CW: Discussions, direct and sub-textual, about suicide.
Date: Thursday, July 5, 2018
Time: 9:55 am
Location: Diego's Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital
The past two months have been the longest two months of my entire life. Each day was marked with only small moments of progress. One step further I could walk during physio. One more subtle flex or muscle movement I could make during occupational therapy. Other than that, there wasn't much to distinguish the days. I was just sitting in my hospital room or some assessment room, most of the time.
I wasn't sure how much money I had to my name after the coma. Mamá had left me her savings, I had my security deposit, some banked vacation money, and a rainy-day fund saved but not as much as I probably should.
After being flat broke until the age of 25, once I started making real money, I wasn't as frugal as I should have been. I paid my student loans off at least and had helped Mamá with her down payment, but practicality had ceased there.
I spent money like it was going out of style. That stupid car that I constantly had to fix, but I loved anyway. My fancy watch. Weekly trips to the Bar Association and restaurant meals on the regular. High-end coffee appliances and a sound system for the apartment. That giant TV and that fancy leather couch. Expensive colognes. The engagement ring for Mia.
I didn't have luxury clothes like Gucci or Armani, but I used to go to this family-owned menswear shop that made and tailored clothes in-house and getting a closet full of items from there was expensive enough.
Then, there was that apartment that I had to save for a year to afford. It wasn't that big, but it was brand new and made with all the best finishes, so it took a lot of overtime hours to live somewhere like that on my own.
I wasn't going to be that way forever though. My plan was to get settled and buy up all the things I wanted and then get practical about saving and investing when I was 30. I would have 40 years to work; I could spend the first five being frivolous.
Obviously, I didn't know then that I would spend my 30th birthday comatose in a hospital, and my 33rd birthday still in that same hospital, eating some dry vanilla cupcake they probably pulled from the kitchen's freezer, being serenaded with a rendition of Happy Birthday by the staff on duty that evening.
It's for that reason that I had to reluctantly decline the rental of a TV while I was awake for the past three months. It costs $15/a day to rent one but spending that much seemed wasteful when I might need that money later.
Being here was mind-numbing without it though. I didn't have anyone who could keep me company or drop off my laptop to me. My phone still worked and could get internet, but it was now a few generations behind and was painfully slow to respond.
The hospital staff had lent me books that other patients had left behind, so I mostly read those. Once I got more mobility, I could walk to the visitor's lounge in the unit and watch something in there, although I had to play nice with the other patrons of the room and couldn't just watch whatever I wanted. I wasn't keen on home renovation shows, reality TV, and cheesy TV movies but, hell, if that's what was on when someone else was in there, it was better than nothing.
I did have one more visitor come to see me other than Grossberg, but those visits were about as pleasant as his. It was my Grandma Lydia, my dad's mom, the woman in all those black and white photographs, and she didn't know I had woken up until she came to visit me one day.
I guess she had tried to become my legal guardian after Mia died, but there was no way to prove her familial connection to me. Even with Mia, Mamá had to grant her power of attorney after she died because we had no legal status either. After Mamá's death and Mia's murder, I became a 31-year-old ward of the state. As a result, no one had called Lydia, and she got a big surprise when she came in on one of her monthly visits.
It was like pulling teeth trying to talk to her. Even with my now haggard appearance, she kept remarking how much I looked like him, but you can only talk about that for so long. Mamá told me everything about the situation in her letter. How Dad had died, and Lydia didn't want anything to do with us because she blamed us for the death. Other than chiding her for her crappy treatment of us for 28 years, there wasn't much else to say about that situation.
She came to visit me again last week and I told her that I would be discharged soon, so she didn't have to come by anymore. She gave me her number and address and asked that I go to her place for dinner when I get out, but I don't know if I will.
Dad wasn't a total louse like I thought; it turns out that he had a very valid reason not to get in touch. What was her excuse though? She knew Mamá's name and knew we lived in the same city, and it took my attempted murder for her to contact us. I told her that I might stop by but didn't give her any way to reach me.
