Damn It All to Hell

Chapter 4

It is so cold. It is so cold and dark and miserable. I can’t even walk two blocks without getting slush splashed on me by one of the more inconsiderate passing cars. I hope I get to Malana’s place before I become entirely saturated with day-old snow. By the time I get there, her gift is gonna be all wet and destroyed. I might as well just drop it on the ground now. It’s never gonna get there in one piece. The wrapping paper is already a faded and smudged blueberry from its original shade of bright purple, and my hands are entirely blue. Malana’s gonna think I trudged to her place through a giant battlefield of blueberry snowball fights.

God, it’s cold. My hands feel like they’re gonna fall off, and my feet are so numb they aren’t feeling much of anything right now. Who would’ve thought my simple trip to Malana’s place would turn out to be such a miserable journey?...

‘Asshole!’ What the hell? Not again! Do I look like a giant target for all the vehicles? I can’t even turn my head far enough to determine which car it was that just splashed me. My hood hinders my field of vision quite a bit. All I can see is the coat of the person in front of me and the halos of falling white snow that surround the light of the street lamps.

That guy’s coat is very bright. Why on earth would he buy a yellow jacket for the wintertime? Yellow is a spring color. And it’s an ugly color, anyway. Who the hell likes yellow? His pants are too short, too. He looks like he tried to tuck them into his boots, but they’re untucking more and more with every step. How do people not know when they look bad? Even though I don’t really know what I look like, at least I know I look good to other people. Can’t these people tell that everyone thinks they look bad just from the funny looks and giggling whispers that follow them as they walk across any room? That would make me want to change my look. People look at me and smile. People look at me and say hello. People look at me and ask what time it is just so they can strike up conversation. Maybe the people that don’t dress nicely just don’t like talking to people. They probably want to be left alone. Of course, I don’t like talking to people, but I still want them to think I look good. I spend forever making sure I look good. Every single day, I spend hours getting ready, just so no one has anything to complain about. People can be so obnoxious. I guess I feel like I have to do everything I possibly can to make sure I’m presenting myself well....

Why is it that I always miss this light? Why is it that every single time I approach this corner, the ‘Walk’ sign immediately changes to ‘Don’t Walk’? I think the lights are mocking me. Why did the guy in front of me just continue walking? Doesn’t he know it’s not a good time to cross? Hello? What a stupid man. This street is so busy. God, what the hell is wrong with that man? First his pants are too short, and then he just randomly wanders into the street, dragging the toes of his boots that have only one side of one pant leg still tucked into them.

Oh my God! He’s gonna get hit by the approaching car. Maybe I should run out there and shove him out of the way. No, I would probably slip and fall on the ice, get both of us run over, and break the crystal candle holders into a billion tiny shards of broken beauty. I’ll just stay here. My God! The car is honking now. What, is that guy deaf, too? His pants are too short, he’s dumb, and he’s deaf....

Oh my God. That was the most pathetic thud I’ve ever heard. That wasn’t the kind of thud that should sound when a human being gets hit by a car. That was the kind of thud you might expect from the demise of some creature of far lesser significance right before it gets bumped around between the tires like it’s in the middle of a game of pinball. What a pathetic thud. It should have been more grand, more majestic. It should have had this thunderous voice from the heavens accompanying it by booming down and saying, “Alas, I have taken one of your own! Beware my wrath or you too shall be drawn into the depths of hell!” It should’ve had anything to make me believe that a human life is more than a brief moment in the overall spectrum of time. It should’ve done something to convince me that a human life is worth something. It should’ve done something to convince me that there’s more to life than being alive one minute and dead the next.

Wait...the people around me are no longer around me. Nope -- empty space to my left and right. Where did they all g...oh. They all ran into the street to help the man with the short pants. His pants look like they’re melting into the slush now. What do those people think they’re gonna do? The slush around the man is turning into a mixture of grey and brownish red, and they’re traipsing around in it, while other passing cars slow down to take a peek at the tragedy before me. I don’t get that. Why do people always have to look at tragedies? It’s like they’re too bored with their own lives. I think they see so much of it on TV these days that they spend their lives waiting for something like this to happen just on the off chance that they might end up on the six o’clock news. Some people would do anything to get on TV.

