I had no idea they made hangovers this bad. the kind where you wake up everytime fifteen minutes, your cold sweat has stained your pillowcases yellow and the idea of death was somehow a very real possibility. They’ve gotten progressively worse over the past month, but that’s understandable. I haven’t had anything but cheap beer and whiskey for the past month. I haven’t left this room for...I’m not sure. Weeks maybe?
Every morning was the same routine. I woke up, grabbed the closest beer and thought about the last time I saw her. I would never forget that night. It was drizzling in Brooklyn and I rode my skateboard the near half-mile to her house. The only thing I could see from her window was her darkened outline against her green walls. "Tell me it’s him, and I’ll leave this town forever" I screamed, as the rain beaded on my face. "It’s him." she said. It was like she was not the person I had once known, but a shadow, disappearing before me. I remember the tears that ran down my face, the way they mixed with the rain. The way my skateboard drowned out the sobs I had been singing for the long ride home. I had been defeated.
I stumbled home that night, and I must have been rather loud, as my roommate knocked on my door the second I slammed it. "James, go away." "Let's have a beer" he said, as I heard him opening a can. "She dumped me. Four years, and she dumped me." I sat with my back against the door, holding back the tears, though they were fighting to get out. “More reason to have a drink" he said. I walked to the couch in my room and opened the mini-fridge. If I was having a drink, I’d be doing it alone.
The next morning, I awoke to a loud bang on my door. Thankfully it was locked. I sat up and looked in the mirror. My face was swollen, my eyes were red. I didn’t dare smell my breath. I’m pretty sure there was a good portion of last night that I had forgotten. "Lunch time!" James said through the door. "Piss off." I replied. "You need to eat something, you drunk." I slipped twenty dollars under the door. ""Buy me a sandwich. And a thirty case." "Dude, its noon." " DO IT!" I yelled as I threw the closest object at the door. And there was silence. A short time later there was another knock. I didn’t answer it right away, but when I eventually did, there was a bag. I pulled it into my room and locked the door. Sandwich and thirty beers, as I had asked. I cracked a beer and started to go over the events from the night before. It was going to be a long day.
I could bore you with the details of the following days, or maybe weeks. But there's not much there. Every day, I would put a 20 under the door, and later on, some sort of food and alcohol would be in front my door in the afternoon. Sometimes a sandwich, sometimes a burger. Sometimes a case of beer, sometimes a bottle of whiskey. Though all forms of communication with my roommate had been cut off, he understood. He provided my now necessary, "bare-essentials". My phone hadn’t worked for days, I didn’t bother turning on my computer. The outside world was done to me. I hadn’t seen daylight in forever, as I kept my shades down. All I had were those memories of her. And even though I cried everyday, it was all I needed. She was my everything. I couldn’t imagine falling in love with another girl, nor did I want to. If I had to spend the rest of my life holed up in this room, having my roommate buy me my food and alcohol, I was fine with that. It was better than living life on the outside, where she roamed free. Dramatic? Of course. But sometimes women will turn into a shell of a man, and I promise, you will never forget it.
I heard a knock on the door. "James, go away" I said, out of routine. But this time, it wasn’t his voice that replied. "I still love you." my eyes opened in surprise. There was no way it could be her. But her voice was unmistakenable. "I heard you’ve been here awhile, just come out. We can fix this." the voice said. I sat there in disbelief. "I must be drunk..." I thought to myself, just as the voice spoke again. "I love you. Come out of there. Don’t you love me?" I walked to the door and rested my head upon it. "Until the end of the world."
I felt the saltiness of a tear hit my lips as I reached for the doorknob. Perhaps my seclusion paid off. Maybe she missed me, just as half as much I missed her. I opened the door. My face went into a state of confusion, as stared into a dark room. Nobody was there. I walked to next door, which led to James's room. I grabbed the handle and turned. Again, I was in a dark room, though this time, it was unfamiliar. James's bed wasn’t there. His TV wasn’t there. I heard her voice again, off to left. There was another door there. "There was never a door there before." I thought as I walked towards it. I opened it. Another dark room with another door I didn’t recognize." "Until the end of the world..." Her voice came from beneath the strange door.
