Chris strode through his empty house, wine glass in hand. He slowly walked over the thick, lush white carpet into the living room. Upon entering, his eyes sought out the wine cabinet. With one last glance around the room to be sure no one was watching Chris stooped down to open it. In the bottom cabinet, Chris pulled out several bottles and old family knickknacks. When the cabinet looked like there was nothing else that could be taken out, Chris climbed into the cabinet. His wife Coral and he had gone looking for a cabinet and she insisted on it being big-huge. She liked everything in her life big. Chris pushed the thought away and looked up to the bottom of the overhead cabinet. Carefully, he slid the shelf off revealing three bottles. He took the clear bottle down and reached outside to grab his glass. He filled the glass, re-capped he bottle, and replaced everything. Still lying in the cabinet, Chris began drinking.

When his glass was empty Chris climbed out and put everything back into its place. He stood up and brushed his jeans off. He lifted his head and cracked his neck. In the process his eyes fell on the figure across the room. He reluctantly walked over to it. Sighing, he placed his hand on the smooth surface of the image. It was one of those rare times he looked at the figure. He had grown to hate it, yet it was his best friend. The only thing he had when everyone else lift and forgot about him. Picking up his hand and balling it into a fist, he prepared to hit it. But inches away he let his hand fall limp down to his side. If there was one thing that he wouldn’t do, it was hurt himself no matter how bad things got. Looking in the mirror one last time, he lifted his glass to his lips just to make sure he had gotten everything from it, and left the room.

Coral stood in the principal’s office. She had become accustomed to these meetings. In an ironic way they were entertaining and she liked going. Maybe it was just that they got her away from Chris, even if it was only for a short time. Or maybe it was that she got to go somewhere and get so much attention. Either way, she anticipated what was going to be said to her about her son.

The secretary motioned for her to enter the office. There her son sat tearing at his designer clothing with his pocketknife. His eyes were hidden by his unruly hair and his multiple earrings were offset by the serpent tattoo that encircled the back of his neck. She held in a laugh when she saw the principal practically cowering behind his desk.

“Mrs. Kirkpatrick,” he said gesturing for her to sit in the seat next to Owen, her son. Coral looked at Owen, who gave her a mocking grin. His father’s smile she thought to herself. Before mentally going down that road, she averted her attention back to the principal.

“How are you? Your husband?” he asked.

“Quit the small talk. What did he do this time,” Coral responded rapidly.

The principal sat silent or a second, clasping and unclasping his hands, trying to find the best way to say what needed to be said. “I know we’ve talked to you before about this. But he’s getting out of hand. We cannot control him. We already do what we can without stepping out of bounds.”

“Yes, yes I know. What did he do,” she asked angrily looking at Owen.

“He pulled a knife on another student. We’re trying to keep it under wraps. We don’t want any unnecessary attention and I’m sure you and your husband don’t want that either,” the principal explained.

Coral hadn’t expected anything near what had been said. She was thinking he had been caught smoking or was bulling other kids. Her head swung over to Own. “You did what,” she asked with wide eyes.

“I did what he said Ma. The kid wouldn’t give me my money,” Owen said shaking his shoulders and keeping his e yes on the floor.

“Money!? For what? Owen you know that if you need money for something your father and I-”

“You don’t get it,” he said standing up, “people have to pay me. That’s how the business works. No one understands here. Shoot Ma, why would I ask you to pay for other people’s drugs?”

Coral’s throat closed up. My son is a drug dealer, shot through her head.

“Owen,” the principal started.

“No. You know what? I don’t have to take this. I’m leaving. I’ll see you when I see you,” he said grabbing his backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder he left the room. Coral and the principal exchanged glances. Coral wiped her mouth and stood up. She left after her son.

Chris stood before the refrigerator. Pictures stood scattered over the metal front. Happy pictures. Chris teaching Own to ride his bike. Coral and Chris at a party. Coral holding Owen when he was born. Chris put his forehead against the door and sighed. A minute later he opened it. He put his glass under the boxed wine and filled it up. The dark liquid was swiftly drunk and the glass filled up again. He turned around and gazed out his bay window into his backyard.

