Ambulance driver (Dave): Gus! Gus! Wake up! (Shakes him somewhat violently)
Dave works the night shift as an EMS worker and has known Gus for a few years now, both from the bar and working accident scenes together.
Dave: Gus, c'mon! Snap out of it!
Gus: (comes-to) Whaa? (groggily) Where am I? (slowly oscillates head from his spread eagle position)
From his back, Gus stares up and sees one thing: the cross shaped lift attachment on the back of his tow truck.
Dave: You fell, Gus. And this nice lady here, she called an ambulance for you.
Gus is mesmerized by the cross that engulfs his view. A light from the nearby overpass provides for a glorious, illuminated backdrop to the large steel cross. As Gus tries to gather his bearings; he's overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Moisture billows up atop the bags underneath his eyes. What is happening? Are the pearly gates somewhere beyond this cross?
Dave: Gus! You're okay. You're gonna be okay!
Gus: Shhhhhh (quiets Dave quickly).
Of all the darkness that haunts and surrounds Gus, he can pinpoint it to the simple fact that he can never get a moments peace; first it's Edna and now in this profound moment, it's Dave. Now that he thinks of it, maybe the years of substance abuse had never afforded him the chance for a moment of clarity. As he lays there on the side of the road bearing witness to large glowing cross, a grin stretches the width of his face, parting his scraggly beard in half.
The scene is overwhelming emotional for Gus, it's something that he cannot readily define. He has never ascribed to the tenets of religious beliefs, but does believe in one thing: destiny... as evident by his belief that society, with all its entrapments, has molded and destined him to be a tow truck driver. So maybe this brightly lit cross illuminating his face is a sign that there is a greater deity at work here trying to communicate something to him. Maybe this is the culmination point of his entire life.
His mouth quivers as if he were speaking, however, the only thing coming out of his mouth is the strong scent of Old Crow whiskey coated by a hint of marijuana and Listerine.
Dave: (leans in, whispers) Gus... let's get you outta here, let's go home.
Gus blinks a few times to snap him out of his trance. For the entirety of his time laying there, he hadn't once thought of how he got into the predicament. Dave has always been a solid guy, so Gus acknowledges that perhaps he's not in the best state of mind and let's Dave's better judgement prevail.
Dave starts explaining the last half hour to Gus as he drives his truck back to his house: how he used Gus's tow to rescue the young lady, how he had to rush him off the scene before the troopers caught wind of the accident... Gus thanks him as he's handed his keys on his doorstep.
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Upon staggering through the doorway, he draws a hot bath and clumsily strips off the layers of his uniform. The anticipation of a deep soaking after his harrowing night comforts McHaliburton as he prepares to replay the earlier magical event in his mind. After shaking off his final long-sleeved thermal, Gus balls it up and adds it to the pile next to the tub. He lowers his right arm down to grasp the outer edge of the old clawfoot tub; his opposite arm girdles his heft gingerly into the tub. After bracing himself in, he slowly arches his head back and lets out a beleaguered sigh. There's a deep peace that washes over him; the tranquil stream of the faucet lowers his guard as he, once again, fades into the night.
At 7:00 am, the blaring of Edna's alarm pierces through the cold still morning. She reaches her arm across the bed, searching for her partner's burly chest to grab ahold of. Gus isn't there. That wasn't a big surprise. Many times Gus takes comfort away from her in other areas of the house. If one were to pull up a carpenter's blueprint of the house, and pushed pins into the various spots where each had passed out, it would resemble something akin to a map from a world traveler, adorned with pins from all the various locations.
Edna apprehensively walks on down the hall, pondering the whereabouts of her partner. She opens the bathroom door. An inch of water ensconces the herringbone, white tile floor.
Edna: (delicately) Gus?
Gus: Uhh, whaa? (shoots head up from the tub and flails it about in a stupor)
Edna: (approaches Gus, places hand on his shoulder) Gus, babe. C'mon.
The nature of their relationship is one where each facilitate a rotating duty of enabler. Their symbiosis is highlighted by the apathy each nurture in the other; together they act as an insulated shell which not only justifies the prolonged usage of the medicine of their choice, but furthermore shuts out family and acquaintances who try to crack that shell. So, it is hardly with a bat of an eye and without a harsh word, that Edna leans down and twists the faucet shut. She then helps him up out of the tub and drapes a towel over his cold, pale, wrinkled body.
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Gus: I don't know what exactly happened last night, but something magical happened...
Edna: Well, you blacked out in the tub... again... I wouldn't necessarily call that magical.
Gus: No... before that. I had a spiritual moment... (slows down his speech suggesting the other-worldly profundity) I saw a huge... glowing... cross... Then I felt warmth... I felt time stand still and everything was... was... like in a dream.
Edna: Huh? (pauses) You sure you didn't dream it?
Gus: It was the realist thing that ever happened to me. It was like destiny. I was meant to see that cross at that precise time.
Edna breaks down in tears. Gus moves closer to her.
Edna: I got a call while you were out... Your grandmother passed away last night.
Gus freezes up like he had seen a ghost. He caves into his himself, into his bed.
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He turns to the bedside clock; it's 10:10.
An unwelcome light seeps its way through the thick gray curtains; it looks more like sunlight than the artificial yellowness from the overhead light from the back porch, so he reckons it morning over night.
Without second thought, he reaches for old faithful: Old Crow whiskey. He steadies his shaking hand and pours it, more out of habit than anything else; his body is not ready for it. An uneasiness grabs ahold of him as he coldly stares down his drink. Having blacked out twice the day prior, and with the shakes now taking over, the mere thought of drinking now actually makes his skin crawl.
But something, some force greater than himself, made him pour it.
