Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  “And people could see him peeing by the side of the road, right?”

  “He says they couldn’t from where he was standing, but it must have been pretty obvious. Someone later brought it up that he’d been holding his, um, unit with one hand, and tipping his hat at every car that drove past.”

  “I guess it didn’t interrupt his flow, huh?” Trish asked.

  “Not with that many drinks in his system. People were honking at him, too. Then a county cruiser stopped to check why he was along the road. Tom tried to finish, but he couldn’t stop peeing in time. He swears up and down that he took the world’s longest pee that day.”

  “He lucked out in not getting a ticket. Drunk driving and peeing in public would have been quite the whammy.”

  “It helped that Tom is pretty well liked. The trooper drove him home while his buddy followed in Tom’s truck. So long as Tom stayed off the road the rest of the day, they told him all would be good.”

  “How long did it take for Fiona to realize she’d been abandoned?” Trish asked.

  “Not long. She finished and yelled out for Tom to help her down the hill. He didn’t respond, so she stepped out from behind the trees to see the cop car speed off toward town.”

  “Oh boy, you know she was mad!”

  “Especially after she lost her footing and tumbled down toward the road.”

  “So she started walking back to town, hoping someone she knew would pick her up.”

  “And someone she knew did come along.” I smiled.

  “We’re coming to my favorite part.” Trish rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

  “Yeah. Meg Jacobsen came along, aka Lady Silvia.”

  “That’s about the worst person you want to find you in a compromising moment.”

  I nodded. “It wouldn’t have been such a scandal since the cops were willing to let it slide, but Lady Silvia had to tell everyone, and my mom – rightfully so – was furious that she was abandoned in the woods in the middle of March.

  “Plus,” I added. “Somehow the gossip got twisted and versions of the story had Tom out along the road in nothing but a Derby hat.”

  Trish snorted at the visual. “She broke up with Tom after that, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s when Tom joined AA. My mom thought if he would give up his Jameson for her, she could take him back.”

  Trish started laughing hysterically.

  “What?”

  “I can’t get that image out of my head. I can so easily see Tom peeing by the side of the road, tipping his hat to everyone who drove past.”

  I tried to suppress a giggle, but found I couldn’t. The incident definitely had gotten funnier over time, yet for some months after it had happened my mother had been angry about being left alone in the cold.

  And for having to endure a long drive with Lady Silvia.

  13

  The story over, I drank my beer and noticed the owner of the can of Coke had returned. He definitely looked too good for this place.

  “Roger?” I said. “Long time, no see.”

  He nodded and motioned to Carla for another soda. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I’ve heard that story before. About that particular St. Patrick’s Day, I mean.”

  “It was hilarious,” Trish drawled before turning to him. “So, Roger. Remember me?”

  Uh-oh. I could tell she was feeling a bit confrontational. That happened sometimes when she imbibed. I set my hand on her forearm to still her. I also wondered if Roger would be inclined to take off upon seeing her. Considering how good he looked among all the sad sacks in this place, I’d rather he lingered.

  “I do. How is your sister? I heard she’s married and has a baby on the way.”

  “She is. This guy puts up walls instead of punching holes in them.” Trish finished her beer and motioned to Carla to bring her another.

  “I get it,” Roger said. “I was a dick.”

  When the bartender brought Trish her second drink, she slid a $5 bill over to the woman and told her to keep the change. She turned to me. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to pay a visit to Scott and see if he wants to get in on a game of pool. Do you want to be on a team?”

  “You’re asking me, even though I’m so awful at the game?”

  Trish nodded.

  “Not at the moment. Maybe after a beer or two,” I said, raising my bottle to her as she left.

  “I guess she’s still mad,” Roger mused, looking at his pop can and fiddling with the tab.

  I paused, waiting to see if he’d say more.

  “I suppose she told you I dated her sister Penny some years back?”

  “She did, yes.”

  “And that it didn’t end well.”

  “I’d heard something along those lines.”

  “Did she say I freaked out and punched a hole in the wall, after her sister came back to my place after driving to and from a wild party in the woods?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did that disturb you,” he asked.

  “I’m surprised you want to know.” I didn’t know if I wanted to bring up the accident, but I asked. “Was it because of your … sister?”

  “Yes. Penny drove up and down a deserted country road to get to a party at some cabin in the woods. You know Trunk Road, right?”

  “It’s pretty dark. Isolated. With sharp curves.”

  “Exactly. Well, she drove there, while drunk, on a rainy night.”

  I sucked air in between my teeth and took a small sip of my beer. Trunk Road, despite being lightly populated with houses – only some of them occupied – every half mile or so it had a couple roadside memorials that families maintained.

  It also wasn’t the only road in the area where reckless drivers had perished. If you thought that wintry roads were the big danger to drivers up north, you’d be mistaken. It isn’t like it is downstate or even down south. Even Michigan’s unpredictable weather is at least predictable in its irregularity.

  Up here the danger is bored teens speeding down dark country roads, or a kid rounding a curve too fast late at night after a wild party, or someone making a long commute to and from college and falling asleep behind the wheel after a long day in classes.