The basketball hoop hung netless, the golf clubs sat rusting next to the brown grass. Across the yard, the manmade lake was so full of moss that you couldn’t see it. The jet ski’s sat in their garage useless. Chris pushed his back door open and walked shoeless into the yard. The evening air stung his lungs. Above, dark clouds foretold of rain. Putting his glass on the rotten picnic table, Chris walked down the over gown path to the far edge of his yard. There stood a small gazebo. Chris and Coral had been married there, the whole yard full of happy friends and family. Chris looked around him. A mosquito flew in his face and he swatted at it. He sat down and slouched. He leaned to the left and pulled out his walled from his back pocket. He opened it and took out a small piece of paper. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have taken it, but this time it seemed right. He didn’t know what to do with it now. He was sure Coral would hate him if he called, but something in his pulled him to go. Small, dark spots started appearing on the paper and Chris looked out to see small drops falling on the water. He put the paper back and started inside.

Coral pulled her car in to the garage and parked next to Chris’ Car. Surprised that he was home, Coral began thinking something was wrong. Or maybe he suspected something. She got out and walked inside. Caring about dirtying up the carpet, she took off her wet coat and shoes and hastily walked upstairs. In the large closet Coral searched for the dress Chris always liked her wearing. It would disorient him and give her an advantage. Slipping it over her body her eyes caught the bathroom window overlooking the yard. She saw Chris walking towards the house, drenched. She quickly grabbed several towels and dry clothes and ran downstairs to meet him.

Chris wiped the falling drops off his face and shook his head to free it from some water. He hesitated outside the door. Then he saw Coral coming down the stairs with towels. A small smile appeared on his face.

“Don’t stand in the rain, you’ll get sick,” she scolding opening the door and handing him a towel. He accepted it and ran the towel over his wet features. Once inside, he took the clothes she offered and walked into the bathroom to change. There he was affronted by his image once again. This time there was more of a warmth to his face. He came out of the bathroom and Coral grabbed the wet clothes.

“What took you so long in there,” she asked throwing the wet clothes into the washing machine.

“How about a ‘Hi Honey! What are you dong home? I’m surprised, I missed you.’?” Chris asked opening a cabinet and taking out a glass.

Coral stepped out of the laundry room. “What are you doing home,” she mimicked suspiciously.

Chris just shrugged his shoulders, “Tired of work. Wanted to see my family.”

“Oh,” Coral said surprised, “you staying awhile?”

“I might,” he said, head in the refrigerator, filling up his glass. “Where’s Owen? He still starting a garage band?”

Coral choked on the bread she bad been eating, “Owen?”

“You know, our son,” Chris said putting a hand on the island that separated them. Coral licked her lips and turned around finding a knife and cutting up some more bread. “Where is he Coral,” Chris asked again. Coral still didn’t answer. “You don’t know, do you?”

Coral turned around at his forceful words, “No.”

Chris stared at her. “How can you not know?”

“You don’t know and you don’t’ see me asking you why you don’t know,” she countered.

“I just got home,” Chris defended himself.

“Maybe if you were home more often he wouldn’t be running off.”

“He ran away!?”

“Yes,” Coral said slamming the knife down through the bread.

“Why?” Chris’s eyebrows drew together, demanding an answer.

“Does it look like I know Chris? He doesn’t talk to me.”

Chris looked around, not in the mood for a fight, “I’ll go look for him.” He opened the closet and took out his coat.

“Try the corners,” Coral said simply.

Chris’ head moved from his zipper to look at Coral, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means our son almost got kicked out of school for selling crack Chris. He’s a drug dealer.” Chris tightened his mouth and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

The rain fell rhythmically on the roof of his car. Chris drove around aimlessly. He pulled into a parking lot and reaching into his pocket he took out his cell phone. The first call he made was to Owen’s girlfriend.

“Trena, have you seen Owen,” Chris asked the young girl.

“Hey Mr. K. No, not after he pulled the knife on-”

“He what?”

“Yeah, he tried to kill-”

“Thank you Trena. If you talk to him, tell him to come home.” Chris hung up and dropped his head to the steering wheel. Then he dialed a second number.

“Hello,” the woman in her mid 60’s asked, her age started to become noticeable even through the phone.

