Page 70 of Crash
The cycle of abuse continued for years. Unfortunately, the brutal beatings he endured left a permanent mark on his already dark soul. One he spent years trying to purge with drugs and alcohol, but nothing ever seemed to work.
His father died following a brawl that broke out when he was at the bar downtown, his favorite hangout spot every weekend. Griffin was usually left to fend for himself when he went on his binges. He enjoyed the short reprieve, even if he’d known the beatings tended to be worse when his father came crawling back to him. Except that night, his father pissed off the wrong person. A witness reported he instigated the fight by insulting someone’s wife. His father was shoved so hard his head cracked on the sidewalk. He never got back up again.
Griffin was just about fourteen years old when the police came to their rundown home to notify him. He should have been upset, but all he remembered was a great sense of relief at knowing his father could never hurt him again.
Though Griffin tried to stay straight when he entered the foster system, he didn’t stray too far away from his father’s footsteps. He spent the next few years of his wasted youth finding the bottom of the bottle and fuckingany willing woman he could. Eventually, alcohol turned into pills.
Nothing he did ever drowned out his father’s screams or blocked the memories of his meaty fists flying toward his face. The drugs and alcohol helped, but even those were a brief reprieve until his next high.
Though it was a difficult habit to break, Griffin had a rude awakening when he killed his best friend. While Griffin walked away from the wreck, there was no denying that life had stopped for both of them. It had been an accident, but it never negated the incessant guilt he’d been living with ever since that night. Sometimes, it was as if the guilt ate away at his sanity like acid, corroding his will to live.
Brian had been a year older than him. They practically grew up together and shared deadbeat dads and nonexistent mothers. Brian was always the life of the party, often working with the dealers to get them the next hit. Marijuana, cocaine, pills, alcohol…it didn’t really matter much to them.
They were at Brian’s dealer's place, drinking, smoking, and enjoying any willing pussy. Normally, Griffin would drive them home, but that night, he hit the bottle a little too hard and had done too many lines. Brian volunteered to drive the pair across town.
The drive was normally fifteen minutes, but Brian jumped on the highway, traveling in the wrong direction.Griffin had been unconscious in the passenger seat. As their car struck a semi-truck, the impact slammed him against his seatbelt, jolting him awake as pain seared his chest. The car flipped end over end before plunging into a ditch. His ears rang as the screeching noises of metal being crushed echoed around him.
When the car finally rolled to a stop, they ended up upside down. The roof of the car crushed beneath his head. The disorienting angle of his body hanging upside down, held in place in his seat only by his seatbelt, snapped him out of his drunken stupor. He’d yelled for Brian, who hadn’t uttered a single noise. Frantically, he’d tried to unbuckle himself but was kept pinned in place by the mangled metal surrounding him.
The rattling sounds of twisted metal, shattered glass, screeching tires, and the sounds of his near-death experience still haunted him. The flashing lights, the metallic shriek of the jaws of life tearing through metal, and the pungent smell of gasoline replayed in his mind like a personal horror movie. A nightmare he couldn’t escape.
Thankfully, by some divine intervention, he remembered to buckle up.
Brian died on impact. A blessing in hindsight he didn’t suffer for long. The gruesome image of his mangled face will forever haunt his nightmares.
Being so incapacitated, he hadn’t been able to help his friend when he needed him most. It was something hewould have to live with for the rest of his life. The blood alcohol levels were so high in their systems that it would have warranted jail time, but somehow, he walked away with merely a few cuts and bruises.
His car was completely wrecked. After the hospital released him, he walked to the bus station. With the spare change in his pocket, he’d taken the bus back into town and gotten off near the auto shop where they kept his vehicle to claim it. Old Man Murphy owned the only auto shop in town. He’d taken one look at Griffin and walked off.
Griffin wasn’t sure what to make of the grumpy old man, but he wasn’t one to judge. He’d spotted his mangled car at the end of the lot. Even from a distance, he could tell it was divine intervention he was able to walk away from such a wreck. The thought sobered him. A turning point in his miserable life.
It was probably an hour or so later when Murphy found him sitting against his destroyed car. He’d been unimpressed with Griffin, but he must have seen something in him. Something he found worth redemption. The next thing he knew, Murphy offered him a job. It would be off the books, and he would be paid under the table, but Murphy needed an extra set of hands around the shop. His only condition was that he not use drugs or alcohol while working for him.
One act of tragedy and one of kindness permanently changed the course of Griffin’s life.
Murphy set him up with the unfinished apartment above the shop with the condition he could live there as long as he fixed up the place. A task Griffin took on happily. Up until that point, he’d been couch surfing. It was nice to call a place his own.
At first, Murphy only allowed him to help with the small tasks around the shop, like cleaning or organizing the tools or mopping the floors. Sometimes, he answered the phone, but for some strange reason, Murphy didn’t let Griffin do that often.
Keeping his hands busy kept his mind calm. His old habits tried to reel him back in, but he avoided everyone from his previous life, effectively isolating himself from his past. Though his future was still bleak, he had a purpose for the first time in a while.
Eventually, Murphy encouraged Griffin to get his high school diploma. He would go to night school after he was done at the shop, but eventually, he earned his diploma. Once the diploma was in hand, Murphy taught him how to fix engines. It was a skill that came naturally to him. With two pairs of hands working at the shop, they could take in more work.
Murphy died in his sleep nearly a decade ago. Murphy was widowed and didn’t have kids to call his own. In a twist of fate, he left the auto shop in Griffin’sname with the demand he rename it Griffin’s Auto Body.
Thoughts of the old man who changed his life made him nostalgic. If not for Murphy, he could only guess where his life would have led him. Probably down the same path as his worthless father. Dead in the ground.
His tires squealed when he pulled to a stop in his driveway. The keys were still in the ignition when he’d jumped out of the truck. He ran across the street, not even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. Luck was on his side that he didn’t get hit by a speeding car as he raced into the shop. He barely took notice of how the office was neatly organized as he barreled down the hallway. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he took the steps two at a time.
“Quynh!” His voice sounded desperate, even to his own ears. He pounded on the door a few times, giving her the illusion of choice before he kicked the door down. He paced the hallway, but when he still heard nothing on the other side, he tried the door handle.
It was unlocked.
His heart dropped. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to expect.
The door creaked open ominously. He could sense she was gone before he even stepped one foot inside the doorway. The energy in the apartment was dull. She took her sunshine with her when she left.
Now, all he was left with were the memories of her smiling face.
