, get outta that town it was holdin' me back, you know? Now I'm free." "What about your son?" I was afraid to ask this but for some reason I did. "Him?, hell he's old enough to look after himself aint he?... he's' old enough. Plus he don't even know me ya know?" "Dude, you’re really messed up aren't you?" I said, I could barely stand hearing him like this. "I don't know, shit just happened you know? So I was like why not live the life I was meant to live on the road gettin' high." "Your not back into shit again are you?" I asked not wanting to know the answer. "Just a bit, but I konw my limit," "ok" He traveled from town to town. He spent his money on drugs. He would stay in the shittiest motels known to man. He didn't give a fuck, he always said, "as long as I'm mothafuckin' free." He always knew he would get away from his shit box hometown but then look where he ended up. He couldn't decide if he was better off now or back when he had a family. Either way, this was how it ended up and there was nothing he could do about it. A year later when we were both forty-five he called me to say happy birthday one more time. "Hey bro” he coughed "Jack, you sound really bad"  "Never been better." he coughed.  "Where are you?"  "The motel nexus! classy shit." He said. "Man what city are you in?"  "I'm in Amherst, New Jersey"  "Do you have any money?” I said. "Not much bro, whatever, some'll show up you know? "Listen stay where you are, I'm going to come pick you up then we'll fly back to my place, alright?" I was really interested in the possibility for a story here.  "Finally! It’s 'bout time bro, know what I'm sayin', huh" then he coughed some more. I got there a day later. When I walked into the room I nearly puked. It was one of the worst places I had ever seen. There were shit stains on the wall, no sheets on the bed, mice in the walls and the intoxicating smell of urine, sweat, booze, and weed. A few needles were lying on the ground, but no body. The door to the bathroom was closed. I walked slowly towards it afraid of what I might find. I opened it and there he was lying on the ground. His head was blown into little pieces. In his hand he held a gun. He always said he would get out of that town, but he always thought he would end up somewhere better. As it turns out he ended up worse than before. I walked out of the room contacted the police to notify them about Jack’s death, and then I left for home. What else could I do at this point? I should have done more earlier but there was something too fascinating about the story his life had become to interfere. It wasn't until later that I fully realized at what price my story came about.