H: Chapter Eight

We continued driving down the road for a couple more hours. The windows were rolled down, and the radio was on full-blast. Jack sat in the passenger seat. In the past hour, he had smoked seven cigarettes. Travis and Thomas sat in the front row of seats, playing poker. Thomas had been winning until he let Travis deal the cards. This allowed Travis to manipulate the deck to his advantage. And, I, stared out the windshield as the acid peaked.

I rested my left hand on the steering wheel, sloppily grasping it. My right hand was occupied with a slow-burning joint. Jack reached over from the passenger seat and sniped it away from me. He took a mighty hit and then slowly exhaled little smoke rings. “You know, Payte, I used to be friends with this one girl.”

“Okay…” I said sheepishly.

It’s amazing that I was even able to speak while at the peak of the trip. For the past twenty minutes there had been a poisonous dragon with four heads swimming across the road. Each time I would swerve the van to dodge it, it would find a way to get back on the road. I tried ramming into it, but all that did was make it angry.

Smoking the joint made the dragon less angry. However, whenever I smoke weed I feel locked inside my own head. Driving makes it even worse. Am I in the right lane? Yeah, I am. Is my turn signal working? Wait, why would I even need a turn signal? I’m just going in a straight line.

When you’re stoned in a car, whether you’re the passenger or the driver, you can feel each individual movement of the car and you start to feel like you’re floating. But I might just be speaking nonsense, everyone experiences drugs differently. You can blame everyone’s unique brain chemistry for that.

“And she was a dominatrix.”

I began to wonder where this was coming from. Was Jack into cock-and-ball torture? Did he pay the dominatrix woman to stand over him and degrade him while choking his chicken? He seems like the kind of guy to do that. Though, sex is such a rarely discussed topic, you never really know what a person is into.

I turned to Jack with a cigarette clenched in between my teeth. “Woah, you guys ever do that shit in bed?

Jack shook his head and absentmindedly swiped his hand in the air. “Nah, she was never my type.”

“Why didn’t you go after her? That’s stupid as fuck.” I said. “If I knew a hot woman who was into that kinky shit, I’d constantly be fucking her.”

Jack looked down and took a deep breath. “Yeah, anyway, I was over at her house one time, right? And these guys are calling her and paying her like fifty-bucks-each to degrade them.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. Jack took one more puff off the joint and handed it to me. “One of them was a black guy, and he wanted her to call him slurs. Like, really, terrible slurs.”

“Damn.” I said. “I guarantee that they were jacking off over the phone.”

Jack smiled and laughed, “That’s the thing, they’re not allowed too. They’re literally just paying to be degraded. For no reason.”

“What the fuck?” I said. That made absolutely zero sense. If I’m gonna get degraded by a sexy gal dressed in a leather suit, then I’m getting some pleasure from it. I can’t imagine paying a girl fifty bucks just to be called names, and get nothing else from it. But, whatever gets you going, I guess…

Behind us, Travis placed his cards face-down on the gray, leather, seat. “Alright, show em,” He commanded with a cigarette dangling from his bottom-lip. He took a drag then blew out a puff of smoke.

Thomas placed his cards up, revealing nothing but a pair of two’s. Travis smiled and took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ash off of it, making it land on the already dirty floor. He flipped his cards up one-by-one, revealing an entire royal flush.

“You’re enjoying this, you fucker.” Thomas said while smiling. Flames of jealousy erupted in his eyes.

Travis sat back and took a drag. “What? Do you think I’m cheating?”

Thomas locked eyes with Travis, and with a bewildered smile on his face, he said, “Matter of fact, yes I do!”

“Oh, but Thomas!” Travis said. “Do I really look like a person who cheats at poker? It’s fuckin’ poker!”

Thomas bit his lip and locked eyes with Travis. “The chance of getting a royal flush is 0.000154%. And you’ve gotten one, three times in a row. You’re cheating!”

Travis’s face sunk down and he nodded. It was clear that he had a deep respect for Thomas’s knowledge. “Alright, man.” He said as he pushed the cards over. “You can deal this time.” Thomas smiled and reached over to grab the deck. He formed them into a big pile and slowly shuffled them. When it came time to show their cards, Thomas was absolutely heartbroken to see that Travis had somehow got another royal flush.

