The Luckiest
by Brittany


The pilot screamed over the intercom, and all I could hear was the soft music flooding from my headphones. My thoughts didn’t rage, I wasn’t panicking like everyone else on the plane. We were going down, in a matter of seconds we would be smashed into the ground like an ant under the weight of someone’s shoe. We were falling, falling, falling, and as we crashed into the cement and I felt my body go limp, I was no more. Then, I heard the call of the songbirds, the beeping of cars sitting in traffic. Back to the real world, my reality.
Upon waking from my ludicrous dream I sat up in bed, scoffing at it. The same dream I had been reliving so many times over and over again for the last 7 years. I stared at the blankness of my walls, my empty apartment. There was nothing in it really, just the walls and the necessities of any living, breathing human being. I had only moved in several weeks ago, but I wanted the walls to remain the way they were, for lack of creativity and carelessness. I got out of bed and looked out the window. I was in the heard of New York City, “The Big Apple”, the one and only. People bustled past one another, on their way to work, or just sight-seers, looking at all the shops and amazing architecture. It was a brilliant city, but strangely gaunt and rather wretched. It had a dirty smell about it, with all the pollution, and the streets were covered in trash. Tall factories billowed smoke from their tall chimneys. It was somewhat perfect for someone like me.
By now the clock read 8:17 AM, and I trudged to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Nothing new was there, just the same old face I had known for 23 years. Black, rather shaggy hair, blue eyes, a bit of scruff growing upon my chin. That crooked nose from the time I got into a fight with a big guy from the football team back in high school. A hollow face with drawn back lips that were dry and cracked. Yes, this was the face I had known for so long. I could see it plastered all over my forehead; “I am Matthew, welcome to my life.” I sighed, opening the cabinet above the sink. It was filled to the brink with different bottles of pills, bathroom items, and other random things. I picked up a bottle of the pills, and looked at the label. First chore of the day: take daily dosage of my medication I had been on for years. It was mind-numbing, but not at all addicting. The doctors insisted I take it for my “problems”. That’s what made me sick to my stomach. I had no problems, but the doctors were convinced since the incident back in high school with a girl named Mary.
There was no problem. I remember what happened the day Mary was admitted to the hospital, and then that week, announced dead from brain damage. I remembered it all too well. It was a hot day back in May, the sun was beating down on the blacktop where the boys were playing basketball and the girls were giggling and chatting. Mary was the head of them all, tall and stout with a round face and flowing golden-brown hair. I recall that at the time, I was rather quiet, and didn’t speak to many people, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to talk to Mary so bad that I just waltzed over to her and began speaking.
“Hey,” I said, waggling my fingers at her. She looked disgusted.
“And who are you?” she asked, rolling her eyes. I looked at her, right in the eye, and I could see it. I had never seen such an annoyance in one’s eyes. With that, I grabbed her hand and threw her to the ground, and I remember her friends, yelling at me. Her eyes rolled back in her heard, and when I realized what I had done, I dropped to my knees and shook her, and there was no response. I felt my stomach turn, and I began to sob.
When Mary was taken away in that ambulance that day, I knew she wouldn’t come back alive. From that day on, I spoke with counselors, psychiatrists, nurses, doctors, the list went on. When Mary was confirmed dead, my parents were ashamed and sent me to a kind of an asylum. It was more like a boarding school for kids with major mental problems. Unfortunately, I had been one of those kids. I lived my life in the school, and the other students never seemed to find anything wrong with me, nor the teachers. When I was 18, I graduated, and lived in New York, and taking up the career of photography. Still, every doctor I went to see always put me on some form of medication.
Now I stared at the pill bottle, opening it slowly. Then I felt the pure anger in my heart. I threw the bottle against the wall, I ripped the cabinet from above the toilet, and then, the phone rang. I looked up, and just listened to the high pitched ringing. The click of the answering machine, my voice, and then, it was him:
“Matthew, it’s your uncle. Look, I don’t know how to tell you this. You never pick up when I call. Matthew,” a moment of silence, “your father died last night. He fell,” another moment of silence, followed by some muffled sobs, “He fell down the steps. You know he was old, Matthew. Very old, and I want you to come home. The funeral is in two days. Please promise me you’ll be there for your own father’s burial.” It clicked again, and the automated voice came on, repeating three times that I had one new message. I looked at the pills on the floor, back into the living room where the phone was sitting, and then, it all melted away.

