Author: Nathan Turnbeaugh
Exposition writer: Aaroha Save
Editor: Jonathan Park
Nathan Turnbeaugh’s short story “A Lease on Life” follows a convict through his struggles with money and rent. Despite his troubles, the protagonist finds it in his heart to change himself and help others, even at his own expense. Over the last two years, Nathan has used works such as “A Lease on Life” as an outlet for self expression, with this particular story being derived from a time when he was focusing on figuring out who he was as a person. Through this piece, Nathan hopes to inspire others to accept and embrace change as it comes to them so that the world can be a happier place.
In retrospect, it didn’t start when I met him, the druggie that got himself killed, nor did it start when I got myself involved in such a hazardous line of work which had me repeatedly toeing and inevitably crossing the line of legality. My vast lineage of misdeeds could be traced all the way back to my high school days. All of it started with a single offer, an offer to taste the luxury and commodity I could’ve never afforded legitimately, to awaken the unquenchable hunger and greed which laid comatose until then. Initially, I didn’t even notice the changes, brushing off my precious family, lying easily and giving up anything for the sake of fulfilling my greed.
Continuing to bore my eyes in the ceiling, my gaze traced along the black ink lettering of the mangled news article which I’d pinned haphazardly to the plaster above. The faded headline read “Head of Drug Distribution Ring Imprisoned on Charges of Manslaughter: Will Our Streets be Safe Once More?” The paper’s weathered edges crinkled ominously with every gust entering
through the sole window to the right of my bed, and the mere sight of it made my own death seem far preferable to my insufferable reality . It’d only been a week since I’d been paroled for half of my sentence, something which hadn’t escaped the starved eyes of the hyenas at the San Francisco Chronicle. Sighing slowly, I felt the day’s labors weigh hard down on me, and as exhaustion slowly enveloped my psyche, I let my contrition fall prey to sleep’s maw.
“Bzzt… Bzzt… Bzzt,” the obnoxious buzzing filled my ears, slowly stirring every nook within my brain from rest.
“Urghhh..” I twisted to my right, slamming my palm onto the alarm clock sitting pointedly on the nightstand. “Just a couple more minutes,” I mumbled, closing my eyes, and what felt like mere moments later, I jolted awake suddenly aware of the gravity of my circumstances. Scrambling out of bed, I glanced toward the clock.
“11:33 am,” it seemed to jeer as a means of mocking me. I was late. Reinvigorated by the potential consequences of my actions. I threw on my only presentable outfit and sprinted out the door of my two-room apartment. Paying no heed to the dilapidated elevator, I scampered down the hallway and flung open the door to the stairwell. After having half-fallen down the steps, I shoved the keys which I’d left in my coat pocket into the keyhole of my beaten 2005 Honda Civic, whose once glowing silver paint had become more of a dull murky gray. In one fluid motion, I swung open and slammed the car door behind me as I glided behind the steering wheel. I then violently probed my hand around the interior of the glove compartment until my hand brushed up against the weathered legal documents housed within it. Relieved, I planted my keys in the ignition, and the car whirred to life.
Some fifteen minutes later, I’d finally arrived, the building’s sterile interior glowed with off-puttingly expensive furnishings in stark contrast to the impoverished shopping center.
“Jeez,” I mumbled under my breath, exiting the car while keeping my eyes trained on the clock to the right of the automatic glass doors. Entering the facility, I hurriedly plodded to the clerk sitting bored behind a small enclosed booth. “Appointment at eleven?” The clerk huffed in response as if my tardiness had somehow personally offended him.
“You’r-”
“Yeah that’s me, can I see my accountant now?”
“Sure,” his voice trailed off as he punched some buttons into a landline phone next to his desk. “He’ll be out shortly,” his voice dripped with misplaced malice as he pointed to a secluded office opposite to the door. I sat down on one of the velvet cushioned chairs, my head spinning. What if it’s too late? I wondered pointlessly, How am I supposed to make all that money back? A job? No one wants a murderer flipping their burgers. How hard would it be? I didn’t suffer for five years just to be thrown back in prison, nor did I earn my freedom just to be stuck on the street. I ran my hands through my unruly hair and tilted my head toward the ceiling, tears welling in my eyes. Before being released everything seemed so clear cut, so simple, but now that I’m finally free where do I go? My old life is gone, all my friends have moved on since word got out of what I did, and I doubt my parents would welcome me with open arms. Hell, I didn’t even recognize the cars on the street anymore. The old cafe just a block away from my apartment had become a gas station, and my neighbors had all filed out after my arrest.
“Sir?” an irritated voice cut through my thoughts like a knife through butter.
“Huh?” I spun around to the source of the noise and found myself face to face with a pudgy man, about three-quarters my size, dawning a red blazer and brown trousers.
“Appointment at eleven, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Alright then,” the man sat himself across from me on the other chair within the office and leaned over his thighs as if he was about to interrogate a naughty child. “So onto the first matter of business,” he inhaled deeply, “to put it simply, your debt, which was scheduled to be paid off with five thousand a month over the course of just over six years, has only increased since your account was frozen.”