The man’s face is turning blue. Shut up, people! God! If you’re shouting in his face, it’s not going to help anything! Give him some room! My God. People are so stupid. Maybe I should go over there and straighten them out.

“Move it, lady!”

Huh? What? Oh. Time to cross the street. The man with the yellow jacket is right beside me. His pants are still too short. Oh well. If it was a few years ago right now, I’d be watching the man for dear life, expecting him to suddenly get hit by a car, struck by lightning, or carried away by a giant pterodactyl, but now I know better. Nothing’s gonna happen to him. He’s fine for the time being, except for his tragic sense of style.

Only two more blocks to go and I can finally get out of this terrible cold. I can feel the heavy snowflakes landing on my hood. When I get to Malana’s place, I’m gonna need a chisel to clear the block of snow off my head. My hood is probably frozen solid by now. It’s a miracle I can still move....

Mm...the corner bakery always smells so good. It smells like a combination of chocolate, fresh-from-the-oven bread, and cotton candy. It’s got that sickeningly sweet smell that makes me feel like I’m eight years old in an amusement park in summertime. I don’t ever remember being eight years old in an amusement park in summertime, but I’m sure it was a really great feeling. I should go in that bakery sometime. What’s it called? Oh yeah: Sixteenth Street Sweets. I always notice this place. I should stop in there sometime, but I don’t know what it’s like. Maybe I’ll wait till I’m with someone else, so we can both go in together. I hate going in places for the first time by myself. I never know where to find the line, and I never know what to order. Then, the person at the counter always asks me what I want before I even get a chance to find where the menu is, like I should have their entire menu memorized just because they do.

I hate how people in stores like that never seem to care about what they’re doing. I worked in a movie theater once, and I always tried to be nice to people. I don’t even like people, but I was nice to them. Some of the customers looked so stunned when I smiled at them that they stopped, looked shocked, said hello to me, and asked me how I was doing. I was always glad when someone noticed my attempt to be friendly, but I would never ask one of these people how they’re doing. Look at the girl in there now, twirling her hair around her finger like she’s bored out of her mind. She could clean off the two or three tables that are sitting there, abandoned, with half-eaten croissants and half-empty cappuccinos on them. She could, but she won’t.

God, I wish it wasn’t so cold out here, or I’d stick around and look at all the wedding cakes in the window. I should just go in. Yeah, I’m gonna go...nope -- I’m going to Malana’s. Why do I always do this to myself? I always complain about things and then I go and make them worse. If I hadn’t stopped to look in the window of the bakery, I would be to Malana’s place by now, and I might not be a solid Trista-sicle. Oh well. At least I had a nice chance to stop and smell the bakery....

‘Aaaaaah!’ Goddammit, what was that? Well, it was ice, of course. It is, after all, January. I’m so dumb. Did I twist my ankle? I don’t know. I can’t really feel my legs at all. I have to start being more careful bec...shit! The present! As if it wasn’t already drenched from the fresh snow that’s been falling on it for awhile, now it’s probably shattered inside a box that’s half-filled with blue water. This is one of those things that could only happen to me. Not just anyone could’ve fallen in the middle of this block, dropped their package, and watched as it sat in the middle of a river of melted snow that’s draining down into the grating in the street. Nope. It had to happen to me.

Well, things can’t get much worse now. I might as well just grab the destroyed package and continue on my way.

“Are you okay?”

I can’t believe how hysterical this is. I’m sure I look ridiculous. Malana’s gonna die when she sees me.

“Miss, are you okay?”

She’s gonna...wait...was that person talking to me? Oh my God, I’m still sitting in the middle of the sidewalk...

“Miss...?”

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’

“Let me help you.”

There’s a hand in front of my face. Why? Oh, he’s gonna help me up.