Los Angeles was the same as it had always been. The people, the places, it was the same. The cemetery was packed with sobbing people, and I stood alone. I saw my uncle, he returned my glance with a solemn smile. I watched them bury the casket, and as they did, I tried to cry. I really did, I thought about the saddest things I knew, but it just wouldn’t come. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man. He was tall and lean, with brown hair and dirty jeans. Who he was, I was unsure, so I began to walk towards him, and as I did, realized it was Andrew. Andrew was one of my best friends at the time of the Mary incident. He had always been there for me. Unfortunately, Andrew had his problems as well. He was a risk-taker, a rebel without a cause. As I came closer, he waved.
“Haven’t seen you in 7 years, man,” he mumbled, letting a cigarette loosely dangle from his mouth.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, “I was off at boarding school. Crazy stuff, man.” He looked at me and sighed. Then he gave me such a look, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“There’s a party at Tina’s place tonight. Think of it as a ‘coming home’ sort of party,” and with that, he sauntered off into the fog, towards the city.
I went back to my home, the one that I had grown up in. The one that held all of my memories up to a certain point in my life where home became nothing more than a house I rarely visited. Mom was crying, sitting in the recliner, rocking back and forth. I looked at the time on the microwave clock. In blazing, green numbers it read 6:30. I walked over to Mom, patted her on the shoulder, and then I squeezed her arm tightly.
“Hey Mom?” I asked. She looked at me, tears soaking her face and she drew back, haggard and worn from all the years gone past.
“Yes?” she sniffled, wiping a bit of black liner that had run from her eyes to her cheeks. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
“I saw Andrew today,” I said quietly, “he’s throwing me a party. A ‘welcome home’ kind of deal, so I’m going out for a while, okay? Will you be okay here, by yourself?” I grabbed her shoulder again.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, looking up at me. I felt my heart wrench, knowing that she was hurt. This was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up though. So, I strolled out the door and wandered along the streets, with the town on my mind and the day hidden away in my memory for a while.
The party was rather suspenseful. It was in a little house just west of the cemetery where I had just been. There were people everywhere, laughing and hanging out. I felt alone, as I always had. When I walked in to the room, everyone stared at me, scared. Andrew would always come up and say something along the lines of “hey guys, look who it is” and they would all laugh and say their hellos, but I knew what they were thinking. Cold-blooded murderer, you should be killed for what you did. These looks had always filled the room when I was in it though, since that day. Ever when they were my friends or family, the same cold silence would overcome the whole room and then it would be back to their laughing, playing, giggling, and the thought would pass and everything would be fine again.
Now I was sitting on the couch, my back pressed against the shabby, brown suede that covered it. Andrew was sitting beside me, talking to some girls, like old times. I just looked around to see the familiar faces. There was Tina, the girl with the eating disorder and the reputation of a beautiful cheerleader. There was Patrick, his twin brother committed suicide in seventh grade. It was weird to see them all again after seven years. Suddenly, I felt a tug at my shoulder.
“Hey man,” said a rather unfamiliar voice. It was a hollow voice with a creaky sound to it. I looked up at the stranger and realized who it was. It was Jason, Mary’s older brother. For a moment, I was in disbelief, shock, and I felt alone with him suddenly. I could just see it, and almost feel it. He was going to slam those rugged fists into me until I bled. Even though he was rather tall and lanky, and drunk at the time, he still had those hands. The same ones I had felt right after Mary’s death. That was the day he broke my nose, and my neck. I had stayed in the hospital for one month before being sent to rehabilitation, and my neck was still broken.
“What’s up?” I said, trying to make conversation. He stared at me blankly, his eyes glazed.
“I hear you’re a big shot now,” he said, “Y’know, with that photography and stuff.” I looked at him awkwardly.
“Hah, not really ‘big shot,” I began, “More like, what’s the word? I guess you could say I’m really just starting out.” He laughed a little bit, stumbling. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and exhaled, then held out his hand.
“Come on, man,” he said, grabbing my wrist, “we really need to talk about things. I think we both really owe each other a...” He was interrupted by a girl, tugging at the tail of his T-shirt. He smiled and patted her on the shoulder, and began babbling about something. I got the impression that this was his girlfriend or something of that sort. Then he whipped around, grabbing my wrist again and pulling me up.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, “let’s go.” All I could think about as he pulled me through the crowd of people was that day. Andrew was yelling my name, asking where I was going, but I was tuning him out. It all went dark in a matter of seconds, I was lost in sleep.

