Long Road to Ruin

Darkness.

For an unspecified amount of time my mind spewed out incoherent thoughts, most of which didn’t even make any sense. Due to the fact that I was just barely hanging onto the edge of consciousness, I couldn’t make out where I was or anything about my surroundings.

A soft voice, dark and mysterious, whispered back and forth in the distance. What I wouldn’t know for several more minutes was that this voice I had been hearing were not in the distance at all, but instead only a few feet away from where I was laying, sprawled out on the cold, hard floor like a rag doll. When I awoke I was met with a sight that was completely unfamiliar to me, and definitely not a place that resembled a typical Chicago home.

The first thing that became apparent to me was that there was very poor lighting here, in this place, wherever I was. The slight, flickering orange glow from the cracked bulb of an old glass lamp just barely managed to light up the majority of the room and I had to squint in order to see anything more than that. Trash littered the floor and it had obviously been there for quite some time. A putrid odor accompanied its presence. Odd and mismatched furniture was slumped against the leaning walls, cracked and faded wallpaper peeling off above in sections.

This was a hopeless place; I could feel the aura of complete laziness and despair emanating from every corner of the room.

Once I had regained full awareness and the vague fuzziness of unconsciousness had finally made itself scarce, I stood. My knees buckled weakly under my weight and I stood shakily for a few moments before the feeling of instability had been replaced with the normal feeling. How long had I been laying there? Had to have been a while, or I wouldn’t be weak at the knees.

“Fuck,” I muttered a quiet string of profanities to myself, attempting to tame my currently wild hair with both hands. I could only imagine what I looked like right now. That didn’t matter, though. What really mattered was figuring out where the hell I was and why.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” a gruff voice suddenly said. I hadn’t even realized that there was anyone else in the room, but sure enough, a man walked forward from the shadowy wall to the right of me. I jumped. And I don’t mean a little jump, either; he had scared the shit out of me and I nearly went flying back into the wall and added another bout of unconsciousness to my record.

He was a rather short man, about my height and every bit as fierce for his size. He wore a tattered pair of blue jeans and a Misfits t-shirt, and his grimy blond hair fell limply over his eyes like wet straw. I noticed an eyebrow piercing and several more in his left ear. I couldn’t really estimate his age due to the fact that he looked like some sort of overgrown social outcast of a teenager.

“Been there, done that…” I thought to myself. I had trouble looking down on those who looked like they’d never put in a real day’s work in their lives, because for such a long period of time my own appearance and persona had been the last thing on my mind. It had only been within the past ten years that publicity had led me to be more clean-cut and reserved. I’m sure that aging had played its role as well, along with marrying Adrienne and becoming a father.

Adrienne. I cringed and quickly shook off the thought.

“Who are you?” I finally asked him cautiously. “And why the fuck am I here?” Remembering the blow to the head I had received, I began to get angry. I squared up to the man and balled my hands into fists, teeth bared. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Calm down, sister,” he chuckled mockingly, obviously not threatened by my brief tough act. Obviously he’d perfected the art of being an arrogant smartass. This invoked both a burning feeling of complete irritation and also a feeling of comfort. He reminded me of myself in a way.

“Call me Jay,” he responded. “You’re here because I jumped your ass and didn’t realize who you were until you fell.”

“Guess there’s no need to introduce myself then,” I responded glumly, stuffing my hands into my pockets like a child about to throw a temper tantrum. Why did everyone always have to know me? Why couldn’t I, for just one day, blend in to the rest of the working class population? It was now that I really began to regret my career. I can't even get mugged without being recognized...

“Fuck no, dude,” he laughed. “Any self-respecting punk rock fan should know who you are. I needed some money for personal reasons and so I decided to do what I do best: steal it. I just stood outside that door right over there and waited for the first unaccompanied person I saw to walk by. Happened to be you. Punched you in the face and the next thing I knew Billie Joe fucking Armstrong was unconscious on the ground right in front of me. I apologize man, but that still had to be the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“There’s nothing special about me,” I said flatly. My words were met with a look of utter confusion, which didn’t surprise me at all. Most fans don’t really stop to think that their idols may not be the glorified icons that they are made out to be. I’m a rock star, but I’m still a liar. A loser. A cheater. Three things that I never in my life thought I would ever be. I’m absolutely no better than any of the other low-life men that walk the earth. Forgotten and unloved. That’s real special.

He obviously wasn’t quite sure as to how to appropriately respond to that, and the spark that had been shining in his ice blue eyes faded abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and his smile straightened. For a few minutes we stood there, engulfed in an awkward silence, waiting to see who would speak first.

“So…” he asked finally, pulling a small white object from his pocket. He gestured towards me, holding what I recognized to be a joint in his outstretched hand. “Care for a smoke?”

I’d been trying to stop doing drugs, but that was when I had someone to stop doing them for. I doubted that it would make a damn difference if I killed off all my brain cells. My better judgment pleaded for me to not accept the offer, but naturally, I just couldn’t help myself. I merely nodded and took it from him, pulling my own lighter from my pocket and lighting up. The flame flickered peacefully and as it came into contact with that little, rolled up piece of paper, the familiar smell of a drug I had used to love flooded my nostrils.

I sat down in the nearest chair and held it to my lips, inhaling sharply, taking in all that I could handle at once. I could already feel a high coming on, slowly but surely. Oh, how I had missed this feeling.

I felt like myself again.