by Mark McCann
A Tapless Shoulder
By Mark McCann
Also by Mark McCann:
Painting Shadows .. 2001
This .. 2010
A Tapless Shoulder .. 2012
copyright © 2012 Mark McCann
all rights reserved
First Edition
ISBN 978-0-9868970-6-1
Author’s Acknowledgements:
I wish to thank my parents for their endless support, my proud sisters, my wife and family, Gary Anthony for our conversations regarding various books and Christine Callahan-Oke for writing the summary for A Tapless Shoulder.
NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Characters, places and events are all either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my wife, Andrea, for everything all at once
Here begins a thank you I will never finish
Chapter 1 … Are You Kidding Me?!
A person I assumed to be a friend – as they had phoned my number and knew my name – told me in a panicked whisper to meet them at a bar I knew downtown and hung up.
Okay, fine. I had some guesses as to who it might have been, but they were like grains of salt tossed over the wrong shoulder. What else was I going to do, maybe text, ‘what the fuck,’ to everyone I knew, forgoing the usual abbreviation for greater literal impact.
So I went to this place downtown called Raises The Bar, sat at a table in an obvious place and waited for someone to arrive. Not only did an hour go by without any such arrival, there was an additional one after that, which meant I was well on my way to waiting for a third. And still no one arrived, certainly no one in a hurry to meet me there. One thing I did know: I had been drinking from the moment I sat down. There was a moment when I thought I would enjoy nachos, and so hastily ordered some, but the beer had me and I had it, and much of the nachos remained.
I hadn’t known I would be waiting so long, certainly not this long. What was I to do, pace the room? No, so I did what most would have done, over and over, so, yes, for nearly three hours I ordered beer after beer. I was human; I followed human protocol and, if anything, impatiently waited, and by impatiently I of course mean drunkenly, yes, I drunkenly waited for something to unravel the way any normal person might have. For all I knew I was sitting in the middle of someone else’s emergency, which was something to be very nervous about; emergencies have been known to cancel people out. Who wouldn’t drink, given the situation? And while some may deem my decision irresponsible, the only thing more irresponsible would be to phone someone, desperate for help, and not even show up.
My train of thought derailed when I began to realize I was being messed with or that something more and more serious was keeping someone away from being able to get here. I didn’t know if that angered me or had me worried, and that pissed me off, which kind of helped with that decision. So then I knew how I felt about the situation and could no longer stand being there. I was even no longer certain I could literally stand there, had I moved my bottom from the soft concave of the seat and tried. I laughed, and thought, ‘what bullshit, I can stand anywhere.’ I moved like I just might get up, but instead the glass was at my lips, as my thoughts thought it unwise to stand while drinking, and by the time I set the glass down I'd forgotten why I was about to stand up anyway.
With my drink finished, my waiter asked if I cared for anything else. I checked the time on my phone, which wandered in front of my eyes even when held really still. I looked at the door, at the waiter, at my empty glass, at the waiter’s shoes, at my pants, at the door, at my phone, at the waiter’s expectant face, and back at my empty glass again. I ordered one more, with a coffee for good measure, as if that would have certainly thrown him off my being incredibly drunk. He went away while I sat smiling like I’d just gotten away with something.
Oh, look at you and your smug face. I arrived way before you. No, I don’t know when, but I know it was well before dark. And where the hell were you then, huh? Do you think this is what I really want to be doing on a – whatever today is? Yes, Thursday, thank you phone.
I was looking at the window I could no longer see through, taunting the reflection of myself. That was indicator number ninety-seven that I was very drunk. And since reasons one through ninety-six went without saying; it was safe to say I was in terrible shape. Indicator number ninety-eight was that I was telling all this to my reflection in the stupid window. I watched myself as I shook my head, not even sure if it was at me or at the window.