That wasn't a lie about my discharge though. It took three months, but I was finally able to leave this hell hole. As crazy as it is to say, the Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital is now the place I've lived longest in my life. Mamá and I moved around a lot, and I never stayed in one place for long
Ellie wouldn't discharge me until I had ticked every box on her recovery checklist. I had to go through every scan, test, and round of blood work she had outlined in my treatment plan and had to achieve a certain level of independence with my activities of daily living before I could leave. Once I was able to walk short distances on my own, it was painful to have to be here for as long as she required but at least she was thorough.
The one silver lining is that my insurance provider has spent millions of dollars on my care since I've been here. They got more than they bargained for when they signed a healthy 25-year-old onto their health insurance plan and then had to cover five years of medical expenses related to my coma. Serves them right after they used to fight against paying for my routine appointments.
Since I was crawling up the walls of this place even more than normal the past two weeks, knowing I was so close to leaving, Ellie did grant me access to the computer lab one level below. The lab was meant for doctors and interns to conduct research, but she took pity on me.
While I was down there, I finally got to change out of my hospital gown and into some gym clothes that Mia or Mamá had brought for me. They weren't my finest threads, but it was a welcome change of pace to not worry about mooning someone in the hallway anymore. The nice clothes I wore to the courthouse the day of my poisoning were cut open and thrown away when I first arrived at the other hospital.
I've been to the computer lab every evening for the past two weeks, once I got through the treatment regimen and physical therapy they had for me during each day. I'd grab two cups of subpar coffee from the unit's kitchenette and carry them with me to the lab before I conducted my research. I had to catch up on what I missed these past few years. They only let me in there for two hours a day, but there was so much to look up that the time went fast.
Mia and Mamá were top priority, of course. There were obituaries for both of them online and I finally got to determine the days they died. The hospital staff had a good ballpark but didn't remember the exact dates.
Mamá's obituary said that she was buried, and I could go visit her grave once I got out. Dad's too. She chose to be buried at his cemetery instead of her church's. Mia was cremated and I don't know where her ashes were.
Mamá had a release written about her on the hospital's website too. She used to be a chair on the hospital fundraising committee, and they had given her an award posthumously for her years of service as a nurse, and for her volunteerism.
Mia had dozens of articles written about her after she was killed. The story was huge for a few reasons. For one, she was murdered. Whenever a beautiful woman is murdered, it always makes front-page news. Two, she had become a renowned lawyer while I was asleep and had achieved a staggering 100% win record, something no defense attorney had ever done. Three, her killer was a local celebrity and that just made the whole story all the more notable.
That information is all I got to explore on my first visit. I tried to plan what I would research in advance before I got down there so I wouldn't waste any minute of the two hours I had. The next day I planned to investigate Mia's career and what she was up to before her death. There was a lot to look through and it ended up taking days to review everything.
There were articles about her trial wins and even a feature on her in the LT Times, about a year into starting her firm. Her success was insane given how the deck is stacked against defense attorneys in this country, and so her win streak was worth its own feature.
I suspected that she may have had some help from her magatama, but it was impressive, nonetheless. Even if I had her powers, I don't think I could touch her skill. In past trials, when I was certain my clients were innocent, I didn't always win.
That said, inevitably, she would have had a guilty client at some point and sometimes the evidence is just too damning to overcome. I knew she would never forge evidence to win, especially for a guilty client, so I assumed there was, at least, a little sorcery afoot.
I loved reading about her cases and learning about everything she had achieved while I was gone. I loved looking at the photos of her in her articles even more though. Other than the photo I used to keep on my desk, I didn't have any photos of her on my phone. The few photos we took together were taken with her phone camera. I didn't have any social media accounts where I could look at old posts and her old accounts had been deleted too.
My favorite photos were from her trials and the LT Times piece. She looked so happy, determined, and fierce in her trial photos. Like she was just about to obliterate any opponent that she faced. The LT Times piece was the absolute best though. She was beaming like crazy, standing by her firm's doors, looking so proud. She had the ring on in that photo too and it made me obscenely happy. She did care until May 2015, at least.
Those photos were just the tip of the iceberg though. There were a surprising number of photos of her online. It seemed that she attended many black-tie events in her private practice career, and she was in so many of the photos taken at these events.
She was dazzling, as always, dressed in a large collection of evening dresses, but those pictures made me less happy. She looked hollow. She was smiling, but the emotion didn't reach her eyes. She looked a little thinner too, like she was stressed or something. She always forgot to eat when she was stressed.
Also, she had stopped wearing the ring. After May 2015, there wasn't a photo online of her wearing it. She must have given up on us sometime around then.
I couldn't figure out what she was doing in all these photos. She wasn't a homebody, but these types of events didn't seem like her idea of a good time. She liked going out dancing, to eat, to drinks, to live music, or to the movies, not to stuffy events where she'd have to make small talk with snooty and out-of-touch rich people.
Networking was my first thought. Maybe these galas and ceremonies were a good place to meet potential clients. From her LT Times article though, it seemed like she did well enough without them. My next thought was that it had something to do with her investigation, but I couldn't quite piece together how they connected.
I looked up Redd White next. I needed to know more about this fucking prick. He was given 15 years for Mia's murder but no death penalty. They usually reserved that for serial murderers or first-degree cases, and they somehow classed his case as a second-degree charge.
It didn't end up mattering. He was placed in the Los Tokyo Institute for Men, a pretty rough and overcrowded prison, and was killed during a prison riot back in December. Good riddance. I was tempted to pay him a visit once I got out of this place, but I guess the fine men at LTIM took care of him for me.
Even though he was dead, his suffering wasn't enough. I wanted him to pay for his blackmail and bribery schemes too. For his reputation to sink even further. It's what Mia would have wanted; what she had been researching.
As Grossberg said, there was barely any fallout from Redd White's blackmail work. Bluecorp dissolved but his victims' reputations remained intact. Redd White's accountant had mentioned Mia in his testimony during his criminal trial and how he wanted to continue her work out of guilt over her death.
His attempts to air the truth didn't work though. No one powerful wanted their secrets leaked and they wouldn't back his financial records nor her list of victims. Figures. Only the good people involved in this case were punished.
The last person I looked up was Phoenix Wright, the rookie running Mia's firm since her death. There were a few articles about him too, getting notoriety immediately as the one who took over noted lawyer Mia Fey's firm and helped lock up her killer. He didn't serve on many defense cases, taking about one every few months, but he had won almost all his cases too.
There was a photo of him in one of the articles and he had a magatama in his breast pocket. Looking at the photo, I wanted to smack that goofy look off his face. She gave him access to her powers too. Something she planned to keep from me indefinitely until Maya spilled the beans.
Of course, he wasn't as remarkable as Mia so, other than a few articles, I had to dig through the court database to find more information about him. Luckily, they never suspended my account, and I could still access case records. I saw that he had been Mia's criminal defense client before she was his mentor. The more I looked at his case though, the more incensed I became.
His criminal case was Mia's first after the Fawles trial and she won, granting freedom to Phoenix and definitively tying Dahlia to my poisoning, the attempted murder of Phoenix, and Doug's electrocution. Just one more tragedy that happened while I was asleep. We warned Doug, and he did break up with Dahlia, but it still couldn't save him. I didn't need any more proof of how incredible Mia was, but implicating Dahlia on three crimes in one trial was a masterclass performance.
She did it with no help from her client though. Reading the court transcripts, Phoenix sounded like a total bimbo. He had eaten out of the palm of Dahlia's hand and had helped her get away with her crimes. He hid the poison bottle that was used on me for months, dating Dahlia that whole time, and then deep-throated that bottle when Mia tried to send it for lab analysis.
This guy? Really? It's like she picked the person who would hurt me the most to mentor. How did this guy even make it through law school and pass the bar exam?
It only got worse when I read about her murder case. Phoenix helped Mia put Redd White away, but I can't help but feel that he was partially responsible. Mia was killed sometime between 8:55 pm and 9 pm and she was supposed to go to dinner with Phoenix and Maya at 9 pm. Both showed up late though.
I'm happy that Maya was late. She was probably a little taller and bigger than she was before I went to sleep, but I doubt she could have been much help to Mia against Redd White. From the pictures I saw, it looked like he worked out.
Why was Phoenix late though? I was always early. Early to work, early to court, and early for my dates with Mia. I probably wouldn't have left for a few hours anyway. Why leave when I could spend more time with her? He obviously didn't care about her like I do.
