V.I.T.R.I.O.L. Part One
The sound was unmistakable. I could hear the air freely flow from my apartment radiator vents only to wheeze, clank, and die. I knew the cause of death, the stack of overdue gas bills tucked under my mattress would quickly tell the story of many a demise. One being the hopes of a warm winter, the other being the dream of becoming a successful artist in the big city.
In my youthful ignorance, I had counted on my copious amounts of natural talent to override my complete lack of nerve. I would walk the streets for hours, hands clutching the handle of my oversized portfolio. I’d try to summon up the will to cross the threshold into just one gallery. The paintings on the walls would ridicule me… those creatives had the courage to take the necessary steps. Why couldn’t I?
Maybe it’s because deep down… I worried I really didn’t have talent. Natural or otherwise. Maybe I was a hack, a liar, a fraud… a self deluded nitwit holding a briefcase of flaming acrylic garbage.
This insipid little voice would follow me home. The words ‘liar, fraud, no talent hack’ would travel from my mind, down to my arm, and into my hand… making my worst fears into a harsh reality. My work had really become a flaming acrylic pile of garbage. No muse, just crap.
‘Crap!!!!’, I wailed as I hucked the brush across the cold, little room.
I was up to the last month on my now abysmal apartment’s lease. It seemed as good a time as any to cut my losses and run to the place I should call home. But this place was always… something else.
And so with a somber heart, I made the necessary calls to this ‘somewhere else’, I told my aunt I was coming back. I packed up my rusty lime green Toyota Tercel and I left my keys and rent check in my landlord’s mailbox.
It was about 3am at this point. Even the city itself seemed isolated and quiet as I departed. I drove into the darkness and onto the highway. I traveled until I finally arrived at the bridge. The bridge that took me to the city and now would take me back. The river below it was massive. In grade school I heard all the eerie and sad stories of those who died trying to cross it. And now it was my turn. My wheels rolled over the narrow iron floor, over the inky black waters below… and up to the underpass I knew I would meet at the end.
I slammed my foot on the brake, I knew no one would follow me on this road. I was alone, and would remain so.
I sat at the freeway underpass. My glare fixed on the green highway sign which now taunted me with a choice. I could turn right and go south, back to the gleaming city lights. Or I could turn left and go north, where coyotes yipped into the starry night skies.
But I knew I wasn’t turning right or left today. No, I was going straight. Straight and then down, down, down. Down to the dales and canyons of my past of which I hoped would remain there.
Yes. This is what lady fate had planned for me, and so I tentatively pressed my foot on the gas… and went straight.
©️2023 Bren Gyllene. All Rights Reserved.
