I remember the day we met . She was sitting alone on the school bus , looking out through the window , lost in thought . Some of the other children were casting uncomfortable glances in her direction . They weren 't doing a very good job of hiding snickers and whispers behind their open palms as I made my way down the aisle between rows of well - worn leather seats . I sat in the vacant seat beside her , and she turned to look at me . I smiled . She smiled back and told me her name was Marcie . Her hair reminded me of soft clay . It was an odd color , not quite blond , not quite brown . The closest I can come to describe it is muddy blonde . She was a pretty girl , with swimming pools for eyes beneath her perfect bangs . We hit it off immediately . I was in the fifth grade , and the year was only half over when my family moved to the neighborhood from Italy . Marcie and I were the same age , and I discovered that she lived a few houses down from me . She had a warm personality , but there was also something fierce about her . Marcie could be intense . She wasn 't timid like me . As we were getting to know one another , she told me she had two younger siblings , a brother and a sister . I told her my brother was older , and we agreed that siblings could be a pain . Her dad was in the Navy , like mine , which is how both of us wound up living on the Naval Weapons Station in Goose Creek , South Carolina . I learned that we shared similar tastes in music and liked doing the same kinds of things for fun . I also learned that she had cancer . The doctors had removed all of the muscles from Marcie 's right shoulder , so her right arm was held close to her body with a slight bend at the elbow , causing her hand to hang in a feminine - like gesture . Chemotherapy had caused all of her hair to fall out , and she was wearing a wig , the reason behind the snickers and whispers that surrounded us . I had never met anyone with cancer before , but I wasn 't frightened by it . I was more curious than anything and didn 't understand how the other kids could be so cruel . We formed our own little bubble of friendship that all the ridicule in the world couldn 't penetrate . We were inseparable from that day forward . We got lost together in an eleven - year - old 's fantasy world . We spent our days role - playing . We would play dress - up in her room , and Marcie 's favorite character to become was Marilyn Monroe . She said she had Marilyn 's legs . I would play her agent on her quest for fame . We would hunt ghosts in the graveyard after dark and pretend they were communicating with us . Sometimes she would play the ghost . We 'd go down to the shore behind the Captain 's house and look for items washed up beneath the sand . We imagined they were remnants of a sunken ship or missing treasure . We used to walk along the top of a huge pipe that ran over the water on the edge of Mallard Pond and pretend we were lost in a swamp , surrounded by gators . Back then we didn 't know it was called Mallard Pond . We called it Alligator Pond . We weren 't really lost , but we were surrounded by gators & marshland ( I found out , years later , that they put a gate up to prevent people from going out there after I moved away ) . At dusk , we 'd look out to the horizon and see the silhouettes of the alligators swimming to shore ; that was our queue to go home . Pitching a tent in Marcie 's backyard was one of our favorite weekend adventures . We 'd stay the night out there and make up new lyrics to songs we liked and sing them into my hand - held tape recorder . My brother liked to sneak up and scare us in the middle of the night . We 'd pretend he was a bear in the middle of the woods , and there was no one around to save us . Marcie had moments when the reality of what was happening seemed to hit her like a brick wall at a hundred and ninety miles an hour . We went to the school dance when we were in sixth grade , and I remember her suddenly becoming very sad . I sat with her on the floor against the wall and tried to comfort her . There was a slow song playing , and young couples swayed awkwardly against one another on the dance floor . I believe she realized in that moment that she might never experience what it felt like to fall in love . I think that 's when the gravity of her situation really hit me . Up until that moment , she kept most of those kinds of feelings to herself . She acted out scenarios in our role - playing that were generated from her fears , but it was always done with a playful spirit . That was her way . I hardly ever saw her confront her fears head - on . She didn 't have the luxury of time to spend her days being depressed . She wanted to make the most of whatever time she had left , but sometimes she got hung up . I walked into her room one day , and she was laying on the floor . She was on her back , facing the ceiling , and her eyes were closed . She wasn 't moving , and when I spoke to her , she didn 't answer . I started to panic . Her chest was still . She wasn 't breathing . I ran to her and kneeled beside her . I started shaking her and begging that she wake up , but she didn 't . Her body was limp . I don 't know exactly how long this