“Hey Lynn. Have you seen Owen,” Chris asked hopefully.

Lynn Harless looked across her kitchen table to where Owen sat eating some pie. His eyes met hers. She told him it was his dad and he took the phone. “Hey Dad.”

“Owen, you aren’t bothering Lynn are you?”

“No.” Owen answered around a mouth full of peaches.

“I’m on my way to pick you up.” Chris hung up the phone and started his car again.

Chris drove down the familiar road to Lynn’s house. He slowed as he neared the house and watched several kids hastily pull a hockey net out of his way. He pulled into the old gravel driveway. He looked up at the window of what used to be his room. Chris remembered what it was like to come home to this place everyday; to come home to a happy home. He stepped out of his car and his reverie and walked up to the front steps. Knocking softly, Chris watched a small ant travel across the sidewalk. The door opened and Chris’s head rose.

“Chris,” she said simply and opened her arms. Chris stepped into them and hugged her back. For a short second he was happy he had come. Then he remembered Owen. Lynn sensed his realization and let him go. “He’s in the den,” she said walking back into the kitchen, no doubt to make dinner.

Chris walked leisurely down the hall to the den. He glanced at the pictures decorating the walls. They too were happy pictures like Chris had on his refrigerator but these were recent. Pictures of Lynn and her husband, Lynn’s family, friends, and their happy children. Chris’ thoughts were interrupted by Owen clearing his throat.

“We’re staying for dinner,” Owen said simply, then walked past Chris with his backpack over one shoulder. Chris followed him. Owen walked upstairs and into Chris’ old room. He had his back to Chris and didn’t see him follow. Owen opened his bag. A book fell out on the floor and Chris and Owen both bent to pick it up. Owen looked deeply into his father’s eyes for the first time in a long time.

“I was going to give it back,” he said about the book that obviously belonged to Chris.

“As long as you’re reading and interested in it,” Chris said leaving the room.

“Dad,” Owen asked after Chris.

Chris turned around and stuck his head into the room, “Huh?”

“I didn’t want to do it. Once I got into it I couldn’t stop.” Chris just nodded his head. “Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to face Ma. She’s gunna chew my head off.”

“You can’t avoid it forever Owen,” Chris said leaving and walking downstairs. He found Lynn in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the pasta.

“Owen still likes it right,” Lynn asked looking to Chris.

“I don’t know,” Chris replied opening the refrigerator. Lynn put her hand on his back. Chris slowly shut the door as Lynn motioned for him to get a glass of water.

Chris sat down at the kitchen table. He looked longingly around the small room. It was nothing compared to his, but he liked this one must better. This was where his life had started, where he had gotten himself into so much trouble. In this room he had formed bonds that he never thought would be breakable. Everything has a breaking point, Chris thought to himself. Lynn put a steaming bowl in front of Chris and sat down across from him

“I hear that everyone wants to get together again. Said that they’ve had enough of a break and want to start working again,” Lynn said. Owen’s footsteps thumped down the stairs and he appeared in the kitchen. He slopped some pasta into a bowl and went upstairs again with Chris calling after him not to spill anything.

“I work. I can’t give up everything. I have a wife and kid to support, “Chris said twirling some pasta on his fork. “Besides, I can’t leave Coral when Owen’s done…With Owen like this.”

Lynn looked sympathetically at Chris. “Don’t you think you need to do something for yourself too?”

“Thos days were in the past. Why relive it? Everything’s going ok. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Why live with ok when you could have wonderful,” Lynn asked picking up her and Chris’ empty bowls and placing them in the sink. Chris thanked Lynn and told her Owen wanted to stay. She said it was ok and that she expected that. Chris gave her a last hug and opened the front door.

“Bye Owen,” he yelled upstairs.

“Whatever,” was the response he got back.

Chris drove home carefully. The raid hadn’t stopped. Potholes and the roadside were filling up with water. Chris sighed as the sight of his house came into view. He didn’t know what he’d say to Coral. He pulled into the huge garage. He put his keys on the hook near the door and went inside.

Coral sat on a kitchen chair, legs crossed, feet tapping impatiently. “Find him,” she asked second Chris can in.

Chris didn’t say anything. He just took off his coat and walked upstairs.

