Adrian - Truckload

My day had begun again. Earlier than I liked, but it wasn't like I had a say in it. My dreams, or nightmares since that was what they really were, decided that for me.

What annoyed me the most was that they varied, like someone was playing a sick joke on me, taking every single good memory I had of my Dad and tainting them. Traumatizing me was one thing, touching my memories of my father was another. I couldn't forgive it.

The weirdest thing about them was that I was always aware. I always knew they weren't really happening to me but I didn't know how to wake myself up from them, or how to stop them from happening.

It was driving me insane. I could barely distinguish between what was real and what wasn't anymore, what happened and what didn't anymore. My head was a mess.

I rolled in the bed, picking up my phone from the bedside table. It was six AM. I had been awake and staring at the ceiling for close to two hours. I went to my notes app to check my work schedule for the day.

My first delivery work for the day was at eight AM. It was for a family that was moving across town and needed their belongings transported for them. They had gotten my contact information from one of the print outs I had pasted across town last week and still planned to paste more of. After all, it seemed to be working as I had gotten two calls through them.

As much as I would love to while away my life in a lying position while thinking of all the things I could do with it instead of whiling it away, I knew I couldn't afford to do that. I had a busy day ahead of me.

I stood up from my bed and walked into the bathroom to clean myself up for the day. The bathroom was my least favorite place in the house, too many thoughts lingered in it. I always did my best to rush whatever it was that took me in so as not to be tempted into thinking about my life for the second time in a row.

When I came out of the bathroom, I threw on the first set of thick clothes I could find, a pair of socks, and the first pair of shoes before stepping out of my room. I opened the door, greeted by the door of the room opposite mine.

My heart immediately dropped into my stomach, thinking of Mom and the way we've lived in the past few years. She didn't care anymore, it was as though Dad was the only thing keeping her sane all those years and the moment he left, she broke.

I didn't blame her for the way she treated me, I didn't hate her for it. I didn't see a woman who hated her son because he reminded her of her late husband. I didn't see her woman who hated her son because she thought he killed her husband by making him take him to an amusement park where they got into an accident on their way back home. I saw a woman in pains, so great she was being driven out of her mind. It was no one's fault, shit happened. It was why I could never think of giving up on her talk more of doing it. She was going to be alright, I had hope in that.

I took deep breaths before opening the door to her room. I was greeted by darkness. The curtains were still down like I pulled them the night before. I tiptoed across the room, taking light steps for fear of stepping on her and incurring her wrath so early in the day. It wasn't healthy for either of us.

I pulled the curtain up, revealing my mother curled up on the bed, a green bottle attached to her chest like a kid would their favorite teddy bear. I sighed, she was at it again. I had no idea how she never ran out of alcohol. Each time I took out her bottles, smashed them and disposed off the remains, she would already have them replaced before I got back home at night. It made me wonder what went on in the house in my absence.

Her room was a mess as usual. Checking my time to see that I had a few minutes to spare, I began to clean up. Her clothes went back into her wardrobe, shoes back into the rack, and bottles to one corner of the room. I picked up the little wraps of beverages she must have taken from the kitchen, glad that she was at least eating lately, tossed them into the bin, and went to empty the bin.

When I got back, I carefully approached her. When I took her bottle away from her, I was expecting her to blow up and shatter it against my arm, she only whimpered. Shocked, I placed my palm against her forehead only to realize she was burning up.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" I asked, feeling her neck as well.

"What are you doing here?" She groaned, peeking open her eyes. "Leave me alone."

Using the little strength she had, Mom attempted to push me away still. Grabbing both of her hands and holding them into place on her stomach, I thought of what to do. I couldn't be at peace going to work with her in that condition. Who knew what it might grow into before I returned at night?

I hurriedly went to the bathroom to pick up a bowl that I filled halfway with cold water and picked up a towel along the way. While I dabbed at her forehead, forearm, back and chest, Mom didn't hesitate to curse at me every opportunity she had.

Her temperature went down a little when I was done, but it wasn't enough. I went back into my room, searching through my drugs container for a medicine that looked like it could cure fever. I didn't know much about drugs, but I've used enough to know which and which was a pain reliever.

I grabbed two variants of pain reliefs and went into the kitchen to grab a cup of water after which I went into her room. Mom didn't struggle with me when it came to taking the drugs, I guess she was in that much pain.

By six forty, Mom was fast asleep. I dropped her curtains back down and walked out of her room, quiet enough to not wake her up. I stopped by the kitchen for a glass of water and set out after that. I was used to not eating breakfast, I was going to grab a snack on my way.

Winter was approaching. Cold breeze gushed past, killing all the leftover warmth on my body. I contemplated going back for a hoodie but later decided against it, it was only a small breeze after all.

The walk to Mr Williams' place was quite a distance from the house, one that involved climbing a hill before sighting the small cabin he lived in with his aged wife.

I didn't own a truck of my own, hence, I had to make the journey to Mr Williams' every morning to rent his. The old man rented the truck to me daily, charging me based on the amount and type of goods I was transporting. Having to pay him a cut of my profit at the end of each day was a hassle for me, but it was also the best option I had.

The one time I had gotten fed up of renting his truck and went to price a third hand truck, I had realized that renting Mr Williams' was all I could afford for the time being, and I that I needed to get a better paying job. How to go about that, I had no idea. 

People paid little for my type of service, and whenever I tried to maintain a particular price range, I got threatened. "There are other people who collect lesser." All customers were the same, and I always ended up settling for their price. It was the same ugly story everyday of my life.

"Hey!"

I looked up to see Mr Williams waving at me from the hilltop. The old man always looked excited to see me every morning, I guess that was because he wasn't the one doing the climbing. I was close to the only visitor they ever had come to the hilltop.

"Good morning sir," I greeted, dusting my boot against the wooden porch of their cabin.

"Morning child." Mr Williams had all his teeth out, a display of joy that I had never quite understood when it came to him. He was always happy for whatever reason. "How are you doing today?"

"Fine, fine sir."

After we sat on the bench, Mr Williams started to make small conversations as usual, telling me how his day had went yesterday. When I first met Mr Williams, he was a bother to me. He loved talking, I didn't. He loved giving advice, I hated taking them. My answers to him had been robotic, but with time, I began to look forward to talking to Mr Williams and gradually, I started enjoying his company. I guess old people were just like that.

Mrs Williams brought me a plate of snacks like she did every morning, placing beside it a steaming hot cup of coffee.

"Thank you," I smiled.

When I was done with my coffee and snacks, Mr Williams handed his truck keys to me. I already knew what he was going to say, so I said it before he could.

"It's your first love, I'll be sure to care for it."

As I drove down the hill, Mr and Mrs Williams' figure on the rearview mirror got smaller and smaller until it disappeared. They were loving couple, I thought, concentrating on the road lest I crashed Mr Williams' first love. He wasn't going to be pleased with me.

I turned on the old but perfectly working radio in the truck, sinking further into my chair in preparation for the long day that awaited me.