went on . It 's one of those moments when everything seems to be in slow motion , but suddenly a long breath erupted from her , and she let out a tremendous guffaw . I sat there in shock , just staring at her . She stopped long enough to look at my face and started laughing even harder . I didn 't know whether to hug her or hit her . Later , when I asked why she had done it , she said she wanted to see what it would be like if someone walked in and found her dead . I wanted to hug her then , and never let go . My dad started preparing for retirement when I was in the seventh grade . My parents bought a house in a new neighborhood , and we moved from the Naval Weapons Station . I was forced to change schools . Marcie and I talked on the phone a lot and begged to stay at each other 's houses on the weekends . It got to a point where Marcie 's mom would never let her hang out with me , no matter how much we pleaded . I think she was afraid to let Marcie out of her sight , and as much as I wanted to at the time , I couldn 't blame her . I can 't even begin to imagine how difficult it must have been for her , knowing she could lose her child at any moment . Marcie called me from the hospital one day , and asked me to stay the night with her there . I was finally getting a chance to see my best friend . I missed her so much . My mom dropped me off , and we stayed up the entire night . Her medicine was fed through IV 's attached to medicine bags hanging from a portable stand that she could roll around with her if she wanted to go for a walk or use the facilities . She named the stand " Freda stair " , or " Fred " for short . When we would get up to walk to the vending machine or wander through the halls of the hospital , she 'd say , " C ' mon , Fred ! " . We played and laughed all night , and it felt like old times . The next morning she told me it was the only time she didn 't get sick from the treatment . She thought it was because I was there with her , and I 'll never forget it . That was the last time I saw Marcie alive . Marcie and I called each other often to give one another updates on our lives . Marcie wanted to be an actress , so she was very excited when she called to tell me she received the role of Alice in the play , Alice In Wonderland . She was twice as excited when she told me that the Make - A - Wish Foundation was granting her wish for one - on - one dance lessons with Paula Abdul . One day she called because she thought she was dying . We talked for two hours , and when I got off the phone with her , I went running to my dad in tears . He tried to comfort me as much as he could , and then told me that I needed to accept reality and prepare for the inevitable . I know now that he was trying to soften the blow . She was having a panic attack that night , but that didn 't mean it wouldn 't be for real next time . There was a reason for her panic attack , and the reason for it was nearer than I thought . Marcie called me sometime after that to let me know she was going into the hospital for heart surgery . The words " heart surgery " , just the words themselves , sounded so foreboding . I wanted to scream , " No , you can 't ! " . My thoughts were completely irrational , I know , but I had never been closer to anyone in my life , and I loved her . I couldn 't conceive someone deliberately opening her chest and cutting into her fragile heart . She assured me that she felt good about it and that everything was going to be fine . She wanted to call before she went to the hospital , because she didn 't know if she would get a chance to talk to me before the surgery . She didn 't . I was on pins and needles the entire next day . Every time I called they said she was still in surgery . Then , they told me she was still there , but they didn 't have any information for me or they couldn 't give me any information . Another night passed without any word , and I was a nervous wreck . I called the hospital as soon as I woke up . I was beyond excited . If she was at home , that meant that she made it through the surgery , and it must have gone so well that they decided to send her home early . I hung up and immediately dialed the number for Marcie 's house . Her mother , Pam answered the phone . Oh , okay . Well , I just called the hospital , and they told me she had gone home . I wanted to check on her . Will you tell her that I called ? I didn 't hear much of what was said after that . I was in shock . I don 't know if Marcie 's mom was still talking when I dropped the phone . Suddenly I couldn 't breath . I had to get out of there . I had to go anywhere . This couldn 't be happening . It wasn 't true . It couldn 't be true ! I remember running out to the garage , with my mom and dad at my heels calling after me . I don 't know what they were saying . I just had to get away . I grabbed my bike and started peddling as hard and as fast as I could . I peddled past all the houses and kept peddling when the houses ran out . I peddled until the road ran out and hit the trail until there was nothing but a field of weeds and a tree - line of forest in front of me . I peddled as far as I could go , and then I stopped . I was on the backside of