The Last Tear

January 17, 2011
By Alex7 BRONZE, New York, New York
Alex7 BRONZE, New York, New York
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Mark Fields’ eyes know. His eyes know the problem, and his eyes know the answer. His ears deceive him. His ears lie. His ears hear his car radio emit the line “If you grew up with holes in your zapatos, you'd celebrate the minute you was having dough”. His ears again betray his sense of normalcy. He often hears this song. He often hears this song blasting from a speaker very loudly. His eyes know. His vision slinks from the road ahead to the rearview mirror. His ears cannot understand his predicament. His eyes notice the lights.
As his eyes focus on the blue and red lights his stereo stalls and his ears catch on. His ears only pick up on siren for half-second, but now his brain comprehends the situation. His eyes glance towards his feet and then his hands. His foot releases its pressure and his hand directs the wheel to the side of the road. Mark Fields’ entire body works in unison. Now he understands his predicament. Again his eyes protect him. He spots the closed bottle of Svedka on the passenger’s seat. He quickly shoves his discarded jacket on the alcohol and prepares for the policeman’s arrival.
Again his ears trick him. Jay-Z lyrics infiltrate his brain. The officer is 15 yards away. “I got two choices y’all pull over the car or
bounce on the double put the pedal to the floor.” The lyrics convince his brain that his ears are innocent and his eyes are the traitors. The policeman is 5 yards away. Fields’ brows furrow. He cannot make educated decisions in his intoxicated state. Instead he relies on his instincts.
His senses deceive him. His foot pressures the pedal. The car squirms forward. Now the vodka bounces on the seat. He hears the liquor fighting to be free from the glass jail. Fields sympathizes with the liquid. He spent eleven years in jail for armed robbery. It cost him his wife, his kids, and his old life. The sound of the vodka splashing brings Fields to the present. His wrinkled hand slowly reaches for the Svedka. His fingers close around of the base of the bottle. For the first time his eyes notice the bottle. The anger swells inside of him. He lifts the bottle high in the air. He draws the neck of the bottle downwards and smashes it against the steering wheel. Glass particles shatter. His left eye is hit with shrapnel. He feels the blood running down his cheek like a tear. His final tear pours down his face and drips onto his shirt. A man like Fields loses the ability to cry. He has lost everything. There are no more tears to shed, save his last tear. His right eye sees many things. He sees a bridge below him. It sees black water below the bridge. The black water is reminiscent of death. Most importantly, his right eye notices the lights ahead of him.
Fields reaches towards his feet. He notices a shard of glass that still retained some of the alcohol. He grabs the slice of glass and slowly pours the liquor into his mouth. He acknowledges the crimes he has committed this night and recognizes that he could sit in a jail cell for his remaining years. He cannot let that happen. He hears the sirens coming closer. He takes one last breath and swerves to the left. He swerves back to the right. He accelerates to nearly one hundred and fifty miles per hour. As Fields moves his head blood from his last tear enters his right eye. Blood clouds his vision and Fields is unable to see. He is left with his treacherous, deceiving sense, his ability to hear.
He hears one last song on his stereo. “Oh my God, wait and see. What will soon become of me? Frozen heart, screaming wheels, does that screaming come from—?” Fields’ car plunges through the metal bridge railing and begins its fall. It falls for nearly two seconds before it enters the black water. Water spews into the car. Fields grasps for one final breath before the water breaks into his lungs.

The author's comments:
This piece is a exploration of suicide, loss, and alcohol from the viewpoint of a finished man's sences.

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