When You Find Yourself Awake at 3 AM After Halcyon Wednesday
Page 2
*****
“You know, we’re six months in, shouldn’t we have a song?” I ask Holl’, we’re sitting in a corner booth at the youthfully injected bar, Adobe Gilas. Authors note: I can’t fucking stand Adobe Gilas, but, I can stand Holly.
“You’re such a girl…”
“Come on, what song defines us?”
“How about the next song that plays?” Holly, for the entire bed wetting thing wasn’t bad being a creative.
“OK.” I say. We wait for “Insertfavoritejourneysonggivennewfamebygleehere” to end, and there it was, the lyrics that would define us of Return of the Mack; irony, you callous bitch, I tip my hat to you.
*****
I down my third whiskey sour and now that I’m feeling a little less pretentious I order a Jaegar Bomb. It tastes like finals due tomorrow and an episode of degrassi, but it settles me nerves better than half a shot glass of sour with drips of whiskey ever could. I think of the next rule in my messiah Derek’s gospel, Try to abstain from alcohol, it may lead to mistakes, Holy foreshadowing Batman! Were you ever right. The easy part is the consumption, how it numbs the thoughts and loosens the tongue. I want her to leave. I want the ghosts to get going. The problem with that is I fear everything I gained since I met her would somehow dissipate if I get over her, when she found me I was still working myself into the ground, afraid to go back to school for the thought of failing miserably, but, three dates in and I’m applying to finish my degree, I’m making something of myself, I’m suddenly something worth believing in. When she found me, I was twenty four going on twelve, but now I was good enough, I was strong enough and doggonnit’ people liked me! Sitting there, staring at the hints of escape still lying about the bottom of my glass I hope I never needed the feather to fly.
“Hi.” Oh, right, Tammy. I forgot I should probably bring her back up at some point.
“Hello?” I say, or ask, or something.
“I’m Tammy, Whatcha drinkin?” I stare at my drink for a moment and think of any way a twenty-five year old man could explain drinking a Jaegar bomb.
“Scotch.” I say.
“Cool.” She says. I know, the conversation is just edible isn’t it?
*****
I’ve never been good with the pick-up, and I sure as hell wasn’t playing at anything with Tammy. I was at best a mediocre conversation followed by a sub-par lay, and wrapping everything together with a stellar job of doing dishes in the morning. I was also, very, very horrible at talking, as my dear friend and compatriot Dan the Action Man could tell you. I called him Dan the Action Man because of the belt he wore that was made out of imitation bullets and the clasp a picture of two six-shooters. He tried to assure me that it wasn’t because he’d been prepared to load the belt into a pistol and take down Hanz Grubner while screaming “AMURIKA” but because it was fashionable, I could never be sure. Anyway, the other week Dan decided to take me out to a college party at Ohio State, because he’s still a student and I’m still mostly a teenager. It’s a house party, where I play the part of oddly placed his-hair-feels-neat guy, and walk around with a beer in hand while Dan chats up anyone who will give him the time of day. I think of how I’d rather be anywhere else but as he’d been my ride I decide to just try and enjoy myself and not cramp Action-Dan’s style, who while having no style had even less with me standing beside him. I wander around until I reach a couch with four women sitting; one crying Four Loco tears while the others console her. They’re young and sad, and for a moment, a very brief and fleeting and other repetitive word moment I imagine all the things that could be wrong with her. Maybe she just got the news her grandmother died, maybe she’s a theater major and practicing for a role, maybe she’s a democrat and reliving the primary election, maybe she’s a republican and just googled Herman Cane, whatever it was it probably outweighed the sadness of losing a woman who chose grad-school over a relationship with you. I really was a self-indulgent son of a bitch, I realize, but as I mentioned, the moment is fleeting and vanishes when Dan puts a hand over my shoulder to say,
“Dude, you’re doing that staring thing again, it’s creepy.” I give a nod and start darting my eyes around, and since then it feels like all I ever do, not fixing on anything, not connecting, not letting myself care for the detached person on the couch.
*****
I’ve worked my way outside of the bar and get some air to feel Roy wrap his arm around my shoulder laughing violently. He won’t shut-up, the world won’t stop spinning and I just want to call it a night. He tells me how cool I’m doing, how hard it is to break up, especially considering (if I’d forgotten to mention) they dated for four years. It’s while Roy is rambling on that she walks out, blond streaks of hair fumbling about her face, Tammy. She walks over to us and pulls out a cigarette. I’m out and want another, and Roy won’t shut up so I want a reason to stay outside while he goes back.
“Can I bum a smoke?” I ask, she smiles and walks up to me, putting a hand on my shirt just above my navel.
“What are you going to do for it?”
I don’t know what it was, my crooked teeth, my less than pleasurable atmosphere of judgment and self-deprecation, or maybe my parental-rage-inducing skin complexion but I see that Tammy and her Vodka lips want me. I want anything and anyone to make me forget about Holl. I lean in and kiss her, this woman with the beautiful smoke, I give her my nothing for a cigarette, and it’s all I have.
*****
So here I am, sitting with her, Roy and the couple collective nowhere in sight. There is just us. My harpy stops to stare at me and I don’t know why until she wipes a tear from under my eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah let’s just,” I lean in but she gently shoves me back and I obey.
“No, what’s wrong?” What’s wrong is I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t stop thinking this is the last place I should be. I can’t stop thinking of Holl. She gets up and walks over to the door, touching on the knob, turning it half way, “What’s going on, or you have to go.” I could tell her, I could trust a stranger like no one else but I snatch my pants from the ground and slide them back on, stuffing my socks in my pockets and slipping my shoes on. I could tell her everything that she wasn’t which made her everything I need her to be, but I pull over my hoodie and reach for the last of my PBR. I could tell her, but I shouldn’t break any more rules and pile my mess on her already less than cleanly apartment.
“Let’s just forget it.” I say, and leave. She rolls her eyes as I escape. I’m weak, I’m wanting, and I’m still not sure if things will ever change.