With that last court record reviewed, I was caught up on what I had missed in my absence. However, I still felt so unsettled. So adrift. Mia had avenged her death and my poisoning, but I didn't feel as relieved as I should. Dahlia was on death row, set to be executed this year and Redd was dead, but the damage they had inflicted on us was too great.
Dahlia Hawthorne took away my past. The year I could have spent with Mamá before she died. The last five years of my life. The help I could have provided Mia if I wasn't sitting useless in a bed. Redd White took away our future. The life we were supposed to have together. The firm, the wedding, the house, and the family we were going to have.
We were supposed to grow old together. To be that retired elderly couple sitting on a porch swing on a sunny day, holding hands, sipping lemonade, and people-watching. Slow dancing at our 50th anniversary party. Instead, she died at 27. Another tragic member of the 27 Club.
Mia had caught up on pop culture once she left the Village but hadn't heard of the term until I mentioned it to her, the day before my 28th birthday. I had joked to her about it the whole day and said that I needed to sleep with one eye open until at least 2 pm Dominican time. She hated it when I said dark stuff like that, but I was only kidding around. If I had known what would happen to her, I would have never joked about it.
Maybe it never would have been that way anyway. That's what I wanted, but Mia clearly didn't feel the same before she died. Still, as much as it ached to know that she had moved on, I wanted her to be happy. Maybe she'd be married to someone else by now but at least she would be alive.
I hoped that I would find some closure as time went on, but I wasn't so sure that I could. Right now, it felt like my insides had been ripped out, jumbled around, and shoved back inside me. I always felt sick to my stomach.
I was going to have some comfort, some connection to her again, at least. I needed to find a new place to stay after I left the hospital and her old crappy Skid Row apartment had become available. The exact same one: apartment 3B at 731 Poplar Avenue.
The apartment she willed away must have been a different one, as this one had just been listed and cited some extensive renovations over the past year. With upgrades and inflation, it was $1,900/month now, but I took the place sight unseen anyway. It'll be expensive for what it is, especially with no salary right now, but I'll make it work somehow. I don't want to have roommates again.
I'll get to see what it's like after the renos and what kind of stuff Mamá had saved for me in my locker in a few hours. Today was discharge day and I only had two more things to check off my list before Ellie let me leave.
First, I had to stop by the hospital's pharmacy and pick up the cocktail of medications they prescribed me. Pain medications, medications for MS and Parkinson's, appetite stimulants, anti-depressants, sleeping pills, and immunosuppressants. She said that they'll have to experiment with medications before they find the right combination. I don't have MS or Parkinson's, but I have a lot of the symptoms, so they wanted to try me on some of the same medications.
The last medication on the list made me laugh though: an ED medication. It wasn't actually funny; I should have been crying instead, but the absurdity of my circumstances made me laugh anyway. How much indignity can one man possibly suffer?
I told Ellie that she could strike that one from the prescription pad. I don't have any use for it anymore. That part of my life died when Mia did.
The final thing I had to do was meet with one of the hospital's psychologists. I was supposed to meet with her shortly after I woke up, but I kept brushing her off every time she came by. However, Ellie wouldn't discharge me until I did.
I probably could have fought Ellie on it. I was of sound mind to make my own decisions and my insurance provider probably would have welcomed one less day in the hospital to cover. However, she had been good to me for the past five years, so I humored her.
I wasn't opposed to psychological counseling per se, but I didn't think I had much use for the psychologist that they assigned to me. She was probably in her mid to late 20s but looked about 12 years old and I didn't feel confident in the kind of advice she could give me. Every time she came to see me in the past, she seemed to offer the most saccharine and unhelpful comments. I'll give her the chance to prove me wrong though.
I was pacing around the room, waiting to get this over with, when she knocked. I opened the door and waved her inside before sitting in the chair by my old hospital bed.
"Hi, Diego!" she said cheerily. "Thank you for meeting with me before you leave. You've been through so much that I felt it was important we talk at least once."
"You can thank Ellie," I said jokingly. "She made me, and I want to stay on her good side."
