by J. S. Brent
‘You should come. I’m trying to get Jimmy laid.’ I said eagerly.
‘Nah. I’ll drink with you, though.’ He said, sitting down with us.
‘Alright. There are three of us…’ I started.
‘Who put this shit on?’ John asked, looking at my laptop.
‘Jimmy. Anyway. There are three of us. Drinking game?’ I continued. They both nodded. I stood and walked over to my laptop and opened up my personal statement. ‘I’ll read it out…’
‘Fucking what?’ Jimmy asked.
‘My personal statement. Anyway. I’ll read it out. Any cliché. Anything pretentious. Any quote. Any obvious bullshit. Drink. Then it’s your turns. Oh and, any use of the word ‘passion’.’ I grinned. I had wanted to do this for a while.
‘Ooh sounds fun. After you.’ John said. I took a deep breath after a swig of my drink.
‘Ever since I was young I’ve had a deep fascination with Literature.’ They both drank. I had a disappointed smile across my face. ‘I’ve always had a deep passion for how every book fits into a Zeitgeist and how they all link with each other.’
‘That’s got to be at least two.’ John laughed and half downed his first bottle.
‘I found this when I was reading American Psycho and Treasure Island. Both are studies about a group of men where there are riches involved, both with a conflicted, psychopathic antagonist or protagonist.’
‘That actually makes sense.’ Jimmy said.
‘Pretentious.’ John overruled, before drinking.
‘This led me to researching the study of evil in Psychology and Literature. ’ Nobody drank. ‘Nietzsche stated that…’ They both drank.
‘Please, skip the philosophy, I get enough of it in my degree.’ John said.
‘Alright. Just take three drinks.’ I said, before finding a place where I could continue. ‘Here we go. I find the development into a modernist interpretation of evil from that of late Middle Age Morality Plays fascinating.’
‘Fuck off.’ John said, sipping his drink. Jimmy followed him with his bottle.
‘Everyman is a play that I find extremely interesting. This is due to the fact that it doesn’t portray morality in black and white, in spite of its emotionally and morally primitive origin. The difference between the play and a more modern view of morality is that it is displayed externally. In contemporary fiction, the morality struggle is often internalised.’
John shrugged, before drinking.
‘Continue.’ He said.
‘This is often how you can find the protagonist. Most contemporary protagonists will commit worse crimes than their counterpart, but it will be vindicated by his or her internal moral struggle, hence a developing Zeitgeist that romanticises psychopaths. Their lack of moral struggle makes them the perfect monster.’
‘You could have just said ‘their’. Not ‘his or her’.’ John said.
‘Word-count.’ I replied.
‘Yeah, but what about where the protagonist is a psychopath?’ Jimmy asked, not drinking.
‘I’m getting to that. This creates the paradox where the protagonist is a psychopath, creating a need to look back in the Literary Continuum and draw from plays that externalise a moral struggle, like Everyman.’
‘Literary Continuum?’ John scoffed before opening a second bottle.
‘Ultimately it can be said that plays like Everyman are a staple point in modern Literature, as they still ‘Psychoanalyse’, but in a pre-Freudian way.’ I paused. ‘Don’t worry, ‘Psychoanalyse’ has quotes around it, it wasn’t anachronistic.’
‘Just for that comment…’ John drank.
‘The characters of Everyman are often virtues or abstract nouns, characters that in contemporary fiction would often be either internalised or portrayed through mental illness, hence the creation of many stories regarding Dissociative Identity Disorder.’
‘Just for using the actual name…’ John and Jimmy drank.
‘Everyman is confronted with his virtues and goods or lack thereof, only to find out that he can only take his good deeds into the next life. The play doesn’t condemn him, as may be expected, instead it shows his journey to redemption and enlightenment, a framework that is still consistently used today.’
‘Pfft.’ John drank.
‘Then it just talks about guitar and shit.’ I said, ignoring a large section of it.
‘How the fuck did you get in?’ Jimmy laughed. John joined in.
‘Must’ve been the grades.’ I said, slowly. ‘Anyway, you’re turn.’ I said to John.