I woke up on the hill over-looking the cemetery, with Jason next to me, smoking a cigarette. It was still dark, the sun barely peaking over the horizon. Jason caught my eye, and clapped twice and grinned.
“Finally,” he said, “I’ve waited all night for you to wake up. You passed out. Were you drinking?” I couldn’t remember, so I replied with a simple “I don’t know”. He stood up, brushing the grass from his jeans. He motioned for me to stand up beside him. We started walking towards the graves, the morning birds chirping in the distance.
“You know,” he began, rather shakily, “I’ve really been thinking, Matthew. What happened with you and my sister, I just don’t get it. What made you snap? I know that you were just trying to be friendly but why her? Why? It hasn’t made sense to me all these years. I’ve waited seven years, Matthew, seven. Now, I finally get the chance to talk to you, but I don’t know what to say. You know me and my sister were really close, man...” I interrupted, nodding towards the sky.
“Let me tell you, Jason,” I said, pulling a camera from my back pocket, “I want to answer every question you have. Why it was Mary, I don’t know. I was sick of it, man, sick of all these people. I felt I had to get rid of them, get rid of the source of my problem. It only got worse. Those years in that rehab place, it was like a jail. All these doctors, they tell me I have serious problems, they’re always saying that I will always be on medications. I have an ‘unstable’ sort of mentality. It’s stupid, Jason. I don’t have a problem. It’s nothing a few years in rehab couldn’t fix. And even after that, I was put on high doses of medicine. I can understand that they don’t want me hurting anyone but I went all those years without doing it. This has left me so numb the last seven years of my life, y’know? I just don’t feel anything.” At that very second, I realized we had stopped in front of Mary’s grave. Jason looked at me, his face serious. I felt nauseous, my stomach turned to one side.
“I think you owe an apology to her,” Jason said, pointing to the grave, “It’s the only way I can forgive you. This is a big deal, Matt. A big deal.” I just stared at the cold, gray stone. I felt the tears in the corners of my eyes, like I had that day back in May, but this time when I dropped to my knees, sobbing, it was different. I apologized to her and to Jason, and to everyone who I had caused pain to. When I looked up from the ground, Jason was almost gone, melting into the sunrise of pinks and purples. I picked up the camera from the ground where I had dropped it, and I snapped a photo. I smiled, the air cool and crisp against my face. I felt cleansed, even if only in one way. It was the world to me.

I walked to Tina’s house where the party had been to find Andrew passed out on the front porch, snoring. I peeked inside the door, listening first and then walking in. Tina was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. I waved shyly, and she grinned.
“Welcome home, Matthew,” she said, her voice warm. She looked so different from high school. She was now a very chubby woman with short, black hair that fell on her shoulders in curls. I smiled and tiredly sat down in the chair across from her.
“Thanks,” I said, staring out the window. Just then, I heard an awful screeching noise, the sound of metal hitting wood. When the sound got louder, I looked at Tina, wide-eyed.
“That’s Tim,” she said, “You’ll totally get a kick out of this guy.” She was right. He was a scrawny guy in a cloak, boots, and a sword. I assumed the noise I had heard was this sword of his dragging along the wooden floors. I almost busted out laughing at this Tim guy. He sat down beside Tina and threw his sword to the ground, making a loud clattering noise.
“Hey,” he said, almost timidly. I could tell this guy was “different”.
“Hi,” I said, snickering a little bit, “A little early for Halloween, huh?” He blushed at this, looking down at his hands.
“No,” he said, “I’m just really into this movie thing.” I gave him a questioning look and Tina giggled.
“Talk in that language, Tim. You know, the elf thing.”
“It’s Elven, Tina, not just any elf thing ” I was about to explode inside, I was supressing my laughter to the point of self-combustion.
“It’s from that movie, ‘Lord of the Rings’,” he said, and I couldn’t control it anymore. I burst into laughter. He got up from the table, almost disgusted.
“I’m sorry, man,” I was wiping the tears from my eyes at this point.
“It’s okay,” he growled, “I have to go to my council anyway.” He left the room, and Tina and I laughed for a while before a groggy Andrew stumbled in.
“Het met Tim, didn’t he?” he asked, judging the look on my face. Tina just nodded, looking at the microwave clock. It was 12 noon by now.
“Listen guys,” I said, getting up, “Hate to cut it short but, I gotta go. I gotta go see about Mom. I’ve got your number Andrew, I’ll give you a call before I leave.” They said their goodbyes, and I left the little house.

I was on my way home, thinking about everything that had happened. I noticed a girl standing on the side of the road, her thumb pointed upwards, towards the sky. I pulled over and rolled my window down.
“Hey,” she said quietly, “can I get a ride home? My bike had a flat tire.” There was something funny about her riding a bike, but I just nodded and she jumped in the passenger seat. As we cruised the highway, we hardly spoke. I decided to start a conversation.
“So,” I began, “What’s your name?”
“Well,” she replied, smiling, “I’m not sure I should tell you. You tell me yours first ” I laughed a little bit.
“My name’s Matthew Armstrong. There, you happy now?”
“Oh my God, Matthew Armstrong? Like, THE Matthew Armstrong?” I wasn’t sure what she meant by this at first, and then it hit me. She must’ve seen my photography before.
“Yes,” I said, “THE Matthew Armstrong.”
“Man,” she replied, “I love your works  They’re so creepy yet so beautiful  I can’t take my eyes off of them whenever I see them. You’re really fantastic.” I muttered a “thank you”.
“I missed you name,” I said, “What is it?”
“I’m Erin,” she held out her hand, “Mr. Armstrong.”
“Please, call me Matthew.” She just nodded, and smiled, while showing me the way to her house. I just figured that after I took her home it would be a fond farewell but when she invited me inside I felt almost unsure of what to expect.
The house was warm and homey, the living room painted a deep orange. The couches were a soft brown with golden stitching, with small pillows that were red and yellow with orange stitching. There were family photos everywhere, wall to wall, covered with pictures. I was almost taken by this sight, it was fantastic. I turned to her, smiling.
“Really nice place you’ve got here,” I said, “Do you live with your parents still?” She laughed at this, motioning towards the stairs.
“Still? What do you mean still? Of course I do ” She looked up the staircase, like she was waiting for someone to come down. I just watched intently, waiting and listening, and when I heard nothing, I looked at her awkwardly.
“So, how old are you again?” I asked, trying to make conversation as she watched, still, ever so taken by whatever was up there.
“I’m 18,” she said, still turned to the stairs, “What about you?” I still didn’t understand why she was staring at the stairs. I heard or saw nothing.
“I just turned 23,” I said, trying to get her attention, “Why are you staring at the...” Just then, I heard a sound. The shuffling of feet against the carpet, then a hurried noise. The same feet stamped the hardwood steps. Feet first I saw the mystery person. Whoever they were, they were wearing white, beaten up socks. Next the legs, covered in gray sweat-pants, and then the torso, a green long-sleeved and button-up shirt, and lastly, the face. I had never seen such a face. It was a woman with wavy, red hair. Her cheekbones made her cheeks seem perfect when she smiled and her white teeth glistened through red lips. Her eyes were bright blue, and her lashes were thick and black. She glanced at me and covered her mouth with both hands.
“Oh ” she exclaimed, “We have company  I’m not dressed for the occasion at all  Erin, why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend was coming over?” I felt my face get red and I could almost feel Erin shaking her head in discontent.
“Mom, he’s not my boyfriend,” she said, plainly, “He’s Matthew Armstrong. You know, the photographer guy.” At this, her mother ran down the steps and threw her arms around me.
“Oh my ” she jumped, “What a delight  You are a wonderful artist ” I just snickered a little bit and nodded.
“Yeah,” I replied, “I get that a lot.” She almost turned cherry red from the shock and awe of it all. Then she stopped, and looked at Erin strangely, as if to say something.
“Why are you here, anyway?” She looked at me now, leaning her head to one side. I just sighed.
“Well,” I started to recall the tale, “Your daughter was hitch-hiking. Her bike had a flat, I think.” Erin looked at me, almost angrily, and I shrugged. Her mother just grinned and pulled me into a hug. She thanked me for giving her daughter a ride home and then disappeared into the house. Erin broke the silence, finally, after we had stood there for about ten minutes after her mom left.
“So, you wanna sit?” she asked, pointing at the couch. I nodded and she sat down and then I did the same. We only sat for a moment in silence when I disturbed the peace.