I sat slack-jawed before the man who’d heralded in my downfall. All of the time I spent dealing and outright breaking the law had gone to waste, in the end, I’d just made everything worse. The well-off life with running water and air conditioning I’d envisioned for my loved ones was completely out of sight, veiled by an insurmountable wall built brick by brick by my own mistakes.
“Anyhow, we can increase the time you have to pay it all off, how does five thousand a month for the next twenty years sound,”
“Are you fucking with me?!” In the back of my mind, my harsh words shocked even me, but I wasn’t me anymore, I was a different being entirely. The cadence of my steps, the way I held myself in conversation, everything was but a poor imitation of who I was before being imprisoned. I’d been reduced to a mere tool, made to collect debt and give my entire being to the invisible and omnipotent beings who governed my life from beyond my eyes.
Abruptly returning to reality, I watched the ever-so-apathetic demeanor of the official before remaining unchanged like an immovable boulder under a soft stream. But despite his cold attitude, I could clearly pick out the similarities between our circumstances. He too had been subjected to the crushing weight of society’s expectations and been unable to keep up with the endless demands he was met with. My anger suddenly shifted to pity and a sense of sympathy as I hypothesized as to what led such a person to wear a facade of emotionlessness in his own workplace. “Sorry bout’ that, just surprised me a little,” I awkwardly attempted to pick up the conversation, “anyways, thanks for your time, I’ll be sure to sort out the payments before my next appointment.” I gave a weak smile, the corners of my mouth twinged with worry in an attempt to hide my obvious unreliability as I moved to leave the office. Saying nothing, the accountant nodded and stood from his throne. Eager to exit, I hurriedly trudged toward the exit and filed into my car. I let out a long and exasperated sigh and felt my mind be freed from its shackles of anxiety if only for a brief moment. With newfound yet superficial clarity, I began my drive in search of the day’s meal.
After some 2 hours of drifting mindlessly throughout the city in traffic, my car slowly sputtered to a stop as it reached its destination. Eyeing the fuel gauge, I watched horrified as the dial slowly turned closer to the bright red “E” in the dashboard. Why today of all days? I complained to myself, knowing full well that no one would hear me if I spoke aloud. I didn’t even have the money to fill up the tank. “Damn it!” I slammed the steering wheel with all the strength left in my starving body, leaving my hands tingling as the stresses of life once again seeped into my being. It’s not like I could afford a tow truck or enough gas to make it home. In
an attempt to take my mind off of my myriad of financial issues, I snatched up the few food stamps I had left stowed away in the car’s glove compartments. Despite remembering it being much more, the three coupons only amounted to forty five dollars worth of food. Cupping my eyes in my hands, I half-heartedly mumbled“Whatever, it is what it is I guess,” under my breath, still unable to completely process that I’d somehow have to find work in the next week and a half lest I starve.
Exiting the car, I attempted to imitate what I thought was a leisurely stroll and made my way to the market. It was only when I’d reached no more than 10 yards from the entrance when I saw it, or rather, her. A small young girl who looked to be no more than 17 years old sat ragged before the store. She wore nothing but a pair of torn cargo pants, a dirty parka and a beanie. Clearly taking notice of my hesitation, she gazed toward me, her crystal green eyes piercing through my thoughts. The food stamps in my pocket seemed to weigh heavier within my pocket. Despite my situation, I instinctively knew that the person I saw before me was far worse off than me. Every rational fiber of my being was screaming to ignore her, to tend to my own needs, but no matter how hard I tried, my legs didn’t budge as if they were shackled by invisible chains.
“Any spare change, sir?” the girl mumbled quietly as she cupped her hands. Despite her quiet nature, the request rang clearly in my mind as I stood, perplexed. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t afford to extend a helping hand to anybody at the moment. But as her eyes bored deeper into my being, I felt a small urge rise up from the back of my mind. Maybe this is the opportunity you were looking for, it whispered against my rationality’s onslaught. Can you really start over without consequence? Can you really say you’ve changed? The clashing sounds were
silent now as my mind was taken over by a sense of generosity, and my hand slowly edged toward my pants pocket. Prove to yourself that you’re not the greedy and worthless hog you thought you were. In a single movement, I jammed my hand into my pocket, grabbed the coupons and shoved them into the girl’s cupped hands. “Thank yo-” she started, but I’d already begun anxiously slogging away, my mind whirling as I made my return to my apartment on foot.
Some few hours later, I found myself laying down on my bed, once again lost in thought.
Ever since I’d given away my food stamps, an unfamiliar feeling had stirred from deep within my chest. It wasn’t at all like the turmoil which had once previously occupied my psyche. It felt good. I noted silently as the unfamiliar feeling began to surge through my body, and with it, a new purpose found itself born within me. The satisfaction which I had gained from proving my own growth to myself and others had lingered for far longer than the seemingly minute pleasure of wealth and the meaningless worry I’d found myself enraptured in earlier. I felt rejuvenated as the worries and burdens I’d previously carried with me began to fade. My stomach growled, but I didn’t care. I had got a brand new lease on life.
Art Showcase Club 