A New Life

Chapter 1

Adam curses the light as it breaks through the window overlooking the sun-drenched beach. Fumbling with the blankets, he wills his fingers to work through the haze that clouds his mind. The pounding in his brain does nothing to improve his mood. He grasps for the nearly empty bottle of tequila lying on the floor. His fingers wrap around the glass neck and he drains the last dregs in an effort to reduce the thudding in his skull.

Gathering himself, Adam sits on the edge of the bed waiting as the fog recedes from his mind and then slowly from the rest of his body. Deciding it is okay to try to stand he puts one hand on the nightstand next to the bed and gingerly pulls himself to his feet. A few moments more and he takes a careful step toward the table near the offending window. Reaching it, he grabs another half-empty bottle and pours the liquid down his throat. Feeling more confident, he stretches and seeing that he has not fallen over, decides fresh air is the next step. Moving to the French doors, he pulls them open letting the fresh ocean air wash over him. It is warm already and not refreshing but it has a cleansing quality that he needs. Taking a deep breath, he fills his lungs.

Stepping onto the balcony, Adam takes another swig of the bottle, enjoying in the view. Rio de Janeiro spills out below him. Not the slums that dominate a large portion of the city but the sandy beaches flowing out into the beautiful blue waters of the bay. Already the shore is filling with people. The city is in full motion, the streets clogged with traffic. The sounds of construction and commerce fill the air. 

Another pull of the bottle and he turns back to the penthouse he has been calling home for the past month. Careful to sidestep the needles dotting the floor he puts the bottle on the table and stretches again. 

I need to get out of this place before it kills me. Adam mumbles to himself.

Moving past the minefield of discarded items, he enters an area of the bedroom that is littered with bras, panties, stockings, and other miscellaneous women’s attire. Glancing at the large bed he counts three bodies. Glancing over he sees himself in the mirror and laughs. He is far from sexy and desirable. At thirty-five, he has been in the drug game for twenty years and it shows, his eyes look deadened, deep lines map his face, and his belly protrudes from his waist from too much drugs, drink, and other vices. The women littering his bed this morning are just the latest in an ever revolving door over the past month. 

Leaving the disaster of the bedroom, he steps into the living area of the penthouse and finds it no better. Half-snorted lines of coke still decorated the large glass coffee table. The couches are occupied by three other women in various states of undress. Adam’s foot kicks an empty pill bottle. The only legit drugs in the penthouse… If I stay much longer I need a refill, he thinks to himself.

Sniffing himself, he smells like sex, booze, and drugs. He doesn’t care. Grabbing some shorts and a semi-clean shirt, he leaves the penthouse and heads down to the street. A block away is a small café’. By the time he walks that far Adam is sweating profusely, a combination of the heat and the nonstop gluttonous life he has been living. Pouring himself into a booth, he uses the napkin to wipe off the sweat. He laughs, even his sweat smells of alcohol. 

Good morning Mr. Adam. The young waitress greets him in heavily accented English with disbelief in her eyes.

It’s the usual greeting and look of disbelief. Adam knows she is unsure how he has survived this long. He is also certain that they all have bets on what would be his last day alive.

Morning Maria. He replies, not even sure if that is her name but figures it’s good odds at being right, half the women here have Maria somewhere in their name.

Bringing him his typical order of the strongest black coffee they brew, and piles of eggs and bacon, she leaves him be. He assumes more from the fact that she finds him repulsive and stinky than out of politeness. Finishing the fifth cup of the black life-giving liquid, he watches a man enter the café’, glance around and head his direction. Leaving a backpack on the table, he nods and retreats. Adam has a smile of relief but a sense of sadness also, it is time to leave. Tossing a hundred dollars American on the table, he takes the backpack and hails a taxi. 

Chapter 2

Jennifer curses the weather. She has two days left and the government is ordering everyone out of the Keys. The category four hurricane is heading straight for Key West. 

Just my luck, she curses under her breath finishing her breakfast, my first vacation in three years and I get cut short by a rare early season storm.

A man is standing in the entrance to the hotel restaurant giving instructions on what is happening today. Jennifer half listens as he insists that all guest must have their belongings packed and ready for loading by eleven this morning or risk having them left behind. They have buses coming at one in the afternoon to take all the guests up to Miami. 

As you check out please pick up this letter, he holds up a paper with the resort logo on the top, it has all the information for refunds.

He drones on for a few more minutes and Jennifer sends out a couple texts to her dad letting him know what is happening. Back in her room, she tosses her clothes into suitcases. Drops a string of condoms on the floor. Looking at them, she sighs and kicks them over near the trashcan.

I guess God knows how to keep a girl from sin. 

She zips the cases closed and lugs them down three flights of stairs to the front desk. A cheerful, yet nervous bellhop grabs the bags and tosses them none too carefully onto the cart. Getting one last drink from the bar, she waves farewell to her tropical vacation dream of finding romance and love. 

The bus pulls out of the parking lot and quickly stops in a line of traffic as far as she can see heading north in all lanes. It takes half an hour before she could no longer see her hotel and another thirty minutes to leave Key West. The day struggles into evening and still she is on the bus. Others are chatting and worried. Some, however, are glad to have the tale to tell of their trip. Others boast that they would have stayed and ridden out the storm, but the government forced them to leave. Jennifer just sits and looks out the window at the tropical paradise slowly, very slowly sliding past.

She is in no hurry. Nothing to go back to. A simple apartment that is empty but for the necessities--a job that paid the bills and afforded her all the overtime she wants. The fifty-five hours a week she spent in that little cubical at the front of the factory has become her life over the past five years. In by seven each morning and there until six or later each evening, even some Saturdays. The small family-owned factory makes parts for the auto industry. Most do in Michigan. Each week is the same. Monday at seven, she brews coffee and making sure the office is ready to go, so that by the time the owners arrive at seven thirty, she is already buried deep into the duties of the day. It wasn’t like they didn’t encourage her to come in later or leave earlier but they also understood her need to keep herself busy. Not only did she see them every day at work, but she also attended the same church each Sunday. They knew her past.

Jennifer studies her reflection in the window. At twenty-seven, she has seen a lot in life. She feels her face shows the journey and hates her own reflection because of it. There is a reason she is alone and why she would always be alone she has told herself over and over again. Damaged goods are damaged goods and nobody really wants that. A single tear dribbles down her cheek. With a deep body-wrenching sigh, she wipes it away. The sun has long since set and she had dozed off