‘No way.’ He said. ‘I’d rather play Never Have I Ever.’
‘Jimmy?’ I asked.
‘I don’t have it.’ He said.
‘Ring of Fire? You can do that with three people, right?’ I asked.
‘Kind of.’ John considered it. ‘Never Have I Ever, though.’
‘John. We already know what everyone else has done. It’s more fun with people you hardly know, because then you can drop people in it.’ I said.
‘Yeah, true.’ He said. ‘You two could probably just go.’
Jimmy nodded, excitedly. ‘In fact...’ He started, placing his beer next to him on the floor. ‘…If you go now, I’ll come too.’ John said, uplifted.
‘Great.’ I said, torn between genuine excitement and apprehension. John and Jimmy were my only real male friends, but that night something felt wrong. It was a familiar feeling of having no idea what to do or say.
And so we began our great pilgrimage to the bar on the bridge. You could dance in there or you could just talk. It had three levels. The smoking area was on the bottom one. The dancefloor on the middle. The bar area on the top.
We stopped at the corner-shop on the way. Jimmy waited outside as John and I walked in.
Alcohol always affected John in a strange way. He never seemed to be drunk, but would always ask us about what had happened the night before.
‘Hey, Mister!’ The man serving behind the counter said as he saw me behind John. ‘Nothing for you?’ He asked as he collected John’s cigarettes.
‘Not tonight.’ I said back.
‘Nine pounds thirty-five, please.’ He said to John. ‘Next time, then.’ He called out to me.
‘Maybe.’ I said to myself.
If I was successful in my crusade to quit, I would miss that shop. It was on the hill and inside you were greeted with bright white lights and expensive alcohol. It was like walking into a millionaire’s fridge. The food was hidden away along the aisles. People never went there for food. The alcohol was only expensive because it was the closest shop to the colleges on the hill. The food was dirt cheap.
‘Need a piss?’ John asked me as we left the shop. I nodded, grinning.
‘If you mean what I think you mean.’ I said. John clasped my hand. ‘Wait here, Jimmy.’ I said, following John to our regular night out toilet.
There was a blind spot from any cameras in the car park behind the police station. You could stand there and it felt like you were genuinely pissing on the establishment. We had tried the spot behind the lecture halls but had felt guilty since we never went to any lectures, anyway. Had we have been to lectures and hated them, that would have been a different story.
Even then, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the police’s fault. They had been voted the best service in the country which, admittedly, was probably because of an almost complete lack of crime. As I stood in the cold night wind, I looked up at the building in front of me. It was just a building. It wasn’t a symbol or metaphor for some form of oppressive regime and I doubted that John had ever committed a crime in his life. Other than public exposure, of course.
I finished up. ‘Come on.’ I said.
‘Wait, wait. I’m doing a smiley face.’ John said. The translucent yellow liquid hit the wall in dark splashes, leaking down to make the face look as if it was in tears. ‘I’m done.’ He said, zipping up his trousers.
We emerged from the car park, only to see that Jimmy was waiting
just outside, he startled both of us.
‘Drugs?’ He asked.
‘Yeah, behind the fucking police station.’ I replied sardonically.
‘This ain’t Amsterdam, Jimmy.’ John said, putting his hand out for me to high five it. I hesitated a moment before I sealed the silent contract.
When we got to the bar it was practically empty. The house lights could’ve been on because everything was visible in front of me, making the place seem smaller than I had remembered it. John immediately made his way to the bar and Jimmy and I followed. There were a couple of people in fancy dress either side of us.
‘What d’you twats want, then?’ John asked, his elbows rested on the bar behind him.
‘Double vodka lemonade.’ I said. Jimmy nodded in agreement.
‘I’ll get you a triple.’ John said, turning to the bar. His shoulders tightened. ‘Erm, excuse me…’ The barmaid towered over him. She had two thick tattoo sleeves. ‘Yes, hi, three triple vodka lemonades, please.’
‘We don’t do triples.’ She said gruffly, chewing her gum.