‘Thanks.’ I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before in my life. I think I’m gonna die of hypothermia. And embarassment, now that I realize that I must’ve been sitting down in the middle of the sidewalk for...oh my God...I wish I could tell this man how gorgeous he is. Oh my God. His eyes are easily the most sparkling clear shade of cobalt blue I have ever seen in my life. Of course, I can’t even really bring myself to look directly in his eyes. I don’t think I’m worthy. And his hair! His hair is all wet and scraggly, hanging onto his forehead where it looks so dark against his skin that’s stunningly white except for two little circles where his cheeks are red from the cold.

“You must be freezing.”

Oh my God. He’s still talking to me. Why is he still talking to me? He’s too gorgeous to be talking to me. Didn’t he notice the blue stains on my hands?

“Miss....?”

‘Yeah, it’s cold.’ Is it possible for me to sound any more stupid?

“Is this your package?”

‘Um...no, it’s, well, yeah. Well, it’s mine now, but it’s a gift.’ Of course it’s a gift! It’s wrapped in paper that says ‘Happy Birthday’ all over it! He must think I’m such a moron. I think I am a moron. You put a gorgeous man in front of me, and suddenly I forget how to speak.

“Here you go.”

‘Thanks.’ He’s shaking his head and laughing at me. Why am I such an idiot?

“Come here.”

He just grabbed my hand. What? This gorgeous man is holding my hand. Where did my hood go? Oh my God, my ears are so cold. Where are we going? What’s going on? Whose life is this?

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

‘Um...okay.’ He’s taking me into the bakery. Mm...chocolate, fresh bread, and cotton candy. The very bored-looking girl is gone. There’s some middle-aged guy slouching behind the counter now. He looks like he smoked entirely too much pot in his day. He’s got long, grey hair that’s frizzy and dry. It’s pulled back into a ponytail, but so much of it has fallen forward into his face that I can’t even figure out why he bothered. His apron is old and messy, and it only partially conceals the green and yellow tie-dyed T-shirt that’s probably seen more decades than I have. What an ugly, ugly man. His face is all weathered and thin, and the skin hangs down from his chin like wax dripping down the sides of a burning candle.

“Can I help you?”

His voice sounds tired and disinterested.

“Two mochaccinos, please.”

Good thing the beautiful guy ordered for me. God, I must look horrendous. I’m so wet and dirty.

“Trust me, the mochaccinos here are amazing.”

‘I believe you.’ What’s a mochaccino? Why is this stranger buying me coffee, anyway? Malana’s gonna kill me. I’m gonna be late again.

“Seven dollars.”

Wow, mochaccinos are expensive.

“Here you go.”

Mm, those look really good. I should’ve looked at the menu so I know where it is if I ever come in here by myself. Where’s the menu?...Oh, there it is. It’s a chalk board. That’s not really a menu.

My package is dripping all over the floor. It’s a good thing that bored-looking girl isn’t still here. Maybe the hairy guy will mop up after me. Gorgeous man is walking away with the mochaccinos. Oh, look! The tables are clean. Maybe the guy really will clean up the blue melted slush I just dripped all over the floor. I’m such a mess. I should go sit down. Malana’s gonna kill me.

“Have you ever had a mochaccino?”

‘Um,...no.’ Why does every sentence I say have to start with um?

“Try it.”

‘You really didn’t have to do this.’

“I know.”

Hm. He seems genuine enough. I like it when people respond with ‘I know’ to my ‘You really didn’t have to do this.’ It’s so much better than when people say, ‘I wanted to.’ That sounds artificial. That sounds forced, like they’re only saying it because they think they should. He seems like a reasonably genuine person. He must not be from around here.