“Did you find him,” Coral asked following him.

“Does it look like I did,” Chris asked from the closet in their room.

Coral put her hands on her waist, “Then what took you so long?”

Chris let a small smile form on his face. So she still cared about me, he thought.

“You were at a bar weren’t you? Are you cheating on me,” Coral asked with anger. Chris’ smile disappeared and he turned around. “Well? Are you?”

Chris laughed, “No. Why would I? I love you.” The hollow words seemed to satisfy Coral who let her hands move from her waist to his. She stood on her toes and pulled his collar. Her lips touched his.

Chris pushed her back. “I’m changing Coral.”

Coral looked at him disappointed, “Please Chris?”

He couldn’t stand the pathetic look on her face. Despite everything she did and represented, he couldn’t say no to her face. Chris stopped changing and took her and led her to the bed. Coral peeled off his clothes and Chris took off the expensive dress he had bought for her so long ago on their honeymoon. Coral reached for his face and began to kiss him. Chris went along with the flow knowing all too well that it would end soon. Coral was getting all excited, but Chris sat practically motionless on the bed. Coral told him she was ready but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Come on Chris! Now,” Coral nearly screamed in his hear.

“Sorry Coral,” Chris said looking down at himself.

Coral looked where he was looking. She climbed off him and pushed him away. “You’re pathetic. I don’t know why I stay with you.”

Chris pulled on his boxers and examined Coral who was putting on her nightgown. “Must have some reason.”

Coral looked at him. Chris glared at her. He knew why she stayed with him. And it wasn’t his old looks or his great personality. It wasn’t even Owen, because she’d be rid of him is she could. It was his money and reputation. And coincidentally, those were the things Chris wanted to ride himself of. Forget the glory days he often said to himself.

Coral huffed and sat down on her side of the bed. Chris turned off the light and lay down next to her. He felt her warmth but unlike he used to, he didn’t want to feel it as near to him as it was. He lay staring up at the ceiling and the shadow of the giant tree through the window. He listened to Coral’s breathing become rhythmic. He cautiously got out of bed. Chris walked sluggishly out of the room and downstairs. He went into the closet and took out his cell phone. With it, he walked into the living room and sat down on the overly stuffed couch. For an hour he sat there, just looking at the phone. Then he turned it on. He didn’t care what time it was, he just called. The familiar number flew out of his fingers. He heard the phone on the other side ring several times before someone answered it. Hesitantly Chris spoke.

“I’ll be over in an hour,” Chris said simply before hanging up.

Chris sighed and carried the phone into the kitchen. He took a glass from the dishwasher and filled it up from the bottle sitting on the couther that Coral obviously had been drinking earlier that night. Then he trudged to the basement door. He opened it and turned the light on. Walking down the steps he pushed away cobwebs. When he reached the bottom he picked up the mat on the floor and pulled out a box. He carefully pressed the right numbers and the box lid flew open. Inside, a simply key lay in a velvet handkerchief. He took the key and absentmindedly threw the box to the floor. He wasn’t afraid of waking Coral up; she was a heavy sleeper after she drank. He strode across the room, he hand before him feeling in the semi-dark. His hand fell on a smooth knob. Chris put the key in the hole below and turned.

He flicked the switch to the right of the door and the room was washed in light. Before him stood a small recording studio. Drums, keyboards, guitars, and other various instruments stood in perfect order, except for a layer of dust that covered them. His one room in the house and it was the only one that was neat. Kind of ironic. He walked in and felt the walls that brought him back to his youth. He smiled when he saw a small red stain on the carpet. It was where his best friend and Lynn’s son had spilled grape juice the first day Chris let him into the studio. Chris picked his glass to his nose and smelled-grapes. On his desk stood piles of papers; unfinished songs, proposed songs, the last of his fan mail. He picked up his guitar. Not one of the ones he had bought, but the one his mom had gotten for him even though she couldn’t afford it.