‘Doubles are fine.’ John said, smiling nervously.
When he had the drinks he made his way back to Jimmy and me. ‘They don’t do triples so we should fucking down these.’ He said. I wasn’t going to say ‘no’. Jimmy should’ve said ‘no’, but it wasn’t my place to stop him. I looked forward to taking him home that night.
For me, the drink went down easily, but the look on the faces of the other two showed a flash of disgust. I finished mine, first.
‘Obviously a seventies night, then.’ I said, as the other two tortured themselves trying to swallow their drinks harder and quicker. John looked around when he finally finished his drink.
‘Oh yeah.’ He said, only just noticing the people in flares and wide collars.
Jimmy finished his drink.
I needed a cigarette. The urge was burning through my head, pounding against my skull. It would either be lungs filled with corrupted ash and tar or the second worse headache that I had ever had. I tried to shake off the urge by lurching towards the dancefloor. I knew that I was drunker than I felt.
John and Jimmy shrugged and followed me.
Song after song played as the poster girl for the LGBT society in Durham span her records in her booth. She was in her seventies drag, playing her seventies songs. John said that it was anachronistic but I thought her liberation fitted in with a time of upheaval and social change. Gradually as she played more and more obscure songs the place filled and the lights seemed to get brighter and brighter as shadows fell flat upon the dancefloor.
It took a while until the dancefloor was full. I knew the specific times to get into every club and bar in Durham to miss the queue and to only have to wait a few minutes until the place filled up. Only Jimmy ever listened to me about that, though.
I didn’t recognise anyone there. They could have been locals or just second and third years. I wasn’t planning on pulling, anyway, and Jimmy was in no state to bring anybody home, so all we did was dance. John nodded his head to the beat with his hands in his pockets, Jimmy swayed freely as if the music was the breeze and I had my hands in the air. In that moment I was enjoying myself, even if I was craving a cigarette.
I decided to get another drink at the bar. I knew that it would make me consciously want to smoke more, but it might have suppressed the physical, psychological ‘need’ for a cigarette. I left Jimmy and John, promising them I’d be right back, through slurred words.
There was a wall of bodies at the bar. I decided to brave it and push through to one end.
I got very used to the sights of the mirrors and the bottles behind the bar as the people serving ran back and forth serving everyone except from me. I got more and more agitated. There was a moment where someone with a deliberately dirty look pushed through next to me, looked me in the eye, and then got served immediately.
I was leaning on the entrance to the bar. I got moved back and forth a lot. One time I was shoved to the side. They could see that I was waiting but I was still not served.
I checked my watch. I was drunk enough to not realise how much time had passed.
People came and went. It was like watching a time-lapse of a busy highway. The lights blurring in flashes of reds and oranges as they sped past, changing lanes to try to get to the best spot, leaving slower than they had arrived.
‘Are you being served?’ Someone eventually asked me, yelling over the sounds of the crowd.
‘No.’ I said, trying to stay calm. ‘No, I’m not.’ I smiled.
‘What can I get for you?’
‘Two double vodka lemonades, please.’ I was making up for lost time. She smiled and nodded, before turning away and mixing my vodka with an energy drink called Remedy. I couldn’t believe that I had to pay for this shit.
After I picked up my two drinks and immediately headed to the smoking area.
John stood there, alone, smoking. He didn’t retrieve the cigarette from his mouth he just left it hanging there as he inhaled and exhaled the poisonous smog. I downed my first drink, before crushing the plastic cup and throwing it on the floor. I walked over to him.
‘Where’s Jimmy?’ I asked, taking a sip out of my second drink.
‘Huh?’ John spun towards me. ‘Oh, toilet, probably.’ He exhaled into my face before apologising. When his cigarette was finished he just opened his mouth enough to let it drop and trod on it. ‘Listen. Can you hold these while I go to the toilet?’ He passed the box of cigarettes and the lighter to me.
I took them apprehensively, before putting them into my pocket. I knew what John was trying to do.