the new neighborhood we lived in , and there was nothing and no one around . No houses , no pavement , no people . Just me . I screamed out an ocean of tears that carved a river of scars through my heart . I screamed until I was hoarse and cried until the tears would no longer come . This was my first brush with death . I was fourteen years old . I had never been to a wake before , so when I decided I was going to Marcie 's , I didn 't know what I was in for . Don 't get me wrong . It was beautiful , as wake 's go . I remember seeing Marcie 's mom , but I don 't remember anyone else . I know other people were there , but I couldn 't see them . I saw the display of flowers when I walked through the door , but the rest of the room faded away when my eyes fell upon the open casket . There she was . There she wasn 't . It looked like her , but it didn 't . There was no color in her cheeks , no life in her features . That was her body , but she wasn 't in there . Her body was an empty shell . My friend was gone . The image of her ( shell ) laying there in the casket , Alice In Wonderland book folded neatly into her lifeless hands , will forever be etched in my mind . I had been over the dreaded confrontation in my mind a hundred times . I knew what my mom would say . I would state my case passionately , and she would object . She would insist I was making the biggest mistake of my life . She would even be heartbroken , but in the end , she would let me have my way . At least , that 's what I was hoping for . I had been waiting to catch her in a good mood . It was Saturday morning , and I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and den , studying her . She was sitting at the kitchen table in a faded blue , cotton robe with matching slippers , newspaper folded neatly in front of her . She held her favorite mug in one hand and a black pen in the other . Freshly brewed coffee permeated the air . She was fixated on a crossword puzzle . Dark , tousled locks fell around her shoulders , and sunshine leaked through the open blinds , illuminating her tranquil expression . I summoned all of my courage and cleared my throat to make my presence known . She turned to look at me , and her face lit up with a broad smile . " Morning , mom , " I replied , helping myself to the coffee . I reluctantly took the seat across from her and gingerly placed my full mug on the table between us . It was now or never . I had finally sad it . A huge weight was lifted , but at the same time , a dark wave towered above me , waiting to come crashing down . At first , my mom couldn 't say anything . Shock , confusion , and rage wrestled with the features on her face . " Have you lost your mind ? Your father and I have worked hard so you can go to a good college . You are not throwing your future away because of some silly dream ! " Naked and defenseless against the furious wind , trees stretch out of the shadows , transforming into restless silhouettes against the deep cobalt sky . They were silent witnesses to that formidable night in April . They know the untold story . Carmella slowly treads along the edge of the circular clearing , absently hugging her forearms in pursuit of comfort as much as warmth . The cover of trees shields her from the stinging wind . A faint trickle grows increasingly more turbulent as she approaches a glistening stream running along the back of the clearing . An ancient Oak , the old wishing tree , sits near the water 's edge . Carmella reaches out with a trembling hand . Her fingertips trace a scar where Jason once carved a declaration of his love for her in the trunk 's rugged surface . The sun sinks low , deepening the ominous shadows . The surrounding forest is an aphotic tomb imprisoning her soul . She drops to her knees and closes her weary eyes . A dull ache gathers in the hollow of her stomach . The subtle sweetness of wild Honeysuckle that used to grow here still lingers in her mind and mingles with the scent of decaying leaves . A single tear sketches a path down her pale cheek and pools in the crease of her mouth . She licks the salty dew from her lips . This was once a magical place , a place of dreams and laughter . It is now a lair for torment , a cesspool of anguish , and the origin of all her nightmares . Forty - six lonesome years . That 's how long I have waited for this night . The moon is hardly ever full on Halloween . Soon the change will come , and once the pain of the bone - shifting transformation has passed , all inhibitions will be lost . I will be free , if only for a few hours . The change takes me every full moon , but Halloween is the one day I get to blend in with the rest of the world . I wasn 't always a werewolf . When I was nineteen , my boyfriend and I went camping on one of those rare weekends that neither one of us had to work . The weather was beautiful , so we decided to sleep under the stars around a small fire . The mountain air was crisp and inviting , but the night was forbidding . I woke to the sound of screaming . The biggest wolf I ever saw was tearing my boyfriend to pieces . I have never seen so much blood . I kept a pistol stashed inside my sleeping bag and instinctively reached for it . My hand closed around the soft rubber grip , but not before I felt the animal 's canine 's dig deep into my right thigh . I still have the scars . I cried out in horror and shot the creature twice in the chest at point - blank . The beast fell backward with a tortured howl , and to my surprise , ran away on two legs . I 'm almost certain it lived , but my boyfriend wasn 't so lucky . When I explained to the police what happened , I left out the part about the wolf running off on two legs . I knew they wouldn 't believe me . I hardly believed it myself . The next two days I felt very ill , and my face began taking on new features . My brow became more prominent ; my small nose flattened and stretched . Incisors grew long and sharp . Soon I discovered what it all meant , that it wasn 't just a wolf that had bitten me . Since then , my life hasn 't been the same . I pace back and forth across my apartment , anxiously anticipating the rising moon . It has been such a long time since I have been able to feel safe around people . When I go out in public I get strange looks and fingers pointed at me . These expressions and gestures are always accompanied by whispered exchanges . I miss my old face . I have removed all of the mirrors from my apartment , so I am not reminded of the freak I have become . Not tonight , though . Tonight , even after my full transformation , is my time to shine . I will walk tall and proud among the rest of the costumed freaks . I 've decided my first stop will be Karaoke , but I can 't say exactly why . I can feel the change coming . The moon now sits high and full in the sky . The first thing I do is strip off my clothes . I won 't be needing them for a while . How liberating ! My senses are heightened , and the muscles swell beneath my skin . I 'm not surprised as the pain of twisting bones and stretching flesh grips my body . I 'm a convulsive fetus upon the floor , but I 'm used to it . As quickly as it began , it 's over , and I kneel on all fours to release an exuberant howl . The night is young , but I only have six hours before the transformation begins to wear off . The door handle seems to have shrunk as I grasp it with my enlarged , fur - covered hands and give it a turn . I leap out into the alluring night , almost throwing the front door from its hinges . As expected , Mickey 's is packed . The place is always hopping on Halloween . The parking lot is stuffed with cars . People are staggering in and out . A lighted billboard next to the entrance announces Karaoke and a Costume Contest . Perfect . Drunken attempts at carrying a tune drift toward me and assault my sensitive ears . I weave through the parked cars toward the entrance , and catch the door as a young couple is walking out . They stop to look at me . The tall , dark - haired man doesn 't look so tall standing next to me , and his blond girlfriend just stares with big , round eyes . She looks like she stepped out of a cartoon . After a moment of silence , the woman says emphatically , " That costume is amazing ! Are you entering the contest ? " When I don 't answer , she continues , " I 've never seen a costume so realistic . You really should sign up . " I nod and slip past them into the dimly lit , smokey bar . I have been singing for quite a while now and have met some interesting people . Mickey 's sits right on the freeway , so there are people here from all over . I just stepped down from the microphone for the last time . I made " Werewolves of London " my finale , just for kicks . Everyone wants to know who designed my costume . I just keep replying , " If I tell you , I 'll have to eat you . " There is a brunette with green eyes , dressed as a witch , sitting four stools down from me , and she keeps giving me the evil eye . She doesn 't seem to be as impressed by my " costume " . She has been staring at me all night . I hope she won 't be any trouble . The bartender sets a frothy glass of ice - cold beer in front of me and tells me it 's on the house . I haven 't had a drink all night , but all that singing has made me thirsty . Alcohol has a greater effect on the wolf , so I sip slowly . Next , he hands me a clipboard and tells me I have to sign up if I want to be in the Costume Contest . I have him sign for me , since it 's impossible for me to grip a pen with these claws . I take in the atmosphere . My nose is piqued by a buffet of different scents . My pointed ears pick up on the plethora of conversations people are having . As time goes by , conversations and laughter become louder . The smoke thickens and stings my nostrils . Finally , they are announcing the participants in the Costume Contest . I stand before a bar full of people , having just been announced the winner of the contest . I am handed a ribbon and a bag of goodies , courtesy of Mickey himself . Everyone applauds - everyone , that is , except the brunette in the witch 's costume . She just stares at me with those accusing eyes . I am handed a microphone , and the bar grows silent . I clear my throat and try to think of something clever to say . Before I get a chance to speak , the brunette witch points an accusing finger at me and screams , " She 's a phony ! This is