She tittered. "Well, thank you nonetheless." There was an awkward silence like she didn't know how to start. "It's crazy that this room will be unoccupied for the first time in almost five years. You must be happy to be leaving."
I scoffed. "Happy seems like a strong word. I don't know how much they filled you in on my case, but my mom is dead, my girlfriend was murdered, and my body is falling apart. But yes, I'll be pleased if I never have to step foot in a hospital again."
She nodded solemnly. "Yes, I'm aware. That's why I'm here. I just meant, leaving means you are at least well enough to live on your own."
"Yeah, I suppose," I said plainly.
"Do you have any plans for when you leave today?" she asked brightly.
"I'm not planning to kill myself if that's what you're asking?" I replied sarcastically.
She shook her head frantically. "That's not what I meant, but now I'm concerned. If you're not well enough, you can stay here a little longer."
"No, no, I'm fine," I clarified. "Jesus, sorry. I have a dark sense of humor sometimes, but making that joke is probably the psychological equivalent of saying bomb in an airport. Please don't make me stay here any longer."
"What are your plans for after you're discharged?" she asked again.
I shrugged. "Just figuring out my life, I guess. I have to pick up my car and my stuff from my storage locker and move into my new apartment today."
She smiled. "I'm glad you found a permanent place to stay. Where will you be living, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Uh." This won't sound good. "It's...my girlfriend, my ex-girlfriend, I guess. Her old place."
"Oh. I meant what part of the city? What neighborhood?" She rubbed her face, thinking. "Do you think that's a good idea? I think that will just make it harder for you to move on."
"Honestly, I don't expect to move on from this," I said frankly. "This will give me some normalcy in my life."
"Okay," she said in resignation. "If this provides you with some comfort." She paused again, trying to think of what to ask next. "Tell me about your friends and family. Will you reach out to any of them when you leave?"
"I don't know. I don't have much for either to be honest. My grandparents are dead. My mom is dead. My dad is dead. My girlfriend is dead. I don't have any siblings."
"Do you have any aunts or uncles or cousins?"
"I have three aunts and some cousins back in the Dominican, but I haven't seen them in years. Maybe I'll make a trip down sometime. I need to figure out my finances first."
She nodded sympathetically. "Friends?"
"Uh." I laughed mildly. "Now, you're just making me feel pathetic. I had friends, but not many close ones, honestly." It was hard to admit that out loud.
I like to think that I'm a nice guy and that people like me, but I was always a bit of a loner. I could joke and talk to people easily, but I was never good at keeping in touch. I wasn't much for hanging out with colleagues after work unless I bumped into them at The Bar Association, or I was celebrating with them after a first case. I basically just had girlfriends and then hung out with their friends. Then, when we'd break up, I wouldn't see those friends anymore.
The first names that came to my mind, Lana and Reina, were more Mia's friends than mine. Candace and Paul from the bar maybe, if they even still work there. Hammond and I talked sometimes but that friendship, if you could even call it that, was always strained, and he was dead too. Maybe I could reach out to some old high school and college friends if they don't think I'm dead. The news reported my poisoning as a murder and not an attempted murder.
"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but you'll have to try to connect with people. You'll need support after what you've been through."
"Yeah, I'll try," I said non-committedly. "I'll join a dance class, aquarobics, or guitar lessons or something," I joked drily.
She laughed politely. "Well, it doesn't have to be that, but you'll have to put yourself out there. You can't isolate yourself at your apartment."
"Noted."
"What about that woman who came to see you? The older one? Is she a friend or family member?
I chuckled. "Her? That's a long story."
"I have time."
I sighed. "To make a long story short, we thought that my dad was a deadbeat. You know, went to get cigarettes and never came back kind of thing. He was actually just dead this whole time. That's his mom. My other grandmother."
"You have another grandparent? Well, that's great. I'm sure she'd love to get to know you."
"I'm not sure if I want to get to know her, to be honest. She knew that my mom and I were here this whole time, but she never did anything with that information until now."
"Tell me more about that," she instructed.
"Oh, it's a long and boring story," I said, waving her off.
"I'd love to hear it," she said enthusiastically. I didn't respond. She sighed this time. "Look, I know you're resistant to talk to me, but I promise that it'll feel better to talk things through."