We’d made our way through the night, jumping from glass to glass, I reflected, and now you order a coffee. I cast my head forward condescendingly. For what: decoration? If you wanted something for your other hand, you should have ordered a second beer; that brought a smile to my near-bearded face as I studied my attire. You don’t have much, but why do you try to look like you have even less? You’ve jeans at home without holes in the knees, shirts that don’t look like they’ve been worn for a thousand days straight, and even fancy five-blade razors that would make short work of that scruff on your face, yet here you are. I was laughing, apparently enjoying the company.
‘Since I got here first, I’m a little drunker than you,’ I confessed. ‘Uh, and while I have your attention,’ which of course meant my attention, ‘at what point exactly in the evening did we replace our concern for the situation at hand with fierce, drunken anger?’ Because my sentiment has long since turned to WHO THE HELL CAN BE DRUNK AT A TIME LIKE THIS – er, no, wait, that wasn’t to my advantage, I likely meant, WHO THE HELL CAN BE WORRIED AT A TIME LIKE THIS? Yeah, okay, well that wasn’t even better, but it tried to lend itself to the idea of something to do with purpose… maybe. I really would have preferred something a tad more… redeeming… intelligent… you name it, it’d be better. ‘Oh well, we blew that too, and I blame you,’ I concluded with a quick nod to myself. I shook my head again just to see it in the window.
It was official: if this night was meant to demonstrate my reliability or such, I’d failed enormously. Wait, not so! I leaned forward to scold the me I was staring at. You are here, and that is exactly what was asked of you. There was nothing indicative of any sort of desired condition. I could have been asleep, dancing, dancing asleep or farting while I peed, so long as it was within these walls; I’d held up my end. Hell, I thought, and looked at the door; if they show up now I’ll punch them in the eyes and yell, look at me.
Defining moments, I thought sarcastically, I’ll give you a defining moment. I paused thereabouts in my thoughts; wait. If this was a defining moment, then we were in pretty bad shape. I had internal dialogue going, external dialogue going and a ‘live feed’ of it all. ‘There is far too much going on here for someone sitting alone,’ I said with a wave of my hand toward the window.
Look at you; you arrived and dove shitfaced first into this. Like what was going on: were we still angry? You could hardly even look me in the eyes anymore. I laughed, ‘You are drunk,’ each word swollen from the effort. I’m drunk, you say, drunk, like it’s a three-syllable word. You say staple, like it or… silly… able, like you shut up; you look stupid. Um, staple? Wow, how‘d you even make it this far?
‘You are insane,’ I said harshly under my breath. I looked to my left, then my right. I had gotten lucky; no one was around. Had someone been there, I’d have likely been cut off for sure, my remaining drink pulled straight from my hand. I began to tilt the glass toward my open mouth… just in case.
I set the empty glass down. Well, that was just great; I was so drunk that not only had I started talking to a reflection, I’d ended up fighting with it too. Disgusted with both of us, I turned from the window and looked at my phone. I glanced back quickly; convi
nced you’d made a face. You hadn’t, unless that face was the face I was making. I got up and switched seats, so my back was to the window.
I turned my attention back to my phone, now more confused than ever, and mumbled into it, “Figure this shit out for me… I’ll be your best friend.”
There was a text I hadn’t noticed or even heard. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, and chimed, “Your fault.”
It was from my beautiful wife, Katie: Ding Ding wanted to watch a movie again, so I literally said, ok, I’ll start it over. He yelled at me, no, start it on.
After reading that three times I got why I should care and why it was funny. I replied: That’s awesome. He is funny without even trying. A lot of auto-correcting kicked in while I typed the words, but my intended thoughts finally came out intact. She would be none the wiser, I thought.
I smiled and lifted my head to look around, but the more I looked the more I began to frighten myself. It seemed financial, chronological and moral consequences didn’t completely taper the impulse to jump up and wreck a place. Maybe they did, maybe I just needed to re-evaluate my priorities. It sobered me somewhat to realize the bold seriousness these thoughts had hunkered down with, as I noted my inability to dance could only work to my advantage. And I would for sure cut myself on whatever that thing is, I thought as I stared at something of a statuesque nature that consisted of numerous, literally eye-poking, if one got close enough, pointed pieces. Maybe that was the point: maybe it was designed with deterring drunken unruliness in mind. What about drunken clumsiness? What if my balance maybe swayed and I over corrected myself right into that thing while attempting to walk by? Stupid thing, I thought, annoyed with it now, simply because of a hypothetical punk attitude.