a costume contest ! If that 's a costume , why don 't you take off your mask and show us your real face ! " Oh no , my perfect night has taken a turn for the worse . I hold the microphone to my muzzle and say , " I 'll show you mine if you show me yours . " Everyone in the bar begins to laugh , but the focus is still on me . This feels all too familiar . One person screams , " Take it off ! Take it off ! " , and others join in . They 're pointing their fingers at me as they chant , " Take it off ! " and the crowd begins to close in on me . I 'm horrified . How have the tables turned on me so quickly ? I can feel a growl beginning to form in my belly . It swells up into my chest and erupts from my throat , hushing the crowd . Everyone stands wide - eyed and agape . Once realized , it 's nearly impossible for a werewolf to control its anger . I suddenly feel the need for a massacre . I have to get out of here now . I made a vow to myself a long time ago that I wouldn 't harm people . I learned to suppress the urge to hunt , but my instincts are taking over . I burst through the door and embrace the night air . I point my snout to the sky and let out a lonely howl . I can feel the change coming on again . I have to get home fast . I can 't let anyone see me transform . I also don 't have a stitch of clothing to cover my body . The last thing I need is to be thrown in jail for indecent exposure . I get down on all - fours , because the wolf in me runs faster this way . The fresh air tastes sweet after being in Mickey 's all night . My long , pink tongue swings from side to side , lapping it up . I 'm almost there now , only one more mile . I 've made it just in time . I close the front door as the jaws of pain clamp down upon me . I feel my muscles shrink , and the bones twist themselves back into place as I 'm thrown to the floor . My hair is stuck to my face . I 'm drenched in sweat . Exhaustion paralyzes my body . Slides of the night 's events flash through my mind . It will be nineteen years before there is another full moon on Halloween . Perhaps I will try this again , but I don 't think I will be entering in anymore costume contests . Seven - year - old Chase Goodman waited all week for that five dollar bill . He had been by Mike 's Card Shop everyday in anticipation of a newly released deck of playing cards . The deck was six dollars but since Mike was a nice guy and Chase was a good customer , Mike agreed Chase could have it for an even five . He had offered to do things for his mom all week , hoping she would throw him a little extra allowance , but it didn 't work . His Mom was a waitress , working at two different restaurants . When she finally found time for Chase , she was far too tired to notice all of the extra chores he had done . As he spread his new deck out in his pudgy fingers , the hard - earned five dollars felt well worth the effort and wait . Chase , never flinching , still smiling and preoccupied with his new deck of cards , left with no objection . The kid had gotten what he came for . Mike couldn 't remember ever being so innocent and found himself a little envious . With a half - hearted chuckle , he locked the door behind Chase and flipped his sign from OPEN to CLOSED . It had been a long day , and he couldn 't wait to have his feet propped up in front of the television , ice - cold beer in hand . He was thirsty just thinking about it . Mike reached behind the counter , under the register , to his secret drawer . He opened it and felt around for his pint of bourbon . He twisted the lid off and gave a salute to no one in particular . Then , he put the bottle to his lips and felt all his worries wash away as the luke - warm liquid lit up his insides like flames from the bowels of hell . He screwed the lid back on and put the bottle back in its secret place . He locked the drawer with a key that hung on a key chain attached to his belt for safe keeping . Mike punched a button on the cash register with his index finger , and the cash drawer flew open with a hard thud . He reached in to pull the money tray out , but it was jammed . After several attempts to get it out , he went into the office and came back with a flathead screwdriver . He wedged the flat end of the screwdriver into a tiny space between the front of the drawer and the tray and tried to pry the tray out . The screwdriver slipped , which caused his elbow to slip , breaking off the plastic tab that was holding the stack of five dollar bills . He took the screwdriver and tried to pry the tray out again , from the side this time . The drawer popped up and Mike caught it before it plummeted to the ground . The five dollar bill sitting on top floated out of the tray and halfway across the store , landing beneath one of the display tables . Mike never even noticed . The next morning , Santos unlocked the card shop at 7 A . M , like he did every Sunday . The card shop was closed on Sundays , but Mike paid Santos to clean it up on the weekends . Santos was grateful for the job . Mike had told him for weeks that he couldn 't afford to hire anyone else , but Santos kept hanging around . He had run out of options in the small city and desperately needed Mike 's help . Mike finally gave in , gave Santos a key , and told him he could do the cleaning on the weekends , but that was all he had to offer . He also showed Santos his . 