  I waited for him to continue.

  “She drove back to my place, really late at night, drunk, and I had been home alone, drinking by myself. Back then, for a couple years after my sister died, I would drink. A lot. And often. I’d have a beer before going to class at college. I’d keep a flask in pocket and take drinks throughout the day. When I was under twenty-one, I knew where I had the best shot at getting served. I tried to stay somewhere between lightly buzzed and totally blitzed, thinking if I was numb enough …” he paused.

  “You’d feel okay?” I interrupted.

  “Yes. Then when I saw her show up like that that one night, I lost it. I didn’t want her to meet the same fate as my sister.

  “I should have waited until she sobered or until I cooled down. Instead I exploded, yelling and hollering and punching the walls. She got scared and locked herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out.”

  “Jeez,” I mumbled, looking in front of me as I avoided eye contact. I was touched that he was being so raw and so honest, but that he had such an extreme reaction scared me a bit, too. “Please tell me you didn’t kick open the door.”

  “I did,” he said, looking down while furiously running one hand over the top of his head. He suddenly showed a lot of interest in the names carved into the bar top.

  I didn’t say anything. It was uncomfortable to hear, difficult to imagine. I waited to see if he’d volunteer more.

  “She screamed when I kicked the door down and I came at her. I didn’t even know what I was going to do. I wanted to make her see, to make her promise that she wouldn’t do this kind of thing again and risk dying on me. She just cried and threw up, mostly on herself. For a second I felt dead sober and saw that I was just terrifying her. I backed off and returned to the living room and kept on d
rinking until I passed out.

  “When I woke the next morning, Penny was gone.

  “I called her,” he said, “to make sure she was okay, and to say I was sorry. She said she would be okay if I never called her again.”

  “And did you listen?”

  “Not at first. I went to her place a few times, trying to apologize, promising never to do it again. She told her parents, and they told me to stay away. Eventually I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t doing me any good, and I started going to AA.”

  “So, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

  “Why do you come to this place?” I asked Roger, waving my arms and drawing out the word place, as if it was something loathsome, with its torn vinyl chairs, stained carpet, and half burnt-out Christmas lights lining the bar.

  He looked around. “Why do you come here?” he asked in reply.

  Touche. “My friend and I are having a night out.”

  “As am I. I’m not here to get drunk or lucky. I’m kind of hoping you’re not, either.” He smiled slightly as he waved around the room. It was an attempt at levity and I grinned in response.

  “Nope. Not even with Scott,” I said.

  “That’s right. You two used to date. You still seem like you’re on good terms, though.”

  “We are, but I don’t want to go through the making and breaking up saga again. I’d rather have him as a friend.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  I waited, wondering if Roger would add something more, but he didn’t. I returned to why he came here. “But, why do you come here,” I paused, chewing on the words. I wanted to be blunt, but couldn’t bring myself to. Not without another beer or two in me.

  “You want to know why an alcoholic is at a bar? Especially at this place, which opens at seven a.m., right?”

  I didn’t say a word, but nodded slowly, my cheeks flushed red in response.

  “I come here because, one, I like to shoot a game of pool with Scott.

  “I also come here because sometimes I don’t want to go home to an empty house, and a half hour in here usually makes me better appreciate what I’ve got.

  “But I also come in to remind myself why I don’t want to drink ever again. Look at these people,” he gestured, waving his hand in a circle, as if showing off the room. “There are some nice people here, sure, but Olive O’Rourke over there, at the end of the bar, she comes in nearly every night and drinks so much that she ends up wetting herself and staggering to her apartment across the street.”

  “I guess that’s why everyone is giving her a wide berth,” I said.

  “Jim Monroe over there,” he continued, “is missing half his teeth because he often gets into a fight with someone at closing time.

  “Eddie Baker, over by the jukebox,” he pointed. “He’s had countless DUIs and has a permanent limp from the time he crashed into a telephone pole after having a few too many.

  “And Doris Stroud, over by the dart board, has lost custody of her four young children – all under the age of nine – because she left them alone for three days while she went on a bender. And it was not the first time she’d left them alone.

  “That’s why I come here. When I have a bad day or I’m feeling like I might want to break down and have a drink – or ten – I come in here, and they serve as sad reminders of why I should just have a cup of coffee or a can of pop instead.”

  “Did you have a bad day today?” I asked him. “Is that why you’re here tonight?”

  He shook his head. “Today was a good day.” He looked at me and smiled shyly. “I just wanted to gab with Scott for a bit is all.”

  I was quiet, contemplating. “Those are some sad stories,” I agreed. “Do you ever think of … helping them?”

  “They know my story. They know I don’t drink. If they wanted help or a sponsor, I’d do what I could. But you can’t force someone to clean up. They have to decide that on their own.”

  “Like when Tom got caught roadside celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, and leaving my mom in the woods?”

  “Exactly. I don’t make it a point to talk about my AA buddies, but Tom took that incident pretty hard.”

