Johnathon props his back against the wall and thinks about how he wishes he could smoke inside this gas station. He didn't smoke, but at this point in time he wishes he did. He longed for a cigarette. He is fantasizing about pouring gas all over every shelf inside this gas station while a lit cigarette hung from his lips, taking a long drag with the light emitting from the cigarette illuminating his five o'clock shadow.
His fantasy was even in third person. He was outside himself, watching himself as a completely different person than who he is, taking note that even his clothing is different than that of what he'd normally wear. He was imagining himself as an imaginary version of a punk where he could set a whole gas station on fire for no reason at all beyond a simple desire to do so. Of course, real punks were complex people who were driven by passion. Passion for what they felt was right. This was entirely different. This was destruction for the purposes of destruction.
And as he exhaled that long drag, he stood at the exit of the station and flung the cigarette into the store, letting it bounce off of a shelf as it set the freshly poured gasoline ablaze. The bags of chips popped open just a partial second before it caught fire and turned to ash and crisp.
It wasn't long before the entire gas station, in his imagination, was on fire and he was standing an almost too close to be safe, safe distance away. It was a fantasy, after all, and he wanted to feel danger even if there was none.
His back was still pressed against the wall and he had yet to notice the line of people forming behind him awaiting a free bathroom. His eyes locked to the black and white checkered tile that had clearly not been replaced in the last fifteen years or more. Even the dirt lining the crevice where the wall met the floor gave up on ever escaping.
Jennifer, meanwhile, was sitting upon a toilet. She softly wept tears of sadness. She fell out of love with Johnathon awhile ago, but only just began to realize it. The way lives become dependent on one another is a thing of wonder, no doubt, but complications when times turn out this dire.
She was not thinking of setting the gas station on fire. She wasn't thinking about how grimy or slimy the disgusting space she resides in is, either. No, she was imagining the sweet release that suicide would bring her. The money problems - gone. The relationship problems - gone. Even the problem that breathing presented - gone.
She knew she wouldn't do anything about it anymore than Johnathon would set the gas station on fire, but the mere thought of pulling the trigger, downing the hundred or so pills, the tightening of the rope still gave her a brief reprieve from existing. Still, the tears gently fell down her cheeks and onto the ground in front of her as she hunched over on that porcelain seat.
America. It hadn't been kind. Struggle. That was their definition of life.
At one point in time, Johnathon and Jennifer had been a couple for the ages. When they first began their journey together, they found clever ways to encourage one another to be better. She'd leave little notes in places that he'd find randomly - in his car, under his pillow, or in his guitar case - that would let him know that she had his back, or that she loved the way he'd sip his tea seven times before starting to drink it in gulps.
He would be the moral support she'd need to take a better position at work, or be the one who would crunch the numbers so she didn't have to worry about money if they were to take a trip and she didn't have time off to still get paid. He would stop by a gas station or a drive through to pick up her favorite sweet - a cinnamon flavored ice cream that was only at an out-of-the-way gas station, a chocolate chunk ice cream from the local ice cream shop, or even just a run of the mill candy bar to brighten her day.
But then life happened. Things got harder. Johnathon lost his job during the last recession and they've still not recovered from the loss. Jennifer, a few years ago, had a miscarriage that actually filled her with relief, but Johnathon blamed the loss on her entirely.
It wasn't all bad throughout those years. Jennifer really supported Johnathon when he tried diving into an all new career path, but when he decided he hated it as a career he gave up hope on finding any value in a job at all and has hopped from job to job ever since.
Jennifer, too, got support from Johnathon when she decided to start looking after herself through a new hobby of learning guitar. She thought it would be something the two of them could do together, and for awhile it was, but Johnathon has all but given up on it. She still plays from time to time but only as a means for her to cling onto the past good times.
There was a time when they'd put on new albums and delve into them as a couple, discussing the highs and lows. Pinpointing what made the groove of the bass special in a song, or how a guitar riff really sent the music to a different level. Now, however, thinking about cutting her wrists to get out of her situation is a relief from the reality they live in, and Johnathon is fantasizing about setting the gas station they are in on fire as a relief from his anger at the world around him.
"Excuse me, sir," the man that had been standing beside Johnathon for longer than he could imagine says. "Are you waiting to go in? They walked out a few minutes ago."
"Oh, no. Sorry. I'm just waiting on my..." he points to the women's bathroom door, but makes a noticeable pause. "Wife."
The person behind him in line gives him a look as though he could stab him a hundred times and not think twice about it, squeezes beside him, and slides through the bathroom door.
Johnathon takes a look around and notices there are four other people behind him. He knocks on the women's bathroom door. "Babe, are you okay in there?"
"Yeah, just finishing up." She wipes the tears from her cheeks using a small piece of the toilet paper, places her hands on both cheeks and stretches her face out before getting up and walking to the sink, turning it on and washing her face and hands. She towels off her face and hands.
"Is everything ok?"
"Yeah, just had to go to the bathroom pretty bad. Sorry it took so long."
"It's ok. I get it. Let's get out of here."
They both walk out of the gas station, Johnathon looking at the candy bars as they walk out and thinking about how they didn't have the extra couple dollars right now to spare. Jennifer just held her head tilted slightly down, but up enough to still watch where she was going.
They got into the car and started it up. It hesitated for a moment before it came to life - it always filled Jennifer with a bit of fear that it wasn't going to fire over. Johnathon looked back at the gas station and imagined fire pouring out of the windows. Jennifer turns her head out the passenger window and stares past the trees and into eternity.
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