45 and warned him not to steal anything . Santos entered the card shop and set out to conquer the task at hand . He went into the office and grabbed a broom out of the utility closet . He was sweeping under the display tables when he noticed a five - dollar - bill was wedged under one of the table legs . Assuming it had been a customers and that it wouldn 't be missed , Santos pried the five dollar bill out , folded it in half , and jammed it in his back pocket . Santos stayed with his mother , Stella , and helped her take care of the house while she took care of his grandmother and worked full - time . Stella had to hire a nurse to take care of his grandmother when she was working , because her son proved to be unreliable in that regard . Between paying the nurse , regular hospital visits , purchasing all the medications , and paying bills , Stella barely had enough to feed her family by the end of the week . Santos wished he could do more . He was twenty - four years old and spoke little English . He had lived with his father in Mexico until he was seventeen years old . He found out his father was lying to him when he had told him his mother died giving birth to him . Santos set out to find her at the age of twenty . It took him two years to find her . During those two years he learned most of the broken English he spoke . He found his Mother in dire straights . The plumbing wasn 't working correctly in the run - down , one bedroom house Stella and her mother inhabited . Most of the appliances were broken , and the floor looked like it had never seen a broom . Santos immediately began fixing things up . He fixed the plumbing and all of the appliances . He cleaned the house thoroughly , and helped his mother pick things out to sell . He helped organize a yard sale to generate some extra cash to catch up on bills . He divided the living room into two rooms and built a wall between them . He turned the tiny dining room into a new sitting room . He started taking care of his grandmother , but it was a daunting task . Since Santos wasn 't comfortable taking care of his grandmother , they all agreed to get her a nurse . Stella got a second job waiting in an upscale restaurant to help pay for it . There still wasn 't enough money to pay the bills . There was never enough . Santos reached into his back pocket and fumbled with the five - dollar - bill from Mike 's Card Shop . He had finished his work early and decided to walk home instead of taking the bus like he did most mornings . It was a beautiful day , and it felt good to be outside . All the way home he considered what he was going to do with the five dollars . Should he give it to his mother to help pay a bill ? Every bit of hard - earned cash he ever made went to the bills . He wished , for once , he could buy something for himself . Not ever seeing the money he earned made him feel like he was working for nothing . Santos thought of his grandmother . Every afternoon she would be propped up in her bed , facing the street , looking out through the blinds of the front window . Every afternoon the dormant life inside her would awake to the sound of the ice - cream truck . You could see her eyes light up with all ninety - two years of her life inside as It 's a Small World resounded throughout the neighborhood , passing their house . As quickly as the light inside her was ignited , it was extinguished with the fading sound of the truck 's music . Sympathy tried to swallow Santos . He walked into his grandmother 's room , still fondling the five - dollar - bill that lay wrinkled in his pocket among the lint and dirt . He kissed his grandmother on the forehead and walked to the front door . He sauntered outside , then down the stairs to the end of their walkway , and sat down on the curb facing the road . He thought about the five - dollar - bill and how good it felt in his pocket . He liked that only he knew about it and that no one would be asking for it . Then , he heard the ice - cream truck , and in his mind 's eye he saw his grandmother 's eyes light up with all ninety - two years of her life . It 's a small world after all … " Two more coming right up ! " exclaimed the ice - cream man . He slid the door of the cooler open , once more , and pulled out two more brightly packaged Orange Dream 's . The man took the five dollars that Santos gave him and threw it in the top of a large coffee can . Then , he reached into a smaller coffee can and dug out two quarters for change . He handed the change to Santos and thanked him for his business . Santos thanked the man and walked toward the house . As he watched his grandmother through the front window , Santos thought he saw a smile on her face to match the smile in her eyes and felt his own smile growing . This time grandma 's smile remained long after the fading music from the ice - cream truck vanished completely . The ice - cream man reached over and hit the kill switch on the music box as he coasted past the last house in Fox Squirrel Run . His name was Ralph Fizzman , but