Back in the driver’s seat, I continued singing along to the radio as I smoked the joint. We passed a highway sign, signaling that we were eight miles away from Charleston, West Virginia.

As I continued down the road, I saw a shoddy looking gas station far in the distance. When you see a gas station that looks that bad, you just know they have some crazy shit for sale. There was a high chance I’d find bags of crystal meth beneath the stained glory holes in the stalls. Shit, maybe I’d even find some coke laying on the toilet seats.

“We’re making a quick pit-stop,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Why?” Jack piped up.

“I need to piss.” I said. I couldn’t trust them to tell them what I really wanted to do there. I convinced myself that I could find some mysterious substance I’d never tried. Something that would change my entire fucking world. If the guys knew this they’d want some too. Every single one of them were drug fiends that were constantly smoking and injecting shit into their veins. I figured that I was better than that.

I pulled into the parking lot and took the handicapped spot. Jack and Thomas stepped out and walked through the sliding doors. Travis slid open the van door and stepped out. I walked over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I want you to watch Jack. Take him some place and talk to him, alright?”

Travis raised a curious eyebrow, “Okay…” He said. “Any reason why?”

“He needs to decompress. I also, just don’t want him running off and doing… you know what. We’re pretty close to a city, so he could go run off anywhere. Got it?”

Travis nodded, “I got it.” Travis walked back to the van and got Jack in the passenger seat. They started driving off, and I made my way into the gas-station.

I walked down the rows of overpriced beef jerky, energy drinks, chips, and finally to the bathroom. It was what I imagined. It smelled distinctly of sweat and bodily fluids. I could imagine some poor drug fiend shooting up in there. I mean, fuck, if I was doing heroin, I’d be shooting up in there.

Alright, let’s pause for a second. I need to tell you something before I make this confession. I am not gay. No matter what you read, know that I am not gay. Not even in the slightest. I don’t want a dick anywhere near me. I don’t wanna suck one, I don’t wanna lick one, I don’t even want to see one. I am not gay. Do you understand? I’m. Not. Gay.

When I got in the bathroom I noticed one thing. There were absolutely no urinals. And yes, I did go into the men’s room, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this scene right now. So I was forced to go into the stalls, okay? I was forced too. I didn’t go in there by my own will.

As I dropped my jeans, another guy came into the stall next to me. I looked down and saw a little hole in the stall, about knee-height. I got close to the hole, pulled down my underwear and stuck my semi-hard dick through there.

“What the fuck?!” A high-pitched voice boomed from the other side. I immediately recognized that voice. It was Thomas. I had just shown myself to Thomas.

I immediately stepped back and pulled my pants up as my face turned a bright red. I locked the stall-door and waited on the toilet for the bathroom to be empty so I could walk out. Thomas does not know it was me to this day. No one, except you, will ever know.

I feel that I must stress that I am not gay. By any means. I don’t know why I did what I did, but I know that I am not gay. I’m not a faggot, alright? Okay? Do you understand? Do you?

* * *

Travis drove down the highway. He and Jack were on their way to a nice hill Travis had picked out after looking at a map. The windows were rolled down, the radio was playing quiet static, and the sun shined through the window, illuminating the van. Jack propped his feet up on the dash-board and clipped his toe-nails. Each nail would fall into his lap, then he’d pick it up, and throw it out the window.

Travis shut off the radio and said, “So why do you do it?” He spoke very carefully, trying not to alarm Jack. He knew that even the slightest change in tone could ruin the entire-fucking-thing.

Travis flicked one of his toe-nails out the window and said, “Do what?”

“Don’t be stupid—“ Travis cringed. I might’ve just messed this all up, he thought. “You know what I’m talking about,” There we go… “The heroin, man, why do you do it?”

Jack ripped a hangnail off and turned to Travis as scarlet drops of blood ran down his big toe. “Okay, first of all, you don’t just call it heroin. You call it H.”

“Fine, why do you do H?”

Jack shrugged and brought his foot to his mouth the bite a piece of dangling cuticle off, “I don’t know.” He said gnawing at his toe.

Travis sat forward in his seat, bringing all of his attention to Jack. “Dude, I know you’re lying. Don’t you wanna be a Navy Seal or some shit—“
“Yeah I do, and I’d appreciate it if you kept out of my business.”

