A Done Deal

           It was 5 A.M on December 21^st, 2003.  It was a workday.  It was winter solstice.  The sky was grayed with clouds and the ground was hardened by the fierce cold; no snow coated the ground.  It had been dreary for weeks; it had been dreary for years.  An old man laid in bed awake, listening to his alarm clock, his tired eyes closed, reluctant to rise and desperate for more sleep. Another day of work, dreadful, damned work.  He sighed, kicking off his covers and swinging his legs over the bed, and sat there rubbing his eyes of sleep.  His skin was tanned and leathery from the years of hard labor he did as a youth. His were hands rough and muscular, not quite fit for the menial desk job he currently holds.  He scratched his grey beard and stood up, stretched and looked out his window up at the clouds above the forest surrounding his house.  The forest itself was lit gray and dully, as was his bedroom.  He glanced at his alarm clock; it was 5:07, the red light of which reflected on the framed photo of his wife, covered in an invisible sheet of dust.  The old man stretched some more and dressed in his typical worn blue jeans and a well-loved plaid shirt, faded from washes and age.  On top of his dresser were deodorants and aftershaves, mismatched socks and an old coffee can filled with loose change.  Also on the dresser was his medication prescribed to one Quinn Hudson.

            Quinn grabbed a bottle of pills from the dresser and shook them to check how many were left.  He opened the bottle and sighed, dumping a single pill into his right hand.  The Happy Pill, he called it.  He swallowed the pill and walked out into his kitchen.  On the counter next to his leaky sink was the coffee maker, so old it could be in a museum and usable enough for demonstrations too.  The walls were painted two totally different colors, one a somber amber and another light blue, the result of an unfinished paint job Quinn had started some five years ago, but never really got around to.  On the wooden table lay an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, which was supposed to detail some cheesy forest scene.  All the chairs at the table were mismatched, one of them a deep blue, another a white wood, the third a dark rosewood.  The fridge made funny noises as it ran, the toaster sometimes didn’t ring, the light in the microwave was shot.  It was a little run down, but Quinn comfortably called it home.

            Quinn Hudson opened up his fridge that made odd noises for some breakfast.  There was an unopened container of butter, a loaf of bread, half a jug of orange juice, milk, a menagerie of coffee creamers, leftovers from last night’s Chinese, and half a carton of eggs.  Not feeling up to cooking, he closed the fridge and sighed, settling on picking up breakfast on the way to work instead, perhaps Dunkin Donuts, or a diner if he had the time.

            Quinn put on his boots and walked out to his pick up old Chevy C10 pick up truck, an old, beat-up chunk of steel from the 70’s.  The once bright blue paint was faded and chipped, the hub caps rusted brown.  Quinn pried open the icy-touched door, the frost burning his hand and sat in front of the worn steering wheel.  He struggled to start it up, turning the key vigorously.

            “Piece of shit….” He sighed.  He turned the key one more time, finally the engine sputtered to life.  Damn thing had always had engine trouble, but it was something that Quinn never bothered to fix; just not on the list of things to do.  He pulled out of his driveway, the old tires crunching the even more ancient gravel and made his way down the mountain where he lived.  It was quiet and lonely up there, but that’s the way Quinn Hudson preferred it these days. 

            At the base of the mountain, the highway to the city where Quinn worked started.  This route too was quiet and lonely.  Quinn drove along in near silence, save the loud, dilapidated sound of the engine.  It muttered lowly with a very particular uneasiness.

            A loud bang broke that silence.  Smoke rose from the hood of the truck, which sputtered to a halt.  The tired tires rolled slower, slower, until finally stopping.

            “Oh what the fuck!” Quinn shouted, slamming the steering wheel with his fists.  He stepped out of the car, slamming the door and he propped open the hood.  Smoke, heat, and steam billowed from the ancient engine, and gusts of mountain wind took it up and away like a smoke signal.  Quinn stared at it for a moment, studying the broken engine blankly.  Frustrated, he shut the hood and yelled, running his hand through his hair.  He paced around and sighed. 

            “Goddamn it,” Quinn said under his breath.  He pulled out his phone and called a local tow company, detailing where he was and what had happened.  Quinn stood there for fifteen minutes, finally the tow truck pulled up.

            “You the guy who called?” the driver asked from his truck.

            “Yeah,” Quinn replied.

            “What happened?”

            “Was just drivin’ along and… she just crapped out,” Quinn scratched his head.  The tow man inspected old truck.

            “Pretty old, huh?”

            “From the late 70’s, yeah.”

            “Any tune ups?”

            “Not recently.”  The tow man paused.

            “Well, I’ll tow her away, you know where to find us.  You need a ride?”  Quinn stared at the ground.

            “I’ll, uh,” Quinn paused. “I’ll walk, thanks.”

            “Suit yourself.” Quinn looked away as the tow man hooked the old truck up to the tow and headed on home.

            As Quinn walked home, which at this point was about a mile away, his old legs carried him as they had for over 60 years.  He trudged up the mountainside on the side of the road where he had just driven.  He trudged as if there were piles of snow ensconcing the land.  He trudged with a heavy burden on his heart.  Quinn Hudson is a very tired man, in more ways than one can imagine.  He’s tired of this day, he’s tired of this week, he’s tired of this year, he’s tired of this life.  This life riddled with inconvenience and annoyances, plagued with disappointment and disillusionment, with lies and deceit.  This life where his heart has been ripped out, chewed up and spat back out, all the things he’s ever loved torn away from him by God himself.  Quinn Hudson is a man with nothing left to lose.  I suppose you can say it’s a done deal.