everyone knew him as the Ice - cream Man or Pops . His family called him Pops , but he didn 't see much of them anymore . His friends called him Pops , too , but he could count those on one hand these days . He really liked driving an ice - cream truck . He liked to watch the faces of the children light up when he greeted them . He didn 't have to drive an ice - cream truck . He was a retired postal worker . Between his retirement check and social security , he earned enough to pay his bills and put food on the table . He didn 't need anything extra . He still took pleasure in the more natural , less expensive gifts that life offered . What he couldn 't handle was all of the idle time he had on his hands . Many days he would find himself pacing back and forth restlessly between the kitchen and the back yard . The feeling that he should be doing something besides waiting around to die kept nagging him . He couldn 't shake the feeling that his life had become empty . One morning , while reading the classifieds with his coffee , Pops came across an ad with an Ice - cream truck for sale . It was the answer he had been waiting for . He immediately called the owner and paid the man cash from his savings . He stocked the truck , touched up the paint where he could , installed a brand new sound system , and was running his first route within two weeks . Pops had one more neighborhood he wanted to visit before he headed home for the day . The next neighborhood was made up of low - income housing . Even the poor seemed to be able to scrape up money for ice - cream . He was greeted by the familiar cookie - cutter houses and debris - littered streets . A pair of shoes hung on a telephone wire above the entrance like a Welcome Home sign . He flipped the switch on his sound system . It 's a Small World bellowed from the speakers that stood at attention on the roof of the ice - cream truck . Most of the faces he greeted were familiar . A few of them were new . He exchanged money for ice - cream , and the children scattered . He made it to the last street and was just about to go home when Clyde finally made an appearance . Most of the time Clyde was there waiting for Pops , like the neighborhood host . When Pops didn 't see him at the entrance that day , he worried that something might have happened to him . Clyde was a local homeless man , and he knew everyone . Sometimes he could be a nuisance , but most people just accepted him as a part of the scenery . From what Pops could understand he was a veteran that the government discarded , like so many others . Pops felt bad for him and fed him an ice - cream the first time he ever met him . From then on , Clyde was a regular . Pops didn 't mind . He liked to watch the broken smile form on his crooked lips as he took the first bite . It seemed to empty the meaning out of the little things that bothered him . Any problems became trivial as he watched Clyde light up at the sight of the neatly wrapped frozen sandwich , as if seeing it for the first time . " You make Clyde a very happy man today , friend ! " he exclaimed . He wiped the dripping vanilla cream from his black chin and made a clean spot . His camouflage overcoat , which it was too hot for , looked like it had been tied behind a truck and drug through a mud hole . Clyde turned , ice - cream in hand , lips frozen into a smile , and started to walk off . Pops called out behind him and Clyde stopped to face him . Pops reached into the top of his large coffee can and pulled out the five - dollar - bill sitting on top of the pile . He held it out to Clyde , gesticulating reassuringly . Reluctant at first , Clyde took the five and thanked Pops repeatedly before staggering away . Pops hoped he would spend the money on food instead of booze or drugs , but knew that was probably wishful thinking . Clyde balled the five dollar bill up and crammed it deep into his front jacket pocket , along with the few bits of coins and pretty rocks he picked up off the street earlier that morning . His ice - cream started to melt and drip down his face and chin . His hands were sticky with vanilla . He wiped his face on his sleeve again , this time leaving a bigger clean spot on one side of his face . He was craving a fix . He ached to feel the cold needle pierce his warm veins . The five dollars Pops had given him was already burning a hole in his pocket . After discarding his ice - cream wrapper onto a stranger 's lawn , he walked toward Pacer Street . He had to find Crazy Eight . His stomach was starting to cramp up now , and the ice - cream he had eaten seemed to be souring . He had to find Eight fast . Eight was in building 2112 on Pacer Street , where he conducted most of his business for the time being . He sold anything from crack rock to kind bud , but most of his customers came to him for coke or crystal meth . That is how he got his nickname , Crazy Eight . Some people called him Eight Ball . To his regulars , he was Eight . Clyde found him in a room at the top of a flight of dark , rickety stairs . The windows in the room had black plastic bags duct taped over them , and the only light in the room was emitted by a tiny lamp in the corner , opposite from where Clyde