Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Be ---

The crash of the alarm clock hitting the rough wooden floor vibrated silently through the room.  My body laid flat and heavy on the small quilted bed like a brick at the bottom of a swimming pool. Below me I could feel the scratchy ill-fitted sheets that were covered in a sheer layer of sweat, sodden and damp from the stifling heat that filled the room. For a minute or two, I laid there staring vacantly at the inside of my eyelids that glowed red from the strong beams of sun that snuck through my dusty old curtains. Maybe if I lay here for long enough, it would all go away and everything would just go back to normal. Letting myself take a deep breath, I grasped the damp sheets and pulled myself into a sitting position. My eyes popped open, and the suffocating dry heat seemed to bury itself in every pore and orifice of my body. 
        White dust particles floated effortlessly in and out of the sun beams that shot through the dirty window. They danced around themselves, fading in and out of the light. The floor was barren - only splinters and stains scattered the surface. The mustard yellow color that had coated the walls for all these years, seemed especially atrocious this morning. I’d been meaning to repaint it for the longest time but I had just never gotten around to it, and now that would be just near impossible. After my daily morning pity party I leaned over and grabbed the wooden board that rested against the side of my bed. I positioned it between the edge and the arm of my chair, praying that I wouldn’t slip again. My gangly limbs were intertwined with the sweat covered sheets so I reached out and pulled them out from under me. I slid onto the board and tried to maneuver myself gently into the chair. Gently, was the last thing you would use to describe how I looked while performing this ominous task that was necessary if I ever wanted to sleep, use the bathroom, or leave the house; all of which I seemed to be having a difficult time doing these days.
        The metal rims of the wheels were unusually hot, due to the fact I had ignorantly left it in the suns reach.  The floor creaked and protested as I moved down the tiny hallway towards the kitchen.  “Hey honey! You’re up!” my mom skipped joyfully over to me and leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. “Is there anything special you want for breakfast? I’m making eggs” she stood up and shimmied back to the stove. I have to hand it to her, the women never loses her spirit that’s for sure. I surveyed the kitchen, taking in the walls that were plastered with paper flowers that had faded from bright’s and whites to dull pastels and dark greys. The black and white tile floors were chipping in a few places and one wooden chair was missing a peg. The blue tablecloth was frayed and its edges were starting to tear. Then there was my mom who had her curls up in a high bun and was sporting an ugly green colored apron that was stained and splattered with all kinds of food. She was swaying slightly to the music that rumbled out of the old small box radio that we’d had since before I was born.
        “Hey, mom, I’m going out for a little bit, okay?” She nodded her head slowly and her bun slipped a little lower in her hair, deflating like a balloon that had just been popped.  For a few seconds she paused in her swaying and turned her head to look at me. Wisps of hair had fallen loose from her bun and were curling all around her face, wild and uncombed. The sun was shining deftly on her from the cracked window on the other side of the kitchen. Some strands glinted in the light, while others showed reminisces of silver and grey. She smiled at me, the corners of her lips crinkling into fine lines.  Her eyes that were once green as a piece of sea glass washed up on the shore, had dimmed down to a shade of evergreen surrounded by lashes that had been lightened from the sun. The edges of her eyes were jaded by the wrinkles that had etched themselves into her tan skin. But all the while, she looked genuinely happy to see me, and that was all I could ask for.
        I gave her a quick smile, and turned around to head out. Once again, the floor protested as I moved my way down the hallway to the front door. The inside of the door was a rusty blue color with markings etched in of how tall I’d grown over the years. “Matt – 1’ 3’’, Matt – 3’4’’, Matt – 4’7’’, Matt – 5’8’’, Matt – 5’11’’,” That was the last one, it had been taken only 2 months ago, yet it felt as though I had shrunk about 2 feet since. Shaking my head to clear the thoughts, I grabbed the scratched up gold painted doorknob, and yanked open the door. The sun was violently bright today, burning my eyes like only the Alabama sunshine could. A tear from the brightness tumbled down my cheek when I finally opened my eyes enough to squint towards the street. Well I wouldn’t actually call it much of a street these day, but it was as much of one as we’d ever get. The once black tar had faded into a light grey color from the years of tractors, pickup trucks, and even horse and buggies - I imagined. Sparse pieces of dried out yellow grass had managed to shoot up through the divots and cracks where the two yellow lines used to be. Turning to look left of my small house, there was nothing to see for miles, just old and abandoned picket fences and browning trees that hadn’t seen water in weeks. As I moved along the old crooked road the sun beat down on me, pounding at me like an angry drunk who had ran out of booze.
