Change

Jay

As I drive towards the start of my new life (that is, the dump), I think. Usually, my car speaker is being blown up by heavy metal music, but this particular car trip, I want to be able to hear my own thoughts, and so the stereo remains silent.

As my eyes travel the length of road, my mind wanders.

Okay, I think, so I’m literally dumping my old life, but for what? What do I really want with this new, clean, not-so-reckless lifestyle?

I’ve never been sure of what I want in life. Even when I was young, five years old, and my kindergarten teacher asked the class what we wanted to be when we were grown up, I wasn’t sure. Most of the girls said a princess (in fact, all of them did, except for one, who said she wanted to be a race car driver. Xena, as I called her, but her real name was Natasha, became my first friend at school after that. And I have no idea why I called her ‘Xena’, so don’t even ask) and the boys either wanted to be a cop, an astronaut, a fireman.

Me?

“I want to work in a strip club!” Congratulations, Jay, you got your wish! Ha, as if it was that easy.

My real answer all those years ago?

“I don’t know; maybe a painter…or a musician…or a photographer…or…I don’t know.”
I was always the kid who was interested in the arts, but who never had a true calling. Sure, I liked painting, I liked strumming on my father’s old guitar, I liked taking pictures, but I was never spectacular at any of them. I gave up on the music and photography after a while. I got into drugs, smoking, drinking and I only painted when I was high, hence the need to throw away all my “artwork” that’s sitting in the back of my car.

I grip the steering wheel tightly and I concentrate solely on the white lines on the road for a while, until I realise that I need to figure out where the hell the dump is. I know I’ve driven past it several times, but I’ve never driven to specifically seek it out. As I look for a sign – anything – my hand unconsciously drifts to the front passenger seat, where my pack of cigarettes sits. My cigarette is already lit and in my mouth by the time that I realise that, oh yeah, I’m meant to be giving up smoking, aren’t I?

I curse under my breath, but finish my cigarette anyway, because I have no self control whatsoever.

I take one last suck of the death stick as I spot the sign that says “City Dump”. I throw the butt out my open window, and follow the sign’s directions.

Eventually, I find the turnoff, and take it, earning a beep from the car behind me. I always forget to indicate. I should probably start to remember though; it could save my life one day…somehow.

I slow down and find somewhere to park, before I pop open the boot of my car and step out, making sure to grab my pack of cigarettes as I go. I draw in a deep breath, and then regret it. It really stinks here. I cough once, and then recover.

I slowly walk around my car and grab out a few of my canvases after shoving my cigarettes in my pocket so I don’t drop them.

I stare at the first canvas for a moment, wondering what the hell I was on at the time (and then remembering that I was probably on a whole lot of different stuff). I take a deep breath.

This is it, Jay. This is it…

I let my breath out in a rush, and throw the canvas as I do so.