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I had a family once… that much I know for sure. I had to, at one point or another. You know, it’s kinda hard for me to exist without ever having one. I don’t really remember. My childhood? I don’t remember anything before age fourteen… my first memories are of Arizona… and Mr. Johnson. He was a real asshole… the true epitome of the word. I learned a lot from that man. Doesn’t matter. He was still an asshole. I wonder if he’s still alive? The long road stretches out far beyond the horizon of the black cowl of the shining Firebird. It’s clear, calm, empty, a straight line from one point to another. I’ve often wondered about my family… every so often I get bits and pieces of memories, nothing solid though. People, wandering around in them… it could be my mother and father, but of course, it might not. Did I really have parents? I had to… I don’t remember them though. Did I have brothers, sisters? Did we share celebrations by the tree at Christmas, eat turkey together at Thanksgiving? Did we picnic in the woods, did we vacation at the beach, did me and my pops go hunting for deer? Beats the hell out of me… Lights flash by as a car flies down the road in the opposite direction. Are there people, or is it just an anonymous car? Does it exist if I don’t believe in it? Are the people running from their past, putting distance between themselves and it? Or are they rushing back, to get in touch with the past? To go back to what they once had, an idyllic life. Are they important or just another passenger on the road of life? Like I care. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not involved. An eighteen wheeler flies past. Now that’s the life… open road, eighteen wheels under your ass, six-hundred horsepower and 12 cylinders under the hood… Jesus as your copilot? Fuck it… the Devil is mine. Was that a family in the car that went by previously? Or was it another loner such as myself… family… what is family? It’s just a word really, doesn’t mean nothing to me. I’ve done fine on my own… been ten, twelve years since I left that asshole Johnson and his little camp. Left behind Jimmy, Ed, Rob… Vinnie, Chico… Yeah, I guess they were my family. Pretty dysfunctional, if you ask me… Johnson as a father figure? No wonder I’m so fucked up. No wonder half the boys are dead by now. A cop car flies past… time seems to slow down as the driver of the Firebird and the cop make eye contact… then back to real-time. Johnson… I should go back to Arizona, find that cumrag and beat him six feet into the ground… he’s why A.J. died out there in the desert, he’s why Dale offed himself in the barracks. I wonder if that shithole camp he ran is still operating, or if the government finally got fed up with his shit. Hell, he makes the P.I. D.I.s look like fairies in boots. I should take a detour… but no, I got a schedule to keep. A piece of paper floats down off the dashboard. The driver picks it up and looks at it. Bill Payne? What the hell kind of name is that? Doesn’t matter… it’s his first match too… probably be his last, if he tries to fight back. The GWA… sounds like a government agency or something… same old shit, different time, different name. The driver lights up a cigarette. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t smoke… I know that, in my business, it can cause major shit. Doesn’t matter. My life expectancy sucks as is. So at least now I know what will kill me. No dying from some mysterious cancer that no one knows where it came from… no dying at age ninety-two, lying in bed, invalid, suffering out my days… Yeah, I’ll take the good old American standard, lung cancer. Never killed anyone deader than anything else… The driver smiles and takes another puff. A song begins to play on the radio…
Someone got knocked out in the last round and hit the bell
Someone threw a match into the sun
Someone gained the world
And lost his soul
It could be anyone
I know the most horrible word ever spoken
It has left a bloody trail of hopes and dreams that are broken
The driver takes a drag off the cigarette and smiles at this line. Hell yeah, I’ve left a bloody trail of hopes… and a lot of broken dreams, not to mention broken bodies. Some are mine, some belong to others… Tiff, Alex, Erik, Joni… all broken dreams, bloodied hopes. Rob, Trek? Broken bodies, both of which I regret. Other broken bodies, but I don’t regret those… they had it coming, they deserved just what they got.
A small toy boat against the tide with all it's might keeps pushing forward but when the battle's done it finds it has come now further than the shore to reach the mountain top to climb above your fears you spend your whole life reaching to find you never once were near Almost is the most horrible word ever spoken I don't believe in Almost.
The driver smiles a cruel grin as he flicks the cigarette out the window, burnt down to the filter. Almost? Fuck almost… I don’t believe in almost. Almost never got me anywhere, almost never got anyone anything. Almost famous? Almost good enough? Almost a champion? Almost is bullshit. It’s for losers… it’s for those that aren’t good enough. It’s better to be a “has been” than an “almost was.” Me? Don’t worry, I won’t be either. I don’t fade out, I don’t bluff my hand too far… Yeah, I know what’s going on. The driver looks in the mirror and adjusts his black sunglasses a bit, straightening them out. Yeah, I know, it’s night, why the sunglasses… why not? Everyone hides behind something, hides themselves, masks themselves in one way or another… Tre was the best at it. He either hid behind that actual mask he wore when he was going as Thanatos, or he hid behind that lowly street-trash, gang-banging façade of his. We knew it wasn’t the real him. Johnson, he hid behind his authority. He hid his shortcomings by pushing us to be better. Tiff, she hid behind her mask of innocence, and got all caught up in it only to be let down. Hard. He pulls up to a stop light at an intersection. The roads lead east, north, south and west. How appropriate. A stoplight in the middle of nowhere. Roads that lead in four different directions. Do I want to turn around, go back to where I’ve been? Do I want to head south, in a downward spiral, leave this all behind, move to a different latitude? Or go north, diverting from this path I’m on, forgoing the paradise waiting down south, still move away from my past, to solitude? Or do I go head-on into a new time, into the promising future, going east away from my past, ignoring the diversions alongside the road of life, not getting pulled off in one direction or another, pulled away from my goals? Oh, like it’s really that fucking difficult of a choice. The Firebird roars off, headed east on the desolate stretch of highway, taillights burning blood red embers in the night sky, engine howling out it’s fearless, lonely, threatening howl into the night. Copyright 2001, J.G. Productions
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