        Sweat dripped from my hairline at a steady rate, and my red swollen hands were begging me to slow down. It had soaked through my worn out grey T-shirt creating a puddle on my chest. But I kept pushing, moving down the road like my life depended on it, and I supposed it did. After about a mile of barren road and dying trees, I finally spotted the cracked and jaded grey stones about 30 feet away. I slowed down, and let myself breath for a moment before pushing open the wrought iron gates. The old black paint was peeling and rusty patches were exposed like sores covering a body, tainting its appearance. As I rolled through the entrance, I tried not to touch any of the brownish-orange rough spots, the last thing I needed was tetanus. The ground was unevenly scattered with uneven patches of grass, dirt, and leaves that had sewn themselves into the dry ground. Every few feet a headstone seemed to lopsidedly stick out of the ground, with most names unreadable from the years of sun and rain. Patches of moss had been frozen in place by time and streaks of light greys, dark greys and dirty browns covered the stones. In the midst of it all there was one stone that didn’t look so jaded and worn, the name was even readable. It read, “Darren Lancaster, beloved brother, friend, and son.”
We had been friends for as long as I could remember, and I would like to think that we were as close as two guys could get without things getting weird. Darren made this small nothing town into something a little more bearable, a little less lifeless. With the two of us together, you never knew what you were going to get, and at the end of the day we really covered it all; from water balloon fights, and video game marathons, to picking up girls at the local diner. I glanced down at the whitish grey stone surrounded by dead flower petals that had once bloomed full of life. Reaching out, my fingertips grazed the top of the smooth rock before I let my hand drop back down to my side, how could I have done this? As much as I tried to cry, I couldn’t, I came up dry every time. After a few minutes of staring vacantly at his grave, I heard a twig snap behind me. I took in a short breath through my nose as my heart jumped a little in my chest. “Hey Kid,” I recognized the voice, it was old man Burton, the town drunk. “Whatcha doin’ here?” he slurred as he stumbled over his own feet and plopped down in a pile of gangly limbs and ragged clothes beside me. He sighed loudly, and leaned back against the headstone nearest Darren’s. I cringed, imagining that whoever was underneath him wouldn’t be too happy.
His taut skin resembled tanned leather from his years of laying out in the sun and raw heat. The uneven and scruffy white whiskers that protruded from his chin, along with his dirt-speckled nose and sunken in cheekbones all added to his disheveled appearance. Wrinkles carved deep lines into his forehead, and his dark brown eyes were framed with deep purplish, blue circles. He sported a stained and frayed jean jacket, along with light green shorts, that were matted down with years of dirt. His straw hat had tumbled off his head and landed in the dirt near him. “Hey! Kid!” he shouted louder this time. “I heard about that friend a’ yours, that’s a damn shame, y’all were such youngin’s…” he trailed off his sentence and glanced down. “Kids shouldn’t be drivin’ anyhow, in my day they didn’t even have cars! Ha! Can ya’ll imagine that,” he mumbled to himself and looked back up at me expectantly.
“Yeah,” I nodded quietly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“How’d it even happen do ya reckon?” He absentmindedly bit down on his dirt-encrusted fingernail. I closed my eyes, and tilted my head back into the direct path of the angry sunlight. And for the first time, I really let myself think about it.
It had been dark that night, with only one star gracing the sky; as if someone hadn’t yet blown out that one last candle on their birthday cake. Darren and I were getting ready to leave the barn party from across town. We’d each had a beer or two but I agreed to drive, at least to my house. So we hopped into his 1942 Chevy Pick-up truck, and I sped off down the little windy road that led back into town. “Faster!” Darren bellowed as we drove under the cobblestone bridge.  I glanced over to him and it somehow struck me that this might be the best that it would ever get; two best friends taking a drive down a dirt road in back country Alabama at 17 years old. So, pushed down on the accelerator as hard as I could, and I turned up the radio that was tuned to our favorite country station. But before I could fully understand the spontaneity of it all, headlights flashed in my eyes. I was too stunned to scream, or even slam on the brakes, all I did was sit motionless like an air bubble trapped in an ice cube. The was an eerie silence for a moment, just before the car shattered like fireworks on the fourth of July. Shards of glass sprayed in the air and I turned to look at Darren.