He spends the better part of an hour at the foot of his bed at war with the beverage before him. He laughs to himself at the Coke he added to top it off: what's the point? Is it somehow better because his stodgy brown libation has now taken the appearance of soda? Will his liver somehow thank him for the concoction that is roughly six parts whiskey to one part cola?
After a long stare down with the drink, he grabs it and ambles his way to the living room. He sets the drink down on the armrest of his favorite chair and shuffles over to the bookcase. Reaching down to the bottom shelf, he pulls out the old family Bible and sinks into the tattered, old, brown chair. Before opening the dusty book, he ponders how long it has been since it was last opened... perhaps a generation, or possibly two before him. He couldn't imagine his parents having any use for it.
Setting the book on his lap, he flips it open in hope of finding something relevant to his experience from the night before. While shuffling through, he miscalculates and helplessly watches his folly knock his drink over onto the open pages of the old King James Version Bible.
Gus: Oh shit!
He clumsily scoops up his glass, but the damage has already been done. The page that he randomly opened to is fully submerged with lower shelf whiskey except for a small passage in the lower right hand corner. It just so happens that one verse on the entire page remains dry. He looks at the top page and sees it's opened to the book of John.
Deciding not to read the passage, Gus eyes the fan in the corner of the room. He sets the book down and turns the fan on low; then takes slight relief as the fan whispers its breath on the gilded pages.
Looking down at his spilled drink, Gus mutters incoherently under his breath. Adding insult to injury, his last bottle of Old Crow has now sunken beneath the crow's feet on the label, signifying the dreaded refill territory. With a scowl, he grabs hold of his glass and slams back the remaining half inch of dark liquid.
He glances at the Bible, then back at his plastic whiskey jug.
Staggering uncomfortably out of his comfortable chair, his strides force him into the ledge overhanging the half wall bordering the basement steps. He rests his beer belly for a few moments on the ledge while he reaches for his keys. The muscles in his back tighten as he extends; he winces while clutching onto his truck key.
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The liquor store is just one turn from his house, about a mile and a half down the road. He pulls up, gingerly exits the vehicle, then walks in.
Gus: Half gallon of Old Crow.
The shopkeeper bends down to the lowest shelf to scoop up the large jug.
Shopkeeper: That'll be $10.10.
10:10... it registers that that was the same time he saw on the alarm clock that morning.
Gus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled $20 bill. He plops it down on the counter.
Shopkeeper: Um, do you happen to have a dime?
Gus: Huh?
Shopkeeper: So I can give you a $10 back.
Gus: Oh, well... (fumbles through his pockets) Here's a quarter.
Shopkeeper: Thank you. Oops, ya know what? I don't have any nickels...
Gus: That's okay.
Shopkeeper: Let me give you some pennies...
Gus: No. No thanks.
Upon returning home, he sets his keys on the sideboard. While pulling his keys out, he empties the cash from the same pocket. He pulls out the $10, then soon after, the dime follows. He stares at the $10.10, then pushes it against the backsplash.
His mind is now drawn to a fluttering noise. He grabs the large whiskey jug and makes his way back to the living room. There he finds the fan blowing against the blinds. In front of the fan is the Bible he had spilled on earlier. He eyeballs the book to find it opened to the same page as before. The same verse that remained dry from before, now pops out of the page, sharply contrasted against the brown, whiskey-soaked page.
This time he reads it:
[i]The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they have it more abundantly.[/i]
And the verse: John 10:10
Gus drops to his knees. He cries for the first time in ages. Tears cascade down like the crying from the leaky faucet in the basement bathroom.
Thoughts of his grandmother, images of the illuminated cross, and now the Bible verse... the thief who comes to kill everything off, but the Savior comes to give abundant life... Everything swirls around in his fragile psyche.
He cries some more.
Upon the good news, he refills his snifter full of Old Crow, this time without the Coke.
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Tiffany comes home at 4:11 with news for Gus. Oddly enough, this time it's in the afternoon. Morning, afternoon... it doesn't really matter to Gus anymore. He is a few cocktails and maybe a few joints deep when Tiffany arrives.
Nonetheless, he trudges his way to the bathroom sink and carefully avoids eye contact with the disheveled image before the mirror. He fills up yet another shot glass and slams it back, this time it's with Listerine. He gargles it around for a few swishes, spits it out, grabs his cold, half-drunk morning coffee from the kitchen table and heads out the door.
The roads are, in a way, like Gus... rough and unpredictable. His truck fishtails as he floors it out of his dirt driveway; he grins a comforted grin, knowing that he can always mask his drunk driving deep within the inches of piling snow. As the snow turns to ice, he's surprised Tiffany hasn't rounded up more distressed motorists; as it turns out this rescue is only two miles away.
Before his truck is even warmed up, he approaches the vehicle. Preceding it is a large tree branch nearly the size of a trunk that occupies half the road. The fresh snow provides evidence of wildly swerving car tires. Behind the over-turned shrubbery, Gus spots a two-tone white and blue '57 Cadillac halfway down a ditch.
As he pulls up to the car, on the driver side, he sees the door smashed in. Encircling the Caddy, he detects a cracked windshield, then blood. This one is bad; he doesn't get too many like this. Gus swings open his door and rushes out from behind the wheel.
Gus: Hello! (approaches Cadillac) Hello!
His calls are met with the deafening silence that only the frozen countryside can provide in the middle of January. Only a faint echo of his calls linger as he further investigates. Gus trudges through the thick snow and makes his way to the passenger side window.
There are two men inside, neither are responsive. He grabs ahold of the passenger side door and tries tugging it open; it's jammed shut. Gus thinks quick on his feet. He thrusts his elbow through the window. As the glass shatters, the driver wakens and turns towards Gus.
Driver: John... (shakes the man in the passenger seat) John!
Gus: Sit tight guys. You're gonna be okay.
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