“Can you, just at the very least, think about why you do it?”

“Why do you smoke cigarettes and weed? Don’t you wanna do something with your life?”

Travis let out a great sigh. “Jack, I don’t know why I do half the things I do. Maybe I like torturing myself, or maybe I just don’t care about any—“

“Maybe, the world is gonna end soon and I want to enjoy it while I can.” Jack looked at Travis and saw him nodding. “Do you see half the shit that goes on out there?” Jack said. “The things people do to each other? Why would anyone want to live in world like this?”

Travis nodded. “Thanks for finally being open with me. Now that you know why you do the things you do, you can work on them. It’s the first in changing, well, anything about yourself really.” Travis fluttered his hands in the air as he spoke.

They fell into calming silence for quite some time. The tires rumbled on the bumpy road, the wind blew against the windows, and every once in a while Travis would swerve to miss a pothole. That’s the thing about highway roads. Either the entire stretch is clean without any potholes, or the entire road is just a shoddily, put together, mess of gravel and asphalt.

The thing about driving is that you eventually go into this mode where you focused on nothing but what’s in front of you. You enter into a specific state of meditation. It’s like really getting into playing guitar, or beating on the drum-kit. You start to feel like you’re outside your body, and you can only focus on the music and nothing else. Or, in this scenario, the road.

As Travis drove, he heard Jack quietly sniffling. The sniffles which then turned into ugly tears, the kind of tears that make your nose run and your eyes all read. Ugly-crying is the term.

“Jack? What’s wrong?”
Jack wiped the snot from his nose and looked at Travis. “I’m just so happy I met you guys. All of you are so amazing, especially Payte. He’s so nice and funny, smart too.”
Travis smiled, “Yeah, Payte’s pretty amazing.”

They came to the hill and Travis parked right at the bottom of it. Park benches were strewn about and trashcans were filled with half-eaten food. Travis turned to Jack and said, “You ready for a hike?”

Jack slowly nodded, “Sure…” His words were stunted, like he was planning something. There’s a certain tone of voice you get when you have to do something, but you know it’s gonna end badly.

Travis climbed out of the front seat and started making his way up the hill, not even bothering to look behind him and watch Jack. Cans of beer and empty cigarette cartons were strewn about on the trail. Plastic bags were filled with food wrappers and other substances. A couple hypodermic needles were buried neatly in the grass.

Travis came to a section of the hike where you could see all of Charleston. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He stuck it between his teeth and slowly lit it while taking a drag. “Looks pretty nice, right Jack?”

“…”

Travis turned around and saw that Jack was nowhere to be found. He let out a long and exasperated groan before racing down the hill. Shit, he thought, Payte’s gonna kill me if Jack gets away. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. His lungs burned and his mouth grew as dry as lizard-skin.

He came to the park-benches and saw that there was no sign of Bessie. He let out a curse and stomped the ground. When Travis regained his composure, he took a deep breath, and started running down the hill. He made it past the trees with emerald green leaves, past the gate, and past the turnpike. His mind raced at the speed of a professional driver. Travis wondered what I would do to him when I found out. He’s gonna kill me, he thought. Jack is already scoring heroin right now, that fucking junkie. No, no, don’t call him that. That type of negativity doesn’t help anyone. Focus on positive thoughts. I’ll find Jack before he can shoot up, I will, and then Payte won’t have to kill me. Travis took another deep breath and quickened his pace.

Travis finally got to the end of the hill and collapsed onto the dirt. He had never run that fast in his life. The entire sprint was probably his week’s worth of cardio. After another, painfully deep breath, he got to his legs and started walking.

Luckily the traffic was highly congested, allowing Travis to search for my van. He started walking East, down the highway. Many cars and trucks were bumper to bumper. Children sat in their car-seats eating and squirming around. Stressed-out parents turned their heads and shouted at their kids to shut up. Dogs stuck their heads out windows, panting and growling. Fathers stepped outside their vehicles for a quick smoke, and stared at Travis as he nervously waved to them.

Up ahead, Travis saw the van in all of it’s glory. A wide smile crossed his face and he once again started running, but this time slower and more cautiously. “Jack!” Travis called out. “Jack, you motherfucker!”