‘Hi there.’ A voice said from behind. It sounded tentative. When I turned around I saw her. I was slightly shocked. The dress she wore was tight and her small leather jacket hung over her perfect shoulders, her perfect blonde hair falling softly onto it. ‘Have you got a light?’
‘Of course I do.’ I said, drawing out John’s lighter and holding it under her perfectly rolled cigarette. The paper caught alight, the tobacco inside it turning from a dark brown to a fiery orange.
‘Aren’t you smoking?’ I paused a moment.
‘I just had one.’ I paused. ‘Why are you back so early?’
‘I broke up with my boyfriend.’ She said, batting her eyelids at me. I looked away. This was the same boyfriend she had left me for in the Christmas holidays.
‘Maybe we’re too drunk for…’
‘For what? We’re just having a conversation, aren’t we?’ She drunkenly swayed from side to side.
‘I should get back to my friends.’ I said, stumbling back inside.
‘I’ll be right here.’ She said after me.
I sprinted into the toilet. Nobody was in there. I couldn’t see them on the dancefloor. It was packed. I pushed through the wall of sweat and limbs. Nobody. I made my way back up to the bar. Shit. I checked my phone. Nothing.
‘Tequila shot.’ I yelled at the bar. Someone much bigger than me turned to me and gave me a look. ‘Fuck off, it’s been a long day.’ I said. He went back to talking to his friends.
I hated tequila. The second it went down my stomach set alight. I needed fresh air. I felt like I was going to be sick. I lurched back into the smoking area. She was still there. She was lighting another cigarette with her own lighter.
‘Back already?’ She asked.
‘Just need fresh air.’ I said, swallowing the thick air around me.
‘Tequila, right?’ She asked, smiling.
‘Not now.’
‘Oi!’ A voice called from beyond the barriers of the smoking area. It was John and Jimmy.
‘Where the fuck did you go?’ I barked, she leant away from me.
‘We were just going to an actual club.’ John replied. ‘You’re not smoking.’
‘I told you I fucking quit.’ I almost yelled. The bouncer gave me a look.
‘You quit?’ She asked.
‘Yes.’ I fought back the vomit.
‘You coming?’ John asked.
‘Why?’ She asked.
‘Hey, Tom!’ Jimmy yelled. I started to breathe heavily.
‘You should have one to relax.’ She said.
‘I don’t need to fucking relax, I’m fine.’ The bouncer made his way to me.
‘How are you?’ Jimmy yelled, dancing on the spot.
‘Come with us.’ John called to me.
‘Should we go?’ She asked.
‘Yes.’ A deep, heavy voice boomed next to me.
The next thing I knew I was outside of the smoking area. I can’t remember if I was thrown out or if I left at my own accord.
‘Is she coming? You should fucking come.’ Jimmy asked her, lengthening the word ‘come’. John gave him a look. Jimmy didn’t know about her. We had met after the dust had appeared to settle on that phase of my life.
‘I’d love to.’ She said, grasping my hand and dragging me under the bridge towards the club. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’ She whispered in my ear.
Jimmy and John trailed behind. I heard John talking with a stern voice, only to be met with laughter from Jimmy.
Jimmy caught up to us.
‘It’s not a seventies night in there. They should be playing good fucking music.’ He said.
‘Tom knows all about good fucking music.’ She said. Jimmy laughed monotonously.
‘I like seventies music.’ I muttered to myself.
‘Perfect. A long queue.’ She said. ‘We can do a lot of talking.’ She looked up at me. It started to rain.
‘Hey, John, how’s philosophy?’ I asked him, turning away from her.
‘Shit.’ He said.
‘Jimmy. Read the poems?’ I tried.
‘Yes.’ He said.
‘Any good?’
‘No.’ He responded.
‘So, has there been anyone since me?’ She asked, stroking my arm.
‘No.’ I blurted out. ‘I felt too guilty.’ Shit. I was too drunk to tell any lies.
‘You could always make it up to me.’ She drew in closer to me.
‘I’m going through a lot at the moment. It’s a bad time.’
‘It wasn’t great timing last time.’ She whispered in my ear.
My only shot was to pretend to be too drunk to get in.
