Ambulance Chaser 21

Johnny left his therapist's office drained, but had no desire to stare at four walls. He gunned his engine and headed out of the parking lot to somewhere.

He found himself at his favorite beach, usually he could decompress after a bad shift, but lately his whole life was a long, enduring bad shift. Pulling into the sparse parking lot, the sea air and laughing voices did nothing to ease his pain. Looking down he stared at the seemingly harmless notebook. It looked no different then the ones he had used at school, only the bright yellow cover intimated him for some reason, or maybe it was the white, stark empty pages which reflected his life at the moment. He reluctantly grabbed the notebook and got out of his car, slamming the door closed with his frustration.

Settling in at a picnic table near the snack shack, he watched as families, teenagers and couples headed to the sand. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with sand in his tennis shoes. The surf was high and he noted the red flag warning at the lifeguard station.

Johnny automatically went into firefighter mode and then relaxed, his stomach growled in protest and he sighed heavily. Clutching his slim notebook, he headed to the snack shack, getting a chili cheese dog, chips, Coke and a cookie. Sitting down at the still vacant picnic tables, he ate in silence and watched the surfers in the distance. He could see the crash of the waves on the beach, the smell of coconut of sunscreen and heard a bit of country, rock and disco.

Finished eating, he wiped his hands and mouth and tossed his trash in a nearby trash can. Getting comfortable he opened the first page of his notebook, the whiteness of the page blinded him as the sun reflected off the new clean page. Unhooking the pen off the front cover he poised to write something, anything to satisfy his therapist.

Instead he looked up at the passing scene and closed his eyes, in an instant he was back in the crushed ambulance and loud indistinct voices filled his ears along with crushing pain in his chest. He wanted to scream for help but couldn't, his vision blurred and disappeared and he still couldn't move, no one was helping him.

When Johnny opened his eyes again, he found it cold and dark. He could smell wood smoke from the fire pits, along with marshmallows and hot dogs. Guitar music filtered through the air and he shrived. Looking at his still blank page he quickly wrote cold and tired. Shutting the horrid book, he took it and headed for home.

Once home, he had left the notebook in the car, he quickly stripped hoping to get warm. His clothes were damp and wet from the fog which had rolled in. Stripping, he made the shower as hot as possible, the bathroom filled with steam and he still couldn't get warm. Turning off the water, he toweled dried off and headed to his bedroom. He found sweats and socks. Getting dressed gave him some warmth and then he headed to his thermostat and cranked the heater up to 80. Tired he turned out the lamp in his living room and crawled into bed.

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Chet looked at the huge mound of dirty clothes, more than a month's worth. Staring at he had no desire to go to his usual Laundromat, the chance of picking up a chick would be zilch. Sighing, he decided where to go, a nice launderia and the best carne asada's in town, next to his friend's Marco's of course.

Packing up his van with two large garbage bags of clothes, he went to the cab and prayed the car would start. Making a grinding noise, Chet put it in gear and headed to the laundaria. Loud mariachi music blasted out of the parking lot and he lugged his two bags to one row of washers in the back. The place was huge and he was just another gringo doing laundry. The women were watching the novella on the overhead TV and he went about loading up five washers.

Before long Chet's stomach grumbled, knowing his clothes was safe he headed to the tacqueria and got his carne asada burrito and a chile rellano. Brining it back to the launderia he munched happily as his clothes were cycled in the washing machines. He had finished eating just has his clothes made it through the final spin cycle.

Claiming five dryers he threw his clothes the dryers and noticed the launderia had emptied of women and children. Not that he had paid that much attention mainly focusing on his chore at the time.

Once finished drying he carefully folded his clothes in the two black garbage bags and reversed the process. Climbing up the two flights of stairs to his apartment he dumped his now clean clothes in the center of his living room and headed to the kitchen. He was hungry again.

Taking out his whole wheat bread, organic lettuce and tomato and fresh organic turkey slices, Chet's mouth watered. Opening a drawer, he took out his perfectly sharp serrated knife to cut into the beautiful ripe and rich tomato. He watched as he carefully sliced the first perfect slice, then cut into his finger. Blood splattered on the counter, he looked down and suddenly he was at his pigeon's accident. Still frozen like he was there, a trained professional and he stood there. He watched as 16's extracted his fellow brother and watched as the ambulance whisked his away. He could still hear the crunch of his boots on the broken glass, the smell of gasoline and death.

Letting a breath out he noted his now blood covered counter and the fact he wasn't hungry anymore. Throwing his produce, bread and turkey in the trash, he took a few paper towels to clean the blood, the smell making him nauseous. He pulled a large bandage from his junk drawer, wrapped his cut finger and decided to go to bed. He was exhausted.

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Marco usually enjoyed his large family gatherings, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles filled the small little house his parents owned. Out in the backyard, tables were set with bright, plastic tablecloths and chairs. Grills were fired up and lots of food was laid out for family. Loud music played from the stereo and laughter and talked filled the air.

But this time was different, Marco was on edge, even though the last party had only been two months ago. Forcing a smile on his face, he tried to be generous to his never-ending family and enjoy the festivities.

However, the loud party was stopped when one of his cousins, claimed her daughter was nowhere to be found. Marco quickly left the backyard and headed towards the front yard. There was a large spruce where the youngsters always went to play, just before he made it he heard the squeal of tires and froze. Marco was no longer in his parent's front yard but on the street of his amigo's accident. Broken glass crushed into his boots and the smell of gasoline filled his nostrils.

Marco heard screaming and realized he niece was crying in her mother's arms. He had no recollection where everyone had come from, the front yard now filled with a dozen loud people.

Suddenly feeling shaky, he said goodbye to his folks and guests. The drive home seemed like an eternity and he longed for peace and quiet. Opening the door to his dark apartment, he walked to his bedroom, stripped and climbed into bed, hoping for a deep sleep.