  “I know. He was pretty down about it.” Especially about forgetting my mother. While I did laugh about it, mainly because no one got hurt, I still knew I wouldn’t want to be in the woods trying to take care of business, especially when it’s still wintertime, and then come to find out that my ride was gone. “My mom was pretty angry. If you know my mom …” I started.

  “I’ve met her a couple times. From what Tom says she’s a bit of a …” he paused, trying to find the right word.

  “Let’s just say she didn’t appreciate being forgotten. Trust me. That’s a real kick in the teeth for her.”

  All of a sudden I felt Trish’s hand on my shoulder. She had a full beer in hand, and a happy, glazed look in her eyes. “Boner!” she cackled.

  “What?” I said, turning to her. “Do we need to get you a Diet Coke so you can pace yourself?”

  “No, I mean ‘Boner’ is here,” she replied, turning and pointing to a fiftysomething man by the dart board.

  “Boner?” Roger said, craning his neck and peering in the direction Trish pointed.

  “Oh god, it is Boner,” I groaned.

  “Are you pointing to Jack Aho? Why is he called Boner?”

  “Aho? Is that seriously his name? I had heard him referred to as Jack before, but I didn’t realize that was his last name.” Trish reared back and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Why are you calling him that?” Roger persisted.

  “This Jack guy,” I started, “has a peculiar habit. Women who sit next to him, when they turn their heads to talk to their friend or the waitress, he’ll grab their hand and place it on his, well, area that has experienced some swelling, shall we say.”

  Roger was silent for a moment. “Okay then.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’d never heard of him doing that.”

  “Well,” Trish answered. “You’re not his target audience.”

  “Has he ever tried that on you two?” Roger asked.

  “Oh yes,” we said in unison.

  “Poppy and I first came in here as college freshmen,” Trish began. “Jack made small talk with us and bought us shots.”

  “We were thrilled because we were underage and were drinking liquor. In a real bar, no less,” I continued.

  “Then,” Trish continued, “as he pointed out something across the room, while Poppy was looking, he grabbed her hand and put it on his junk. His erect junk, I should add. She was so surprised she screamed.”

  “You screamed?” Roger said, amusement lighting up his features.

  “He scared me,” I admitted.

  “That’s not all there is to it.”

  “There’s more?” Roger asked.

  “It was Poppy’s first,” Trish said knowingly, then took a long pull on her beer.

  “First what?” Roger asked, clueless. “Oh wait,” he said, recognition setting in.

  “I’d never … touched one … before,” I confessed, covering my eyes with my hand as I felt my cheeks again flood with color. “He caught me by surprise. He grabbed my hand and before I knew it,” I trailed off. “For a couple seconds I didn’t even know what I had my hand on, and then when I figured it out, I shrieked. Are you happy now?” I groused, turning to Trish.

  “Well, that’s understandable,” Roger said. “I don’t think anyone ever expects someone to try that. It’s kind of sweet in a weird way, Poppy, the way you reacted. Like, you were so … innocent … that you didn’t even know what was happening.”

  “My hand felt a lot less innocent after that, let me tell you.”

  “I seem to remember you running to the bathroom to wash your hands,” Trish continued.

  “Well, it was out, and it was, um, angry.”

  Roger looked mortified. “As in, out of his pants?”

  I nodded vi
gorously, warming to the attention Roger was paying me.

  “Then when Poppy ran into the bathroom, I was looking to see where she was going, he grabbed my hand and put it on his hard-on,” Trish said. “I figured out why she reacted that way and followed her.”

  “And you washed your hands, too,” I added.

  “Of course, I knew where that pecker had just been,” Trish joshed, bumping my elbow to tease me.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny. It was probably cleaner after touching my innocent hand, mind you. Like touching a unicorn or something, where my then-virginal fingers purified him.”

  Trish snorted. “Nothing can purify old Boner there. When we were in the bathroom talking about it, two other women were in the stalls, and they came out and knew all about Jack, said he had tried that on them, too. So, we started referring to him as Boner.”

  Trish downed the rest of her beer, and looked at the empty bottle for a long moment.

  “Poppy?”

  “Yes?”

  “You won’t be mad, you promise?”

  “What is it?” I had a feeling I knew what was up.

  “That weed – I took a couple more drags off Scott’s pipe while I was visiting him at the pool table – paired with these beers are making me really sleepy.”

  “You want to go home?”

  “Yes,” her shoulders sagged in relief. “Can you take me?”

  “Of course,” I told her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, tiredness quickly staking its claim on her.

  I turned to Roger. “Well, good night. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

  “Do you need me to follow?”

  I shook my head. “No need. I’ll just drive Trish’s car home and we’ll do a switch-around in the morning.”

  “How about if I follow you to her place,” Roger said. “I can then take you home in my truck. That would save time and an extra trip tomorrow,” he reasoned.

  “That would be nice, but we don’t want to interrupt your evening,” I started.

  “It’s no problem at all. And I’ve just been drinking pop. I’m assuming you’re okay to drive, Poppy? You just had the one beer, right?”