Just to entertain curiosity, I wondered how far I would get if I did go clamouring about the room like an idiot. I looked around and sized up the few remaining occupants. There were a young couple, maybe on a date, on the other side of the bar from me, and then some older guys sitting on stools at the bar. Yes, there was no doubt about it; I had waited long enough. Maybe the wait wasn’t to blame, who knew, I couldn’t put a finger on it even if I tried. I slapped my hand on the table. There, sobriety test passed. I smiled to myself, and then thought, LAME.
Man, was I right; I was drunk, and knew the sooner I got myself home the better. I suddenly wished Katie was there with me, right then, right on my lap, why the hell not, wish away fish boy, all my thoughts bumped into each other as they stopped; I had meant “wish boy.”
I met Katie at a bar. She was much too proper, maybe, to be a one night stand, so I had to promise her forever. Neither of us was looking to meet someone, and had just been there as sidekicks to friends that were looking. We began talking and making fun of our friends, then anyone and everyone, ourselves included. Eventually, as our friends went off in cabs, we, jokingly and at the same time, said “Your place or mine.” We had been the designated drivers, but apparently our jobs had become obsolete. We went for coffee… the next morning. If I was texting this, I’d add a little wink right about here… ah, what the hell. ;)
When we weren’t speaking each other’s thoughts we were laughing wholeheartedly. The perfection of it all, the amazing little moments; made us feel like the leads in a great love story. It was so absolutely new and innocent. It hadn’t even occurred to me how she looked to me, which struck me as the oddest thing, and a sure sign that there was something special about her. I’d never had that: where I couldn’t gauge how someone struck me physically. It was all in our eyes, as though, during our conversation, our souls were talking and our bodies just happened to be between us.
At first we hadn’t a name for what was taking place, just the knowledge that it was definitely something. We watched it grow until it overtook simply everything. It was amazing just how quickly it was able to do that. Now it, which we referred to as, this, was a home and a happy life together with children.
It was with Katie in mind that I clumsily touched the screen on my phone like someone else was holding it. I navigated my way to our phone number while the room flopped itself from side to side like we were on a waterbed and I nearly yelled at a waitress, as she walked by, to stop bloody moving. I spoke with Katie. Told her I would come back with Steve tomorrow and get my car. I hung up. Not much of the conversation stayed with me and I wondered if it had gone well.
I was pretty sure I told her cars were stupid, and wondered why I’d said that when I was sitting there wishing I had one. It was about then that the obvious occurred to me. It wasn’t the car I needed; it was the sobriety I needed to drive it. That collection of logic came together at such an unfit pace, I wondered if alarm was possibly mistaken for leaving me there in the arms of my unstable self.
The moments were falling so far from one another now; nothing remained connected to reason. I tried to remember why I was there, and then wondered where the hell you had run off to, and, truthfully, for a brief moment, I hoped you were my ride. My phone rang and I looked at it; at the same time remembering who you were, and why we were no longer on speaking terms. It was Katie; I answered. She wondered why I hadn’t called her back. I wondered why I was supposed to. She told me she’d be leaving very shortly, and stressed sternly to watch for her.
I began to think slowly, like thoughts were something I dragged along, that if whoever had called me hadn’t survived their thing, well, I confided in myself, I probably did not really need them around. It just seemed to be a no-brainer to not want friends who couldn’t make it out of bad situations. Had they arrived, they may have just narrowly escaped their demise, and could even have brought worse with them to me. I didn’t need that. Perhaps it was working out for the best; I mean, I was drunk and any cares I had had all fallen wayside. The low point from where I sat now would have to have been the argument with myself, which was as much a haze now as the urgent phone call. Hell, I didn’t even care if my wife was furious with me, I thought recklessly, and then put that thought in a corner and quietly backed away.