His lips were parted in a small O and his golden brown eyes took a similar shape as they flew wide open during the shock of the impact. His skin that was always unusually pale for a Southern boy had already been sliced open and drops of scarlet began to spill from his wounds. His mop of brown hair flew wildly around his head, showcasing the areas that were matted with blood.  I watched as his mouth moved to speak, but before I could hear what he said, the last candle blew out, submerging me into pure darkness.
“Hey Kid, you here what I said?” Burton asked, before taking another swig of the Jack Daniels in his lap.
“Oh, um, yeah, um, to be honest, I’m not sure what actually happened Burton, sorry,” I sighed, and slumped lower in my chair.
“Heard you were drivin’?”
“Yeah, I was,”
“Reckon it was your fault?” He squinted up at me and his mouth twisted into a questioning grimace. I nodded slowly in response, raising my eyebrows in bewilderment at him. My eyes glazed over as I disconnectedly watched a greyish colored blue bird land on a barren tree branch and chirp. “Kid, we all do something young and dumb at one point, “he mumbled, and glanced up at me. 
“No disrespect sir, but I was drinking, and speeding, it was my fault.” My voice cracked mid sentence and I paused to look back down at Burton.
“If nothin’ had happened that night, would you be so sorry?”
“No, but—“
“Sometimes, s*** happens kid, and ya gotta live with it, and that’s it, there ain’t any mopin’ in the world that’s gonna bring your friend back.” He stared at me, his eyes hard and cold, there was no empathy there. To hear the truth was nice for once, now a days, everywhere I went, people stared at me, gave me sad little sympathetic glances and whispered “Oh, that poor boy.” It had gotten pretty old the past couple of weeks.
“It’s time you kids learn that the world ain’t this happy place y’all make it out to be, just caz y’all are youngins’ doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” He had begun shaking his left fist in the air and his mouth was pursed in a fine line. “This life is a cruel thing son, but you should be prayin’ on your lucky stars that you still use your hands. Back in the army I knew many people that woulda been happy with that. You think your friend’s gonna be happy that you're just at his grave, sittin’ on your sorry ass, feelin’ bad fo’ yo’self. I can tell ya one thing, I’m sure as hell that he ain’t happy with that!” Old man Burton was standing now, shaking his bottle around and motioning at me with a light in his eyes I’d never seen before. I was too shocked to respond coherently, so I nodded at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights. Since the accident, everyone had spoken to me like they were walking on eggshells, trying not to break me. Couldn’t they see that I was already broken?
“So, you just go and think that over kid, I’ve got to get some more drank,” he grumbled at me and shoved his empty Jack Daniels bottle in my face. I watched him walk away; he had a slight limp in his step that you probably wouldn’t notice unless you looked really carefully. His bald spot reflected the light of the sun brighter than the ocean and the back of his jean jacket had gained a new layer of dirt and mud from using the headstone as a backrest. He was shaking his head fervently, and I swore I could hear him mumbling to himself but I couldn’t make out what he was saying for the life of me. As his figure disappeared down the dusty old road, I sat there in the small graveyard in a stunned silence.
The old man was right. There was no way Darren would be happy with me suffering, and even though the physical aspect of the pain would never go away, I could try my best to make the mental anguish fade. After a few hours the sun began to set over the horizon, resigning itself for the day. It was especially beautiful tonight with colors of cotton candy pink, fiery orange, lemon yellow, and cinnamon red. My clothes were completely soaked through with sweat and my hair looked like someone had just given me a swirly. I moved myself back towards the exit and turned around to push open the wrought iron gates once again. And as I rolled myself up the jagged and un-kept street towards my small rickety house, I had a solid feeling that everything was going to work out.