This glass is so hot, and it’s got to be the strangest glass I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of halfway between a mug and a large water glass. It’s tall, heavy, and perfectly clear, but there’s very dark coffee in it that looks creamy and yummy, and the fantastic concoction has a monstrous mound of whipped cream topping it off. I think I’m gonna burn my hand. Speaking of burning, my ears are burning. They must be bright red. It’s that strange phenomenon where your ears freeze outside in the cold and then a few minutes after you walk inside, they feel like they’re on fire. They hurt a lot. I think I’m gonna die. Well, of course I’m gonna die. Everyone dies at some point. Mm...

‘It tastes like chocolate!’

“It is chocolate. Aren’t mochaccinos great?”

‘Uh-huh.’ I still don’t understand quite what’s going on. Gorgeous men don’t just come up to me on the street and take me into a bakery for coffee. No men do that. That’s just strange, but the coffee is good so I’m certainly not going to complain. Mochaccino...I’ll have to remember that.

“So, what happened to you out there?”

‘I just slipped on the ice.’

“Are you hurt?”

‘I don’t think so, but I still can’t feel much, so it’s hard to tell.’

“You looked like you just didn’t know what to do. And you still look like you’re freezing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

‘Yup.’ Okay, now he’s getting a little too persistent. He probably just doesn’t know what to say. You know, it’s funny: No one ever really knows what to say. It took me forever to figure that out. For a long time, I thought I was the only one who was constantly fumbling for words, but then I realized even the people who seem to know what they’re doing at all times sometimes say the wrong thing. It’s just a matter of making it seem like you said what you intended to say.

“Where are you headed?”

‘I’m going to a friend’s place. It’s her birthday.’ Of course it’s her birthday -- the wrapping paper again!

“Is that who the gift is for?”

‘Yup.’ He’s not too bright, is he? ‘Actually, I should get going. Thank you so much for the coffee, but she’s been expecting me for a long time now.’

“How ‘bout I drive you there?”

‘No, no, that’s okay. It’s only two blocks away...but thank you.’

“No, really, I insist.”

Hm...walk there in the freezing cold all alone with the probability of falling on the ice again being very high or get in a car with a gorgeous man who helped me up when I fell and just bought me a mochaccino in the bakery I’ve always wanted to go in but never did. Tough decision. ‘Well, okay.’

“Let’s go.”

‘Thanks for the mochaccino.’

“No problem.”

‘Where’s your car?’

“Right by where you fell.”

‘Oh, okay.’ See? People never know what to say. Why did he say that? Does he think I want to talk about falling down? Maybe I’m embarrassed about falling. I think he knows that. He’s turning away like he knows he shouldn’t have said that.

The snow seems to have stopped falling. It also seems much warmer now. It’s still freezing, but the mochaccino helped warm me up from the inside. Now I’m only somewhat freezing instead of completely frozen.

He’s not saying much. I should say something. I don’t know what to say. I wonder if he’s trying to come up with something to say, too? Maybe he’s perfectly content wandering down the street silently with some girl he just met. I don’t know. Some people can be strange.

“Here we are.”

Uh-oh. Here we are? Where? Any one of these five cars could be his. I hate this; every time I go to a car with someone whose car I don’t recognize, I get all paranoid about walking to the door of the wrong car. It would be so much easier if I could just follow the person to the door, but the passenger door is on the opposite side of the car. Parking lots are so confusing. The cars are parked so close together and they’re facing each other. How am I supposed to know if he’s headed towards the driver’s door of the car on the right or the passenger door of the car on the left? Maybe he’s headed towards the car that’s facing us. Where am I supposed to go?!

“I didn’t get your name.”

Sure, now he strikes up conversation. I’m busy trying to figure out which car he’s going to. We’re stopped between two cars. Am I on the wrong side? ‘Trista.’

“I’m sorry?”

‘Trista. That’s my name.’

“That’s a beautiful name.”

‘Thanks.’ No, it’s not. It’s an annoying name. People don’t hear me right when I say it. They always have to ask me to repeat myself. I hate saying my name. ‘What’s yours?’

“Edan.”

Now that’s a cool name. Oh, thank God. He’s opening the car door: passenger door, car on the left. ‘Thanks.’ I also hate when someone watches me get in a car. Getting into a car is not an attractive thing, especially not after you’ve fallen in day-old slush on the side of a city street.