Travis got to the van and slammed his fists against the door. “Let me in, man! Let me in!” He moved to the window and stood on his toes. “I see you in there! Don’t play dumb!” He shouted. Jack locked eyes with Travis as he turned up the radio and flipped Travis off.

Travis prepared to hurl a concoction of insults and swear words, but managed to stop himself. “Jack look, I’m sorry. Alright? Can we at least talk about this?”

“I’m not quitting!” Jack screamed loud enough for the next car over to hear.

Travis ran his fingers through his shaggy hair and took a step back. He knew that if he said anything, the situation would only get worse. Travis had to figure out a different plan.

Jack turned his head to his left, and saw a pink bicycle sitting in a truck bed. He grinned and raced down to it. When he got to the truck, he crawled on his knees below the windows. Making sure not to be seen, he carefully lifted the bicycle out of the truck bed and onto the ground. He hopped on, and started pedaling to the van.

* * *

I sat on the curb outside the gas-station, smoking a cigarette. In between long drags and equally long exhales, I watched as cars zoomed by. One of them was a classic Chevrolet Impala painted a metallic gray. Ants crawled around on the cracked asphalt around me. They carried little crumbs of chips and processed hot-dogs to their little caverns in the ground.

Thomas pushed open the glass-doors and took a seat next to me. He had an orange cup of coffee in his hands. “May I take a cigarette off of you?”

I locked eyes with him for a moment. Images of the glory-hole incident was still fresh in my mind. “Sure,” I said, withdrawing a cigarette from the pack. It was a cheap brand of cigarettes called, Pyramids. They tasted like shit, and smelled like shit too.

Thomas stuck the cigarette in his mouth and I lit his cigarette for him. He took a drag and exhaled. “You know, there was a hole in the stall…” He said slowly. His eyes were blank. It was clear that his mind was still trying to understand the situation.

“Wow, really?” I said, trying my best to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, and some sicko stuck his penis through there.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, it was quite bad.”

A heavy, and awkward, silence permeated throughout the air. It was here that I realized I knew nothing about Thomas. Up until now, he was just some kid we picked up on the side of the road in Texas. I never spoke to him or asked him questions, a

nd that’s fucked up. When you’re as great as I am, you’re doing a disservice to people by not talking to them. I literally make people’s lives better just by existing. Why not talk to people and share you’re philosophy with them? You never really know what’ll happen.

“Why are you so quiet?” I asked as I turned to Thomas. The awkwardness from the glory-hole incident was still swarming and swirling inside my brain. I made it my mission to know that he would never find out, ever.

Thomas gave a slight, and sluggish, shrug. “I don’t really know. I guess I’ve just never really enjoyed talking to people, I’d rather read. Oh, and did you know that Shakespeare might’ve been more than person? It’s a cool little theory?”

I raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Really, that’s—“

“Yeah, if you read his stuff, the tone and voice totally changes in nearly every book. It’s kind of weird.”

“Damn, I didn’t know—“

“Either he was such a literary genius that he was able to do that, or he was multiple people. I like to go with the, ‘multiple people,’ theory. It makes it more interesting.”

I threw my cigarette-butt on the asphalt and squished it with my foot. I began to take another cigarette out when Thomas spoke up again. “Hey, where is the van? And Jack?”

“I told Travis to take Jack somewhere so he could relax and shit. He seems stressed out. And I didn’t want him running off to kill himself with more smack.”

Thomas nodded and took one final drag of his cigarette. “Jack is pretty smart, but he dumbs himself down for people. I guarantee he will find a way to get more heroin.”

I paused for a second and looked right at Thomas. “You’re kidding, right?”

Thomas shook his head. “Nope.”

I let out a great, and furious, sigh before standing up. “Come on, let’s go.”

I grabbed my cigarettes and stuffed them into my pocket before standing up and walking away. Thomas shot up from where he was sitting, “Where are we going?” I turned around and said, “We gotta go find Jack!”

Thomas jogged out of the parking lot, catching up to me. We walked along the highway, and the cars caught in traffic. As we half-jogged, Thomas told me about the time he spent in Billings, Montana.