I just nodded, thinking. "Tell me about yourself," I replied finally.
"Why?"
"Well, you want me to just spill my guts, but I don't know anything about you."
"What do you want to know?" she asked.
"Oh, you know. Your background, your family, your schooling."
"I'd rather focus on you," she insisted. "I promise, my life is a lot more boring than yours."
"If you don't answer, I'll just guess," I warned. She didn't offer any information. "See, when I look at you..." I paused and pretended to think for a moment. I had a lot of time to think in this God-forsaken hospital, so I already had what I was going to say locked and loaded.
"...I see someone who grew up in a nice house in the suburbs," I continued. "Mom and a dad, two siblings, two cars, a cat, and a dog. Your mom worked part-time and looked after you and your dad had a good job. Businessman or doctor or something. You played T-ball when you were a little kid and were on the student council in high school. You're engaged to your high school sweetheart and your parents helped pay for the downpayment of your house after you got engaged. You went to the same university as him and chose psychology as your major because it sounded kind of interesting and you like helping people. You have a golden retriever and are training for a marathon."
She looked at me with bewilderment and didn't say anything. "Did I manage to land on anything?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I'm going to have to start skydiving or something," she said wryly.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you weren't 100% accurate. For example, I have three siblings, a black lab, and my fiancé and I met in college, but you were closer than I feel comfortable with."
I smirked. "Man, I'm just too good sometimes."
"Why don't we get back on topic?" she asked.
"No, I'm sorry. You've had a charmed life and, really, I'm happy for you. However, I just don't think I'll be able to relate to you. I don't know what advice you can give me."
"Okay," she reluctantly agreed. "I only want to help, but I can't force you." She pulled a business card from her clipboard and handed it to me. "If you change your mind, my number is here. If you ever feel hopeless, I promise that I am better than the alternative."
"Thanks," I said, looking at her card briefly, before placing it in my pocket.
"There are other therapists too," she said. "Unfortunately, there is a shortage of trained people, but I can put you on a waitlist. Maybe you'd feel more comfortable with someone else."
"Thanks. Sure, you can put me on a waitlist," I agreed.
"Thank you, that really makes me feel better. Knowing that you'll try again." She started to walk to the door and stopped in front of the threshold before turning around. "I wish you all the best with your move. Never hesitate to reach out if you need anything. There are people here who care about you."
I nodded. The subtext of our conversation made me uneasy but, given everything I've been through, I can understand why she'd be concerned. "Will do," I promised.
Date: Monday, July 9th, 2018
Time: 3:47 pm
Location: Department of Motor Vehicles, Los Tokyo
God damn gentrification. I know the ad said that the apartment would be renovated, but I assumed that a good deal of that was landlord puffery. However, they actually had extensively gutted the apartment and the whole building. It was still in Skid Row, but it was no longer a complete slum.
The exterior of the building had been refinished. New windows, new siding, and new steps. The inside of the apartment had new appliances, laminate floors, redone drywall, and a fresh coat of paint. The plumbing had been replaced and there was a new tub and updated bathroom fixtures. The front door had more than six feet of clearance and I didn't bang my head on it anymore. When I grabbed my keys from the landlord, he told me that they had fumigated, and I no longer had to worry about the cat-sized rats this place used to have. The place was actually livable now.
This just won't do. I wanted to move here to feel some connection to my old life. To have something similar to what I had before I slept for five years. Other than it being small, this place didn't resemble her old place at all. I couldn't hear her neighbors screaming at each other through the walls anymore. Apart from the sounds of city life outside, the building was quiet.
I'll just have to deal with it though. I signed on for a year and, unless I default on my rent payments, I'm stuck here.
There was one familiar thing here at least. My old mattress. Mia had taken it and left it here and they never bothered to get a new one. Like everything at my old place, it's top-of-the line and a king, so why replace it? I slept on her side of the bed from then on.
The place sort of resembles her old place in one other way too. Filled with disorganized boxes and piles of stuff. Mamá had saved a lot more for me than I anticipated, and I had to make two car trips to bring everything over.