Katie arrived and I walked toward the car, staggeringly fast, like it was the same direction my life happened to be moving in at that exact moment. Our two boys were in their car seats looking bewildered and excited. ADVENTURE, I wanted to yell at them, but felt it may have been in my best interest to just keep quiet. I sat in the car for the ride home thinking the drive might not have seemed so long if I had a better explanation for what had happened. For some reason I could have sworn I had more than just “Someone told me to meet them there and I got drunk, no, correction: they didn’t show, so I got drunk.” That last thought I added was apparently not beneficial at all to my case. The farther I was from everything the less it all became and the more I wanted to just lie down and sleep, mostly so I could get even farther away from it still.
While stopped at a light, a taxi stopped next to us. I looked over at it and after a moment laughed. Only then did it occur to me that I could have called a taxi to bring me home. I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand. I looked over at Katie, about to tell her my revelation, but didn’t when I saw the look on her face. Then I noticed flashing lights far down the road in the direction we wanted to go. I cleared my throat, “You should turn right up here; looks like there’s an accident down that way.”
“YEAH,” Ding Ding yelled, “they all peed their pants!”
Katie and I looked at each other and then burst into laughter.
Chapter 2 … C was for Cow
Ding Ding and I were putting a puzzle together. Knuckle Butt, his younger brother, slept soundly on the couch behind us. Over and over, I would hand Ding Ding a piece and he would try to figure out where to put it. Sometimes, I had to direct his gaze to a particular area of the puzzle, while other times I’d have to let him know to turn the piece around, usually telling him, “the other way,” several times until it was right. Katie worked afternoons at a factory where they made all sorts of metal shelving, so she was in the kitchen getting a lunch ready to take with her.
/> When Ding Ding tired of the puzzle he asked if we could watch a movie. I got up from my spot on the floor by the TV to turn it on. As I was about to press the power button I noticed spots of water on the TV stand. I looked around, wondering where they had come from, and then it occurred to me to look up at the window. There was water all along the trim. I raised the blinds, and more drops of water fell. My heart began to quicken. It seemed like a disaster was looming. I had seen commercials for a show about stuff like this; I may only have seconds to react, and I was so terribly ill-prepared for a disaster. I looked higher up, at the ceiling, finally piecing it together. I was slow and only wished I was slower if it meant more time before realizing the roof was leaking. Ten percent of my mind swore, and it echoed in the other ninety.
I inspected the wall; the paint was bubbling up and the trim around the window pulled away easily. Holy Q and the mother effing icebergs of HOLY CRAP, I thought, and then blurted out, “Fucking shit, fucking bullshit and hell balls of fucking shit.” There wasn’t much meaning to either, but is there ever? Katie hissed at me, and I made a motion with my hand that I intended to mean, I mixed something up there. She shook her head at me, and I… became confused, and just tried to close the doors on all things in my head not helping the situation, even as something like frustration ran around kicking them open. It went on like that for a while.
The water was running down the wall quicker now from the ceiling. I was furious and annoyed to no end; I wanted to put something through the window, climb out, and just go for a walk. I was new to owning a house. I hadn’t had things to really deal with yet, and if I hadn’t been new at it, I would have just been bad at it. I hauled the pieces of trim into the darkness of the garage. My inner dialogue muttered obscenities as I pulled everything away from the wall: television, stand, the cable box and game consoles that slid out of their spots in the unit in favour of staying attached to cables and plugs still in the wall. I was drastically slow to unplug them and carefully push them each back into their designated spaces. If I hadn’t; the only other thing I was capable of doing was lifting them above my head to throw them. I examined the bottom of the windowsill, directly above the outlet, where water was pooling, very near to running over the edge. Would it have simply popped the fuse or blown up a couple thousand dollars’ worth of stuff too? That had me thinking that if it ever all went to hell, be it hell came up to us or the sun went to hell with its head down, I knew I was dumping a pail of water on an electrical outlet.