Chris climbed up the stairs carefully protecting his guitar and balancing his empty glass. He put the guitar on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator. He looked at the pictures once again. He carefully slid one of him and Owen out of its frame, folded it, and put it in his picket. After filing his glass again, he moved back upstairs. Once he was in his room he headed to the closet. He closed the door behind him and turned the light on. Chris dressed again and transferred the picture into his pants. He grabbed a couple shirts and pants and stuffed them into a duffel bag. He turned off the light off and left the closet. He stopped to look at Coral. The moon shining in landed on her sleeping features. Her once soft face had turned hard. From worry? From age? From deceit? Her chest rose and fell and her hand fell off the bed. Chris looked at the small hand adorned with the large ring. He casually pushed it aside and reached into the chest beside her to grab some socks and underwear. He bag was full and packed.

Chris stopped and looked at his wife again. He didn’t know where it had gone wrong. She knew who he was when they met. He had never hid anything from her. He hadn’t known who she was. Even after 20 years of marriage he didn’t think he did now. He frowned and threw her a kiss. “Bye Coral. Take care. Use my money wisely. And let Owen be his own self, sure he’s messed up. But you can’t blame me; he didn’t learn it from me.” Chris shut the door and walked down the stairs for the last time.

In the kitchen, Chris threw his duffel bag on the floor by the table. He took his glass, always in hand he thought, and opened the boxed wine. He let the last of it drip into his glass and threw the box away. He drank his last drink and threw the glass in the sink. Screw her if she wants the house clean, she can put it away Chris said before moving to the closet to take out his coat. He put his cell phone in his pocket. Then he picked up his bag and guitar and went into the garage. Chris examined his key ring. Taking the car key off, he left the rest hanging on the hook. Chris flung his duffel bag into the trunk. He shut it and opened the driver’s side door. He gingerly placed the guitar in the passenger’s seat and climbed in himself.

The rain had continued and Chris should have been driving with caution. But his intoxication inhibited his senses. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcoholic intoxication or the intoxication of realization of what he was doing. He didn’t care either way. He opened his window and let drops of cool rain fall on his face. Chris’s eyes wandered to his guitar. I like that sitting next to me better than Coral, he thought. He remembered back when he and Coral had test driven the car; him slamming on the gas and her giggling. Guess the thrill wears out after 15 years Chris said to the non-responsive guitar. Chris then averted his attention back on the road.

He slowed and squinted as he neared his desired location. He hadn’t been anywhere near there for several years. To his surprise, a motion detecting light went of lighting his way. He drove carefully down the hill and parked his car. Stepping into the rain, Chris ran to get his things. He stood outside the massive door. A single light in the distance shown and Chris peered into the window. His sand slipped and pressed the doorbell. The sounds of dogs barking inside could be heard. A sudden wail brought Chris’ hands to his ears. He stepped away and shook his head. The door before him slowly opened. A woman looking far younger than her forty years stood in the doorway. On her slender hip she bounced a crying baby boy. She brushed back his messy hair and tried to silence him.

“I didn’t mean to wake him, “Chris said shyly.

The woman just nodded and stepped aside. Chris looked behind her and down the hallway. Out of the one lit room stepped a man. Clad in boxers and a t-shirt he looked upset to be disturbed. His disheveled hair showed signs of insomnia. Chris stepped towards him.

“Justin,” Chris said his only form of greeting.

Justin looked at the grandfather clock to the left of the woman and the now quiet baby. “This isn’t what I meant when I said come over sometime,” Justin said sleepily.

Before Chris could speak Justin cut him off. “This way,” he said motioning for Chris to follow him. Justin led him into a huge study. The walls were lined with books and posters. A basketball hoop stood suspended from the wall. Chris remembered all the good times the two had had that revolved around basketball. Justin walked across the room to a closet and pulled out a blanket and pillow. He threw them on the couch.

“We start tomorrow, “Justin said before leaving the room.

Chris sat down. He felt the comfortable couch beneath him. He flung his legs around and lay down. He looked up at the night sky through the skylights. Stars shown everywhere. Chris sat up suddenly. He tiptoes to a stand below the window across from the couch. He opened the cabinet and searched through Justin’s massive collection of cds’s. He found the one he wanted and took it out of its case. Chris lowered the volume on the player and placed the cd in it, shutting the compartment. His fingers searched out the desired track in the dark. When Chris found it he walked back to the couch, fluffed the pillow, and pulled the blanket over him. The rough music played softly but forcefully.