I'll have to sort through it all at some point and put everything away, but I left it for now. Just moving my stuff into the building had me so winded that I more or less passed out once the last box was carried in.
One box I did try to unpack had all my clothes but, unfortunately, it looks like the moths got to them first and they smelled like mildew. All my old clothes were ruined, and I'll have to rotate the four sets of gym clothes that were left at the hospital for me until I can get some new ones.
My biggest priority right now is the car though. I was driving on Friday, out to buy some groceries and toiletries for my new place and a cop pulled me over. He told me that my license and registration were out of date and that I needed to get them renewed.
When I told him that I had been in a coma for five years and that I was unable to get them renewed until this week, he accused me of being a smartass. He wasn't swayed at all when I pointed to my psychotic-looking eyewear or the sharp discrepancy between my old license photo and my current appearance. Unsurprisingly, given my luck these days, he gave me a ticket and told me I'd have to get to a DMV within five business days or receive another ticket.
So, because I am such a good law-abiding citizen, I made a trip there today, the first business day I could, to get this issue rectified. I took a number and waited for almost two hours until it was my turn.
I walked up to the available clerk, greeted her, and then slid my old car registration papers and my license across the stand.
The clerk looked at the registration papers and chuckled. "You know you can renew this online, right? Would save you a lot of time."
I laughed politely. "I know. I have to renew my license too though. It's expired."
"Of course." She picked up the card and her eyes widened when she looked at the photo and then looked up at me to compare. She laughed nervously. "Yeah, it looks a little out of date."
I nodded and smirked. "Yeah, I looked a lot better seven years ago when that photo was taken."
"I've seen wilder transformations," she consoled me. What kind of freaks walk into the DMV these days? "Your vision," she said, pointing to my goggles. "Are these...do you need these to see?"
"I'm blind without them. 20/20 with them though."
"What are they?" she asked.
"Uh. They're...state of the art, I guess. 'Vision visor' is the name the inventor is going with, I think."
"Why do they glow like that?"
I shook my head. "Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. I can only see red and black now, so I assumed that the red glow has something to do with that."
"I see." She paused. "I'll be right back. I just have to talk to my supervisor."
I waited at the window for about five minutes and watched as she and her supervisor had a lively discussion out back. When she was done, she returned to me, with a rather grim look on her face.
"I have some bad news," she said contritely.
I rubbed my face and sighed. "Just lay it on me."
"My supervisor says that we can't issue you a license. Your vision...visors, they aren't in our system. We can put down glasses, contacts, or laser eye surgery but not laser goggles."
Of course they can't. It's not like anything else has been working out for me lately. "I can see perfectly though. I can prove it to you with one of your eye charts."
"I believe you. There's just nothing I can do until they're added to the system. They probably will someday. Although, we were concerned about your color blindness too."
"My color blindness?" I laughed. "I'm just driving a car here, not flying an airplane."
"I know, but what about the stoplights?"
"Well, they're all red, but different shades of red. It was a little weird at first, but I can tell them apart. I know the order they go in too."
"What about stop signs? You can only see red and black now, you said?"
Stop signs were worse than stoplights. I can't see white on a red background anymore. The word "stop" just blends into the sign. "Well, it's just a red octagon now. But I know what a red octagon means."
She simply nodded. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do right now. I wish I had a better answer for you."
"Please," I pleaded. When did I get so pathetic? "I've lost...everything. Just let me have this."
"I'm sorry. I really am. I can replace your license with an ID card though, if you'd like."
I inhaled and then exhaled deeply. "Yeah, thanks." She took my old license away. "Can I keep the old one? As a memento."
"I can do that!" she said enthusiastically. "I'll just have to punch a hole in it, so they know it's invalid."
After she invalidated my license and gave it back to me, she got me to update my address information and take a new photo. She asked me one more question before I left. "Do you have someone who can pick up the car for you? You won't be able to drive it out of here."
I don't have someone. I can't tell her that though. She'll probably confiscate my keys and tow the car away. "Yeah, my mom will pop by and get it after her shift," I lied. She nodded and allowed me to leave with my keys.
I walked down the street to a diner and sat in there for a few hours, silently fuming, and drinking cup after cup of bottomless coffee. Once it was almost dark and the DMV had been closed for a while, I walked back over there and drove my car away.
