I’m on autopilot, not thinking about the consequences of my actions or even my actions themselves. All that matters is the choice, the choice I’ve already made. To keep my mind off of it I notice the details in everything. Why is that fire hydrant painted green? Aren’t they usually red? Damn, there are a lot of stars out tonight; I thought it was supposed to rain. I wonder who takes care of the ivy that runs up all these old buildings. I wonder if he hates his job.
Before I know it, I slide my key into the lock, click it open and let the heavy wooden door slam behind me. I flip the light switch and florescent lights throw fuzzy white around the room. My hands twist knobs and set dials, the machine is prepped. I slip the rubber gloves on and slide the helmet on. I hold the goggles out in front of my face and pause.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
I don’t care. I reach over, hit the final switch and snap the dark glass goggles over my tired eyes. I focus on the memory. The memory of tear filled hugs of sorrow, of police knocking on the door, the angry pacing, car starting, door slamming, raised voices, broken glass and torn steel.
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