* * *

It was three days after Thomas’s sixteenth birthday. For a little over three years, his foster parents, Mary and Joe, had been the biggest methamphetamine producers in all of Billings, Montana. They had sold to the most wealthy clients, and yet somehow, they were completely and totally, broke.

At Thomas’s birthday party Joe sat him down and said, “You’re a man now, so I think it’s time you learn the family business.”
Thomas nodded, “So I’ll be making making methamphetamine with you, cool.”

Joe bit his lip and took a long inhale. “Well, we don’t call it ‘making methamphetamine.’ We call it, ‘the family business.’”

Thomas shrugged, “Alright, whatever helps you sleep at night, I suppose.”

And now, Thomas stood inside the trailer-sized shed, surrounded by a myriad of chemicals. Muriatic acid, lye (known formally as NaOH), Diethyl Ether, sudafed, citric acid, and jugs of distilled water were all placed within the shed.

You can easily get Muriatic acid from any hardware store (it’s usually located in the pool section), but when you make as much crystal meth as Mary and Joe DeWallis manufacture, you have to space it out. So, inside the shed, was a map of Yellowstone county with every hardware store circled in red. For as stupid as Joe seemed, he did have his strengths. Even if that strength was a little… misguided.

Diethyl Ether can easily be acquired from engine starting fluid. You can find it at basically, any big supermarket. But you have to make sure to find ones that have high ether content. Diethyl Ether is also insanely flammable. You never, ever, want to keep it near a flame. It can also make for a wicked-motherfucking-high, which is exactly why Joe regularly takes a few whiffs when no one is looking.

Getting the exact type of sudafed needed to make Ephedrine is difficult, to say the least. There is an entire national database with the names of everyone who buys it. So Joe had fake credit cards, birth certificates, social security numbers, and names specifically used to buy it. Sure, you could just make Ephedrine and call it methamphetamine, but, Joe and Mary had a reputation to keep up. Cutting corners was not a possibility.

On the side of the table facing Thomas, there were three small bottles, sized at three-ounces. One was marked with, electrical, tape at one-point-five ounces, and the other bottle was clear. There was also a glass eyedropper, a pyrex dish (a meatloaf dish is the best), a glass quart jar, scissors, rubber gloves, coffee filters, and measuring cups and spoons. Everything was ready to go.

Joe explained everything Thomas needed to do in precise, and exquisite, detail. Thomas took the engine starting fluid and sprayed some of it into the unmarked glass bottle until it was half-full. He then filled the rest with distilled water. He let it sit for a few minutes before tapping the glass against the table to separate the cloudy layer from the clear layer. He repeated this step until he had exactly, one-point-five ounces of ether.

When this step was done, Joe took the glass of ether and took just about the biggest breath of his life. “Oh, fuck.” He said, nearly falling down. His lungs constricted. His breath became shallow. Perspiration formed on his forehead. His pulse ringed inside his ears. His heart boomed slowly inside of his chest. Dadunk… dadunk… dadunk. He bent over the table, trying to catch his breath by taking long and extended inhales. “Whatever you do, do not sniff this. Okay?” Thomas watched with wide, and terrified eyes. He slowly nodded.

Then they made a ephedrine and algitate mixture out of citric acid, yeast, lye, and warm distilled water. Thomas measured 1/8 of a teaspoon of lye crystals and put it into the ephedrine and algitate mixture. To some people, it’s common knowledge that this step will cause hydrogen gas if you do not do it carefully. This is what Thomas failed to do. As soon it happened sparks flew and gas filled the shed.

“Get out of here!” Joe grabbed Thomas and they rushed out of the shed together.

Once their panic quelled, they stood outside smoking cigarettes.

“Fun day, huh?” Joe said.

Thomas took a drag of his cigarette and let out a little cough. “Yeah.”

Once the gas was gone, they went inside and repeated the whole shebang until the mixture became cloudy. It had been three hours since they first started.

Thomas then filled the bottle of ephedrine and algitate with diethyl ether, and put it in a vacuum-sealed jug for about ten-minutes. Joe made sure to let Thomas know that every single molecule had to mix together. Without this important step, everything would be for nothing.

