The Spoon

The Spoon – by Maria Tuttle

The persistent knocking would not stop. So she slowly pulled herself from the comfort of the warm polyester blanket, and the lumpy bed, and went to open the door.

It was 2am for crying out loud. What could possibly be this important at 2am on a Wednesday morning.

A disheveled, angry, young man, probably his late teens, early twenties stood in front of her. She immediately regretted waking up and going to the door.

‘Give me a spoon!’ He demanded.

‘Right now, give me a goddamn spoon!’

His eyes flickered and he yelled again.

‘May I please have a spoon!’

‘Okay, okay.’ She said. ‘Wait one minute while I go and see what I can find. She closed the door in his face, hoping that when she returned to the door he would be gone.

Searching through a box marked kitchen items, she found an old spoon, probably from the Dollar Store or a bin from the flea market.

When she reopened the door, there he stood, staring aimlessly. He grabbed the cheap utensil and quickly headed up the stairs to the top floor of the cheap motel that the local Sally Ann had housed them in.

The next afternoon, lights from police cars and an ambulance lit up the parking lot. A stretcher, with a blanket covering a body, was situated between them.

Housekeeping had discovered him. Following up with a 911 call.

The police found the young man with his arm still tied off. The needle had fallen onto the floor.

An unopened Naloxone kit was on the table, beside a lighter and a spoon.

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