It is so cold in this car. It’s also very dark. Through the windows of his car, the street lamps have a purple glow. I’ve never seen such a dark car. I think the outside of the car was black, although I don’t think I really checked, but the inside is entirely black. The seats are black, the steering wheel is black, the dashboard is black, the seat belts are black....

I can see my breath. That’s pretty cool. Malana’s gonna kill me. Oh, he’s getting in the car. I should probably stop breathing just to see my breath.

“Okay, where does she live?”

‘1802.’

“Is that the building on the corner by the candle shop?”

Oh, shit. The candle holders must be completely ruined. They were real crystal. What am I doing here? ‘Yup.’

“I know a shortcut.”

A shortcut? It’s two blocks away! I could’ve walked there five times by now. This guy might be good-looking, but he’s also a little strange. Malana’s probably standing in her front doorway, looking outside for me so she can yell at me for being late before I even get inside to show my shameful face.

Okay, he’s going the wrong way. This is not a shortcut. This a long way out of our way. What the hell? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted this guy. What’s wrong with me? It’s snowing again, and I swear it’s getting colder in the car instead of warmer.

“Sorry, the heater’s broken.”

‘That’s okay. Where are we going?’ Tell me now, you bastard. Where the hell are we going? You’re gonna rape me, aren’t you? You’re gonna rape me, beat me, and strangle me to death with your bare hands, and then dump my body in some random deserted alleyway where the only human life that can bear to be there are the homeless people who are searching for scraps of food in the trash bins. It is so dark. Damn purple lights.

“We’ll be there in just a second.”

The streets are getting narrower and the buildings are getting older. The windows on the fronts of the buildings look like they couldn’t hold out even the tiniest gust of wind. I can’t spot a single person. It’s entirely deserted. Oh, wait. There’s a car headed our way. I wonder how it’s gonna pass us? This road is one way, and it’s too narrow for two cars to squeeze past one another. Doesn’t Edan see the car? I think he does. He looks kind of confused. He’s looking around for a place where he can pull to the side a little bit, but there isn’t any room. The street is just barely large enough for one car to open its doors.

The headlights of the approaching car are getting progressively closer, and they show no sign of hesitation. ‘Um,...Edan?’

“Yeah?”

‘How are we gonna get around that car?’

“We’re not.”

We’re not? What? We have to! What do you mean we’re not gonna get around that car? If we don’t get around that car, we’re gonna die! I think I’m gonna put my seatbelt on just to be sure. Wait a second. This is no random gorgeous guy off the street. He probably intended to do this from the start. It’s like he knew I was going to fall precisely in the spot where I fell, and he knew that if he bought me coffee, I’d get in his car and then we’d both be trapped in the middle of a tiny street in a tiny car with nowhere to go....

He’s stepping on the gas. We must be going at least fifty miles an hour on this rickety little street, and we’re barreling down on an approaching car. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. The approaching car is so close I can hear it. It seems to be getting closer by the second. Oh my God! I can’t watch!...

I heard a crash. I know I heard a crash. I heard a loud crash and an explosion and a painfully irritating screeching, but I don’t feel anything. I have to open my eyes. I have to open my eyes. I’m going to slowly open my eyes. I can see my hands. I can see my legs. My legs have pieces of purple window sticking out of them, and they’re turning my blue jeans darker. The front windshield has been shattered into a billion tiny shards of phantom protection.

Edan’s neck must be broken. I don’t understand. Edan is sitting next to me with his head awkwardly cracked to the right, his mouth dripping with blood. His beautiful blue eyes are covered with glass and blood, and the snow is coming in the missing windshield, landing on his eyelashes, where it melts in with the blood and makes it run down his face in frightening streaks.

The frame of the car is bent and broken, and it all feels so close around me. All I can see is death and horror and pain and blood, and I feel like it’s all around me. I don’t feel like I’m a part of it.

“Well, we’re here.”