stood . There were men brandishing weapons , standing in the shadows of each of the other corners . Clyde told Eight he needed rock but all he had was a five . Eight had warned Clyde on his last visit not to waste his time with anything less than twenty - five . Eight was not happy to see Clyde two days later , waving a five - dollar - bill in his face , begging for another taste . He told Clyde he would give him one last chance to stop waving that bill in his face and escort himself out . Clyde didn 't see the three shadowed figures in the corners tense up and tighten the grips on their pistols . The shot that lodged itself into Clyde 's skull came from Crazy Eight 's pistol , but empty shells littered the floor at the scene of the crime the following day . They found Clyde laying face - up in a pool of his own blood , his body laden with bullet holes . Saturated with bloody fingerprints , a five dollar bill lay on his chest . As you wake , your eyes begin to focus , and you recognize the familiar splintered , wooden planks that make up the walls of your secret place . You 've been coming here since you were a kid , a quiet place no one else knows about . Your lips are numb as your tongue traces their outline , and your head still swims in the bottle of whisky you finished off last night . You push yourself up to a sitting position , from the concrete earth beneath you . Your muscles protest in anguish , and you involuntarily grimace at the smell of sour sweat that seeps from your pores . An empty bottle of Jack lies on its side in the right corner of the room , evidence of another forgotten adventure . Beside it sits the black duffel bag you 've always kept packed with basic necessities for emergencies : a change of clothes , toothbrush , Swiss Army knife , toilette paper , among other useful odds and ends . You 've been drinking for years , but it has only recently become a problem . Frequent blackouts now speckle your memory with questions that often go unanswered . You try to shake off the confusion , only to gain a slight head rush . Your chin falls to your chest to try and stop the dizziness . This is when you notice the large red blotches splattered across the front of your once white t - shirt . Crimson streaks run down your arms and cover the palms of your hands . Your short , brown hair is matted with … Your eyes dart from your duffel bag , to your surroundings , to your clothes , as reality begins to sink into your unsettled mind . What have you done ? Scenes from last night begin to flash through your mind as you struggle to remember what happened . You had pounded down some shots to loosen up before going to your sister , Greta 's , party . The world already had a comfortable haze around it when you arrived . You remember the concerned look on Greta 's face as you made your boisterous appearance . It all gets fuzzy after that . An argument . You had an argument with someone at the party . Andrew , Greta 's ex - boyfriend . He was talking smack about Greta in front of everyone at the party , in Greta 's own living room . You were so angry , you almost punched the guy . Hearing the commotion but not knowing what was happening , Greta walked in from the kitchen . There you stood with your fist raised to Andrew 's face , ready to strike . She was livid and immediately ordered you out of her house . She had refused to listen to your plea . Feeling betrayed , you stomped into the kitchen with Greta at your heels , grabbed a full bottle of Jack Daniels out of the freezer , and stormed out of her house . Gripped by anger , you remember announcing that Andrew would pay for what he did . After that , nothing . Only blackness , a bloodstained t - shirt , an empty bottle , and a duffel bag to explain how you got here . You pick yourself up off the hard ground and try to formulate a plan of action . The faint sound of a phone rings , and you freeze , listening intently . Riiiiiiing . It 's coming from the duffel bag , and you hurry to retrieve it . You kneel , fold back the zipper , and reach in to rummage through the contents of the bag . Your shaking hand stumbles upon a mobile phone , and you pull it out . Riiiiiiing . This time it 's louder . The display reveals that it 's Greta calling . You hesitate before putting the phone to your ear and pressing the button to answer , " Hello ? " " What do I want ? I want you to come face the consequences of what you 've done , that 's what I want . You can 't get away with this , you know . Every one knows you did it . " " I was drunk ! " you burst out , " I didn 't know what I was doing . I don 't even remember ! Greta , I don 't know what to do . I can 't go to prison ! " You no longer fight back the tears . They pool in your eyes and flow down your cheeks . You feel your life coming to a tragic , miserable end . You never liked Andrew , but you never meant to kill him ! " Oh Jackson , you 've always been such a drama queen ! I spoke with Andrew this morning . He said he wouldn 't even press charges if you 'll agree to pay to have the paint job fixed on his Camaro . He 's even thinking about having the color changed to red , thanks to you ! 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