Repossessed by Angela R. Hunt

Repossessed

By Angela R. Hunt 2/1/15

Patrick put down his guitar and picked up his can of beer. It was a hot day, he was enjoying the shade. Jon, his best friend, was sitting with him. They were savoring the pleasant heat of winter in the desert. They spent their lives traveling, working odd jobs at carnivals and festivals. They lived, they made stories of their lives. Patrick was pretty sure that Jon had warrants in several states. Jon was in his thirties and lived a fiercely independent life. He always found a way to break the rules, sometimes just to break them. Patrick had his own internal philosophy that determined what rules he honored. Jon had tried college years ago and had nothing good to say about it. He could write in complete sentences and estimate travel speeds of various trains. A train schedule and a grammar editing program could do the same. They didn’t leave a giant trail of debt. Patrick smiled as he thought of Jon’s repetitive loan rant. 

“I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamed that I was laying in my tent and there was a knock at the door. You can’t knock on a tent, but it made sense in the dream. I opened the door and there was a shadow man there. It had a briefcase and it said something about a final collections notice.” Jon looked exhausted as he talked about the dream. 

“You think too much. It was a stupid dream. I don’t want to hear about your college debt AGAIN.” Patrick teased him. The conversation shifted to girls and parties. Gone, perhaps as if it had never been. 

Jon didn’t come by for coffee or to bum a cigarette in the morning. Patrick figured he was hung over. Mid-afternoon he went looking for his friend. Jon was sitting in his tent, chain smoking cigarettes. His hands were shaking. 

“The dream was a nightmare last night. It was worse. The knock on the tent. The shadow man was there with a briefcase. It claimed it was coming to collect on the debt I owed. I asked if it was my college debt. The creature nodded and took out some sort of document I couldn’t read. I told it to look around. I have nothing. A tent, a beat up guitar, a few cigarettes, but nothing beyond that. I asked if it wanted my heart. I was sort of joking. It shook its head and said “Pay up, you have until you sleep again. If you do not pay, you will not be.” What the hell does that mean Patrick?” Jon was really rattled. 

Patrick joked with his friend and spent the afternoon talking him down. By sunset, Jon seemed fine. He kept Patrick up until dawn started to lighten the sky. Patrick finally told him he had to sleep. Jon looked resigned and somber as he walked back to his tent. 

“Hey, if anything happens to me it means this shit is real. Be careful. Hope I see you tomorrow.” Jon didn’t smile as he said his goodbye. Patrick told him he’d be fine. 

Jon did not come by the next day. Patrick had to go looking for him again. He figured he’d drank a bottle of whiskey to chase the nightmare away. When he walked to Jon’s tent he stopped cold. Jon sat outside his tent. Jon’s face was slack and drool ran from the corner of his mouth. Patrick shook his friend, tried to snap him out of it. Jon’s mind was gone. 

Jon was taken to the hospital, many tests were run. No reason was ever discovered for the total loss of memory, personality and essence that seemed to happen. The doctors claimed it could possibly come from drinking or dehydration, perhaps genetics. Maybe he took to much Acid. 

Patrick did not believe them. He always kept the letter he found in Jon’s tent. It was from a debt collector. It was a receipt. Debt paid in full.