May 17, 2019 

Eury Morrissey

I tried my best to keep my pace up as I stormed out of the bar. Readjusting my bag so that my oxygen tank wouldn’t dig into my spine was a futile effort, but I did it anyway. I tried not to break out into a sprint the moment I hit the street at the end of the gravel lot that O’Brian’s pub stood on, but I couldn’t help it, especially with the way that I was feeling. That sprint however was cut short on account of my less than whole set of lungs. As I slowed back down to my usual pace I was buffeted by a cold late spring breeze coming in above the river that ran along the other side of main street from where I was walking. The night's breeze in Sheridan wasn’t usually sharp. Even though it was supposed to be almost summertime the wind always felt distinctly cooler. Maybe it was just a quirk of this shithole, or maybe it was the alcohol. That or maybe it was because I was still damp with sweat from the dancing, mine and my partner’s.

Partner’s? Jesus, could I even call some young guy I danced with for a few minutes a partner? Maybe an acquaintance? Maybe a dream? It's more accurate to call him the someone that I wanted something from. That works I guess. Thinking about the guy that I almost went home with, got me thinking back to Davis and the whole reason that I left the bar in a rush.

What the hell was he doing in there anyway?

I mean, sure, he lived in Sheridan still. And yeah, O’Brian’s was the only bar in town so I guess it makes sense that I’d run into him. But why the hell did he have to come out tonight? I could feel myself being unreasonable, but the tequila—I could still taste on my breath—allowed me to ignore that stupid opinion just a little bit longer. I kicked at the ground scuffing the pavement with the rubber sole of my boot. 

What were you doing in there?

Almost the same question, but wholly different context—Eury, what are you doing here? You planning on getting back together with him?

Together? Wouldn’t that require the two of you to be together at some point?

Shut up. Are you planning on trying to get back to whatever the hell it was before you left? Before you got sick? Is that what you are aiming for? 

…

Silence from the internal critic, yeah, thought that would be a stumper. Even my own body, my own brain, didn’t have a clue what I was doing in there and after that bombshell he dropped on me what could I have done? What could the next step even be for the two of us?

I stopped for a second and pulled my bag in front of me and took out my iPod and headphones. It was going to be a long fifteen minutes if I didn’t drown out all these conflicting thoughts. I slipped my headphones on and within my next breath the haunting melodic strings of Brahms’ 3rd symphony drowned out the sound of my strained breathing.

In the dull yellow street-light, I felt nearly blind as my eyes struggled to adjust to the low light. That didn’t stop me from confidently storming away from O’Brian’s, so why would I let it stop me now that I was halfway back to Alaska’s place already. I turned up the first sloping road that led up to the house. Of course, every single place in Sheridan was uphill both ways, perfect for an athletic phenom, like myself. As my breathing picked up, I felt a sharp pang of cold burst in my chest. Reaching into my pocket I turned up the volume, blasting Brahm’s just loud enough to almost drown out the sound of my panting.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Are you really going to get me to invest in a new set of headphones, lungs?

What a dumb question. The answer is yes of…

My thought was cut short by the sharp sound of someone’s scream piercing between the high shrieks of the flutes. I turned around just in time to see a man run into the glow of the streetlight at the bottom of the hill behind me. Stumbling over nothing as he crossed the street it was obvious there was something wrong with him. He couldn’t have been further than a hundred feet away, but in the dull yellow light, I couldn’t really make anything else out.

No wonder eyewitnesses have such a hard time with this shit.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Come on, Eury. That wasn’t nearly loud enough and you know it. 

As I was about to call out to him again, another person burst into the light, only a few feet behind the first man and quickly gaining on him. “What’s going…” As I began to speak, the second person tackled the first man out of the light. “Whoa! What the fuck are you doing!” Even though I was out of breath I could still hear my voice above the crashing symphony blaring in my ears. 

Of course, something fucked-up like this was happening my first night back here. Of course! 

I wheeled around and began to march back down the hill, my backpack and the oxygen tank inside hitting me in the lower back as I tried my best to get down to the scuffle. I ripped my headphones off and for the first time, I could hear the fight. Instead of a fight between two people, it sounded more like someone was getting attacked by a dog. 

Or a pack of them.

What are you doing? What do you plan on doing huh? Bash ‘em with your oxygen tank or something? Outside of that, what are you going to do, little miss cancer patient?

Cancer survivor, I corrected my internal critic. 

The thought wasn’t the one that I wanted to hear but I couldn't help but agree with, at least a little bit. I couldn’t see the struggle, but I knew it was happening and I was the only one around here that could do something.

“Hey, assholes! You’d better stop ‘cause I’ve got the cops on the phone already!” A lie, but that didn’t stop me from shouting.

Why was it a lie? What the hell are you doing Eury, get your shit together! I stopped for a second mid righteous march towards the gnashing sounds of the fight and pulled out my phone. 

Walk away, idiot! Call the cops and walk away.

Fuck off! I’m not running away, it’s midnight, everyone’s asleep, I need to do something now. 

I had stopped directly beneath a streetlight about halfway up the hill from the attack and was probably standing out like a sore thumb. As I pulled up the phone app, I stepped into the darkness and onto someone’s mushy lawn.

9-1-1. Five rings, no answer. Did the cops have a voicemail? 

Another scream echoed off the buildings that ran along both sides of the street. Oh, Jesus Christ, what are you doing right now Eury?

9-1-1. Another five rings. Again, no answer. Fucking small-town cops, someone’s about to be killed!

If this is how it’s going to be, then so be it! I called 9-1-1 one more time but stuffed my phone into my pocket, hopefully, they’d be able to trace the call or something if they ever decided to answer. I took three heavy steps down the hill towards the intersection and the last spot that I had seen the man and his attacker, and then promptly stopped in my tracks.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I just barely made out the shape of another group of people climbing up and over the bank of the river. Within two seconds I counted three more people sprinting across the intersection before they all disappeared back into the dark in the direction of the other two.

Run.

I pulled my phone back out of my pocket again, just as another scream pierced the night. 

Run.

I held the ringing phone against my ear as I took my first step back up the hill.

Run.

The symphony blaring from my loose headphones came to its climax as I tried my best to run away.

Don’t stop.