Therapy
Charlie turned on to McGary St. He didn’t really have anywhere specific to drive, he was just driving.
He had Hank jr. cranked up on his radio, and his windows down with the air conditioner on. While his day had started crappy, this was improving it. This was more therapeutic and effective to deal with his stressors than any plans or processes that some over paid counselor could come up with.
Half-way down the block, near the bus terminal, a couple men decided to cut across the road. One saw Charlie coming and jogged across the lane so that he wasn’t in the way. The other made eye contact and threw his arms out as he slowed down.
He looked every bit like a walking cliché of a junkie. Barley shaved hair, sickly pasty skin even in the sun, scabs, and a beard that just didn’t seem like it could grow. Sporadic shitty tattoos, including a large red and black one on his arm that Charlie could just make out as “Judgeless”.
Charlie almost felt a pang of pity.
“What?” he shouted at Charlie. “I said WHAT, mother fucker?”
The pang of pity disappeared.
Charlie, forced to a crawl in order to pass him, leaned out his window, and pointed up the street to where the crosswalk was.
“You’re outta pocket, Man,” Charlie said. “You’re supposed to use the crosswalk so that you don’t bounce off a hood.”
“The fuck you gonna do, boy?” the man sneered. “Get on outta that truck and teach me the law? Try it! Try it!"
Charlie laughed and shook his head. As he started to drive away, the man spat on the back of his truck.
“Ok,” Charlie mumbled. “Ok.”
He drove a block up and turned the corner. Finding a parking spot, he got out and pulled off his hoodie. He threw on his flannel jacket from his passenger seat, his ballcap and sunglasses, and started walking back towards the bus station.
On principle, he crossed at the crosswalk, but his eyes were scanning the people milling around at the terminal. Half of them looked lost, listless, or strung out. The other half looked terrified that the others would approach them.
Then Charlie spotted him. He was standing off by the corner of the bus terminal by the sidewalk and some bushes with the man he had crossed the road with. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing, presumably about his theatrics in the middle of the street.
At first, Charlie wasn’t sure, but after a moment of staring, Charlie knew it was the guy. The blonde stubble on top of his head revealing inevitable impending balding, the patchy face hair that looked more like mange than a beard, and the scabs on the side of his face hinting at a more serious addiction that the cigarette he was currently smoking. The “Judgeless” tattoo on his right arm was the clincher, however. It was Meth Man.
Charlie slowed down and looked around. Everyone seemed caught up in their own little world, and the cameras were all pointed towards the terminal area, not out towards the street or edges of the lot.
Perfect.
He was an arm reach away now.
“Hey, got a smoke?” Charlie asked.
As the man turned, Charlie swung, connecting true with the joint of the man’s jaw. He fell sideways into the bush. Charlie grabbed the man’s leg and dragged him from where he landed. The bush and the rocks beneath him scratched at his skin as Charlie pulled him out and onto the dirt beside the sidewalk.
Charlie looked over at the other man.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
The man threw his arms up and backed away, eyes wide.
Charlie knelt beside Meth Man, who didn’t even attempt to stand or fight, but was now cradling his face and screaming.
“Crosswalk,” Charlie said loudly.
Meth Man kept screaming, so Charlie gave his face a slap. “Hey, shut up and focus on me.”
The man’s screaming turned into moans of agony, but he was staring straight at Charlie with his bloodshot eyes that seemed filled with equal parts hatred and tears from the pain.
“Good,” Charlie said. “Now, the next time you cross a road, use the crosswalk. And if you ever, and I mean ever, get the gumption to spit on a man’s truck again…”
Charlie leaned in and drew his fist back. The man flinched and pulled his arms over his head.
“…reconsider that gumption.” Charlie said. Instead of punching, Charlie patted the man’s shoulder.
As he stoof up looked around, leaving Meth Man holding his head in the dust at his feet. Meth Man’s friend was still wide eyed and holding his hands up like he was in a hold up scene from a movie. No one else was even looking their way. Most were too busy staring at their phones or nodding off from whatever substance was in their system.
He dusted his jeans and walked back the way he had come. His hand hurting like all get out, but otherwise, he felt great.
Best Therapy session in a long time, he thought to himself as he waited for the crosswalk light to change.
© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved
