Nice Try Buddy — But No Cigar
Kevin’s brain was fogged in. Slowly, it was receding to where he could make out fuzzy things. That was an improvement over having your eyes opening and seeing nothing but blackness. This state of poor vision reminded him of the time he finally decided to have cataracts. He loved to read the paper but he found it was fuzzy and out of focus even if he extended his arms full length or put the paper up to his nose. Some of the fuzzy things were moving. Slowly he realized he must be in a hospital but how did he get here. More memories started to flood his brain to almost overflowing with thoughts trying to catch him up to the present.
Then he began to cry as he recalled what had happened. He was recently fired from a position he had held for many years because of insubordination. His lovely wife Mary had left him about six months before that. She could not stand his temper and him coming home drunk every night. He had no friends, he had lost his father last year, his younger sister 4 years before that and his mom 6 years ago. He had no friends at work. No hobbies, except if you call watching as many sporting events as possible in 24 hours, a hobby. He couldn’t stop his drinking and he knew full well he was extremely depressed.
That last night at the bar had been the last straw. Even the old girls were laughing at his attempt to pick them up with his old corny lines. He really had not thought that much about it but maybe, just maybe, life would be better if he ended it himself. Take responsibility. Yes Sir! I made that decision. I mean who would suffer? His wife? She was already dating a young business stud working as a stock broker. She wouldn’t care one way or the other. Hell, maybe she preferred him dead. “Get out of my life!.” Those were the last words she launched at him as she slammed the door on his face. “If you don’t leave now, and I mean right now, I’m calling 911,” she said.
That was two nights ago and he had not sobered up yet. Why should he. He had nothing to live for. Absolutely nothing. Driving home the bridge across highway 101 looked like an idea solution. They would suspect he was driving drunk, which he was, but they would not label it as a suicide. Would they? He didn’t care.
He head a voice say “Mr. Cartright….Mr. Cartright?” Kevin nodded his head as much as he could to indicate that he was indeed Mr. Cartright.
“I’m Doctor Yates and you have been in a serious car accident Mr. Cartright.”
Kevin mumbling and with slurred speech said “Trrryyyyed to killll meselfs.”
“Nice try Mr. Cartright, but no cigar,” replied the Doctor Yates.”
Then and there Kevin decided he would not try that again. Ever!