I drove at a leisurely city pace at first, and then a comfortable highway pace. Once I made it out of the city and onto the more rural highways though, I went a lot faster than that. The gas pedal was on the floor as I cruised past the outskirts of town. Weaving in and out to pass the slower cars I came across on my way. Someone could report me, but I don't really care. What were they going to do? Take my license away?
I had been a God damn model citizen my whole life. I wasn't rebellious as a teenager. I didn't egg houses or bust open mailboxes. I never shoplifted a candy bar or snuck into a movie. I never smoked a joint at a house party. I never dined and dashed. I refused to drive with even a drop of alcohol in my body.
I wanted to be a lawyer since I was a kid, and I lived my life like one false move would unravel my entire plan. And what do you know? It didn't matter anyway. Everything was pulled away from me, just like that.
And now, I have to sell my car too, if I don't crash it first. I don't want to sell it. I'd sooner light it on fire than sell it. It's mine and nobody will care about it as much as me. I can't even get that much for it anyway. It's a LeBaron, not a Lambo or a Porsche or even a Mustang. Someone's dad probably drove this car to his middle manager job in the 80s.
It wasn't a horrible car. It had a peppy V8 engine, it drove nice, and it had that boxy 70s look that I like for some reason. It was a Medallion too which was the higher-end model. It's not that rare or in-demand though.
The only reason I wanted it so much is because it was in this 80s B action movie. They used to play it on cable all the time and I saw it about 10 times when I was a little kid. Thinking about it now, they probably only used this car because they couldn't afford the kind of cars they'd feature in James Bond movies.
I had no idea what I would do with it, or where I was even going, but I didn't care. I just drove. I made it so far out of the city that I rarely came across anyone. I felt completely emboldened to do whatever I wanted. Knowing how this crazy world works, the one time I don't play by the rules, nothing will probably happen anyway.
I started driving along the coast, the windows rolled down, feeling the breeze wash over me. It was loud and it slowed my speed, but it felt nice. I had to slow down a little anyway, but only a little. The road was winding and there were some sharp turns. I had 3/4 of a tank left and would just drive until I absolutely had to turn around.
That was the plan, although my drive ended up being cut short a little early. A deer ran out into the road, and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid it. The tires squealed and I nearly careened off the side of the cliff, but I managed to stop just short of the guard rails, saving myself and the car. The deer too. It pranced away like nothing had happened.
I started hyperventilating, thinking about what could have happened if I had reacted just a little slower. Then, the tears, and the slamming of my fists against the steering wheel. I was falling apart at the seams.
I started driving back, windows rolled up, and speed slowed way down. I was so rattled, and I still had almost a two-hour drive home. I passed by the rocky coastal cliffs, saw a sandy beach, and pulled over there to collect myself.
The beach was completely empty. It was almost 10 o'clock at night and this area of beach didn't have parking, cabanas, lifeguard towers, or any other beach amenity people sought out. It was just a lonely stretch of sand.
I picked a spot and laid down, breathing deeply, in and out, trying to calm down. I looked up at the stars, those red dots punctuating the dark black sky, contemplating my next move.
I can't be like this forever. I refuse. I don't know what to do though. Everything I've ever cared about is gone. I have nothing left. Mia and Mamá. This car. I could take my old job back, and pretend like nothing had changed, but I can't do it. Not after I know what Grossberg did. Not with Mia no longer there.
I just wanted to go back in time to five years ago. It probably was about five years to the day when Mia, Maya, and I went to a beach just like this. Digging a hole that Maya could stand in. Getting into a water fight. Thinking about that day, I wondered if Maya was my answer.
When I reviewed Wright's court records, I saw that Maya had been endangered many times in Mia's absence. Charged with Mia's murder. Framed for another murder by her "delightful" Aunt Morgan. Kidnapped and held ransom.
Her status as future Master and proximity to Wright seemed to make her target number one. She never was indicted, and Phoenix got her back eventually, but, if he had done a better job, she might not have been kidnapped in the first place.
I'll need another job eventually and something else to occupy me at home, but, in the meantime, I can keep an eye on her.