The evening continued on. Thomas cleared the layer of ether with the eyedropper, added the muriatic acid, shook the bottle, and evaporated all of the left-over scum they did not need in the pyrex meatloaf dish.

Finally, the first-half of the process was over. Joe said that they would continue it tomorrow and celebrate with a six-pack of beer. The both of them sat in front of the television drinking beer as Joe chatted away and Thomas kept quiet.

And then, there was a knock on the door. “Go get it, kid.” Joe commanded from his loveseat. Thomas gave a silent nod and walked to the door. He opened it and saw a squadron of police cars and people in hazmat suits. There were two police-officers standing on the porch.

“Is Joe DeWallis here?”

* * *

“So you were smoking cigarettes at sixteen-years-old?” I asked Thomas. Walking down the highway in Midwest heat really reminded me of how out-of-shape I was. Putting one foot in front of the other was literally making me wheeze. Though that’s what a diet of cigarettes, caffeine, and weed will do to you. I’ve said this, and I will say it again: There is something very saintly about self-destruction.

Thomas nodded, “Yeah. It was a bad time in my life.”
“That’s pussy-shit though. I started smoking when I was ten, try that for a change.” In response, Thomas only rolled his eyes. The thing is, I never show my true self to people. They always misunderstand me. Never be vulnerable to someone, ever, and never expect anything from anyone.

Thomas started walking ahead of me, putting an end to our conversation. The Iowan heat was something else entirely. The humidity made it feel like you were swimming. There was this one green pick-up truck with four kids in the back of it. They must’ve been eight or ten years old, and they were all smoking cigarettes. No man or boy should have to smoke cigarettes in that kind of heat. I was lucky that my mom let me smoke inside during the humid summers. Without that Sarah, it would’ve made my life that much worse.

For his age, Thomas was pretty smart. I estimated that his IQ was somewhere between one-hundred-twenty to one-hundred-thirty. He didn’t talk much, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’re as smart as he is. You know the stereotype. I’m pretty smart myself as you know, and I can never talk to people properly. I’m just shit at explaining my thoughts. I guess I can come off like an asshole, but I don’t get why. I suppose that when you’re that fucking smart, you’re so ahead of people that you just can’t connect with them. I don’t think loneliness comes from not being around people, it’s just the inability to connect with someone. See? I told you I was smart.

Thomas’s dream was to be a literature professor. He said that it would be the perfect job for him, as he could talk about books for hours and hours. I couldn’t imagine teaching people. Ninety-percent of people are just out there to fuck you over. Men and women, and others, alike. No one is safe from shittiness. And, if you were a teacher, you’d be teaching those disappointments. I say let the nukes drop, burn everything down, and let’s start again. Maybe we’ll teach future generations the right way then.

We had been walking for an hour when Thomas suddenly started running. I could barely see him in the distance when I started sprinting towards him. “Thomas!” I yelled. “Wait up!”

Thomas suddenly stopped and turned around. I was just a few feet away from him when I said, “What was all that for?”

Thomas turned around and said, “That’s the van, up there.”

I craned my head over the horizon. “I don’t see anything except a bike.”

Thomas shook his head furiously. “No, don’t you see? There was a bike-rack on a truck just a few feet away. Travis must’ve taken that bike to catch up with Jack. Why else would a bike just be standing like that?”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”
Thomas rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Just follow me.” He took off into the distance and I let out a deep sigh. “You’re killing me, man.” I said under my breath with a warm smile, and started sprinting.

You’d never guess that Thomas ran like a cheetah just by looking at him. He was this beanpole-looking-kid but he had insane stamina. I reached the bike and collapsed onto my knees, panting. Each breath set fire to my lungs and stung like a bitch.

I looked up and didn’t see a van. I began to wonder if we really had ran all that way for nothing. But Thomas had a good head on his shoulders, so I figured that he would have an idea. “Where’s the van, man? Where is it?”

Thomas exhaled and stretched his shoulders out. “We gotta keep walking, I know they’re here somewhere.”

I groaned and stood up. “Alright… let’s keep walking.” My jeans were caked from dirt. I swiped off the dust and walked. Then walked. And walked some more.

We passed by many people. You learn so much just by being on the road and barely scraping by. You see the realities of life, and what people are really like. It’s enough for anyone to become jaded. If you’re not already, that is.