“You have a boyfriend?” It was odd how I never seemed to ask this question, yet it suddenly came to me, as if I need to know. I just felt it had to be asked.
“No, actually, I don’t,” she said, “I haven’t had one for a long time.” I smiled at this and when I realized I was smiling, I quickly turned away. Why in the world was I smiling? I just met Erin, and yet, I felt a strong connection between us.
“Why?” she asked, turning to stare at a family portrait. I just glanced at the ceiling, studying the various cracks.
“Just wondering, y’know?” She turned to me and smiled.
“That’s not why, is it? You want to be my boyfriend, don’thca?” She jumped up, waggling her index finger in my face singing “you want to be my boyfriend” over and over again. I just laughed, and she sat back down and smiled.
“There would be no problem with that,” she said suddenly, as if to imply this. I just looked at my feet. Did I want to take that place as her boyfriend? I hardly knew her, and I wouldn’t be in San Francisco for much longer. It just wouldn’t work out. At the same time, she was a pretty girl, and she seemed awfully original and fun.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said finally, “I don’t know you that well. And I’m not going to stay here in ‘Frisco for long, before I go back to New York.” She grinned, and grabbed my hand.
“Then I’ll tell you everything about me, and you can tell me everything about you. And who says you have to go back, maybe you’ll decide to stay here.” When I looked at her, I saw it in her eyes that she wasn’t kidding. So we talked, for hours and hours., until the sky was pitch black and not even the moon could be seen through the darkness. Before I knew it, I was asleep, and I knew everything.

There was a loud crash outside. When I sat up I realized I was still in Erin’s living room, with a quilt covering me and two pillows under my head. It was odd, I didn’t even remember when I dozed off. I looked out the window to see what the noise was and when I saw Erin’s mom sitting outside, repairing her bike, I just blinked. Mom was probably worried about me, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about. It was almost sad to think about it. I just got up, stretching my arms over my head and started heading towards the kitchen. When I got there, Erin was sitting at the table. I just looked at her and she smiled at me.
“Hey there, g’morning,” she held up a cup of coffee, “Want some?” I just shook my head and she suddenly got very solemn.
“You told me everything about Mary,” she said, looking down at the table, “and then you agreed to be my boyfriend.” She laughed and I just squinted my eyes closed. I told her about Mary, and I couldn’t believe it. She probably didn’t want me here now, in her mind, she was begging God to get me out of her house. I just nodded.
“Mary,” I said, “You’re scared of me now, aren’t you?” She looked up and smiled weakly. I knew it, I had messed it up.
“I’m not scared of you,” she said slowly, “I wanna help you, because now, you’re my boyfriend.” I laughed, because it was so absurd that I just couldn’t help but to do so. She smiled and I wrapped my arms around her. All I could see was black now, and the smell of coffee filled my nose. This was where I wanted to be, and I realized, I was the luckiest person to ever live.

I returned home to find my mother drunk, laying in the empty bathtub and mumbling crazy things to herself. When I walked in she looked up, like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Oh Matthew,” she said, “You’ve been gone for days.” I caught a glimpse of a tear, rolling from the corner of her eye.
“It’s a really long story, Mom,” I nodded, “Anyway, I’m not going back.” She almost laughed, then looked at me. It was quiet for several minutes before I broke in.
“I met a girl, yesterday. Her name is Erin. I really want to stay for her, but also for you because you,” I snickered, “are a mess, Mom.” She just nodded and smiled a confused smiled. I walked over to the tub and kissed her on the forehead. She got out, but she just stood there, empty handed.
“Matthew, there is nothing here for you,” she said, “It’s all in New York. Your career, your medications...” I clenched my fists and looked down at the floor, tears streaming from my eyes. I found myself hugging her now, sobbing.
“I can’t go back, Ma. I can’t. I hated it there, for 7 years I dealt with the pain, the longing to come back to my friends and family. And I don’t care about my career and I don’t care about those medications because honestly, I have never felt anything since the time I was put on those medications. I’m so sick of it, and I want to start over.” She grabbed my shoulders, grinning, and didn’t say a word. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and nodded. When she finally looked at me, straight in the eye, I knew she understood. With a sigh, and a smile, she spoke.
“Welcome home, Matthew,” and I remembered Tina saying the exact same words to me the day before, and I embraced Mom again, sobbing, “Welcome home.”