I ran towards that door and opened it. Another blackened room. I followed her voice; it seemed to be one step ahead of me. I ran through countless rooms, rooms that I was unaware of. Rooms that shouldn’t have existed. Continually following her voice. Until finally I paused at one door, with light beckoning from beneath it. I stopped. "Until the end of the world..." I heard the voice from the other side of the door say. I slowly reached towards the handle and turned. I lowered my head, as a tear rolled down my cheek. "Until the end of the world..." I said. I threw the door open, as not to scare her and insinuate the chase again. I stared into my room. A thirty cases and sandwich on the floor.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Saturday Night
"Congratulations!" The room almost shook, as sixty plus people welcomed the newlyweds as they entered the reception hall. It was summer and one of my best friends had just gotten married. We sat at our bridal party tables, on display for the rest of the guests to see. But to me, they were blurred out faces, gathered around circular tables. Except her. I knew she would be there. I had been warned. You see, I never did well around my ex-girlfriend, especially not with the open bar that lay before me. But did she feel the need to drag her boyfriend halfway across the country to a friend’s wedding, that he had only met a handful of times? It wouldn’t be much of a story is she didn’t, now would it?
I passed on the glazed chicken and potatoes that the waitress brought over. I took off my suit jacket, which was heavy with my plans for then night, and walked to the bar. "I’ll take a bottle of your local," I said, one elbow on the bar, my gaze away from the bartender and towards her table. She was looking at me, as if she was anticipating something. "Liquid courage?" asked the bartender. I snapped out of my eye contact with her and faced the bartender, a look of confusion on my face. "I work allot of weddings." she said, as she handed me my beer. "Just keep em coming." I said, as I slipped a twenty into the tip jar and walked back to my seat.
I passed on dessert and stuck to the never ending stream of local beers that flooded my table. That bartender sure knew what I meant when I said "keep em coming." perhaps he noticed the constant eye contact between me and my ex. perhaps he saw the sadness in my eyes. Maybe a twenty dollar bill goes a long way in small town Wisconsin. I waited until dinner was done, speeches were made and toasts were drank. I never once took my jacket, and I never once took my eyes off of her. Her stares started becoming few and far between, most of them belonging to her boyfriend. It didn’t matter. I owned this night.
I nodded at the bartender as I digged into my jacket. I grabbed the CD from the inner breast pocket, gave myself an unsure smile, and headed towards the DJ booth. I slipped him the CD and a five dollar bill. He informed me I had two songs before mine. I had six minutes to decide if I was going to stay or bail on the party, which I had done too many times to count. The last sip of my beer sealed my fate. I was going to see how this turned out.
I headed back to the bar just as the first chords of my song filled the hall. "More liquid courage?" the bartender asked, cracking me a new one. "Just make sure there’s a beer at my seat when this song in finished." I turned my head towards her, she was already looking. "Saturday Night" by the Misfits. Our song. Well, not officially, but that song always brought me back to this one night three years ago. We weren’t even dating at the time, but we slow danced to this song in my living room. I’ll always remember the coolness of her hand in mine, the way her lower back welcomed my other hand, the way her head nestled so perfectly into my neck. I was trying to bring her back to that moment, and judging by the look in her eyes, she was there.
I nodded to the dance floor. She looked at her boyfriend for a few seconds, turned and stood up. I turned to smile at the bartender and headed towards the dance floor. It took all I had not to turn my head to her boyfriend and see flash him the shit eating grin I was currently wearing. But as many times before, she had trapped me with those brown eyes. We met each other on the dance floor. My hand fit exactly where it did that night in my living room. Her head fell into my neck and it felt like I had been missing a part of myself, now complete. I closed my eyes. The dance felt like a lifetime.
"I remember when we danced to this song." she said, right before it ended. I felt tears drops fall onto my neck and roll past my collar. I still had the smile as the song faded, and I let her go. I walked past her boyfriends table and gave him the look I had longed to give him. I picked up my jacket and the beer that was waiting for me, turned and smiled at the bartender. I took a hit and looked to the dance floor. She was still there, a tear falling from her eye. I smiled. I grabbed my beer and walked into the cool Wisconsin night.
I passed on the glazed chicken and potatoes that the waitress brought over. I took off my suit jacket, which was heavy with my plans for then night, and walked to the bar. "I’ll take a bottle of your local," I said, one elbow on the bar, my gaze away from the bartender and towards her table. She was looking at me, as if she was anticipating something. "Liquid courage?" asked the bartender. I snapped out of my eye contact with her and faced the bartender, a look of confusion on my face. "I work allot of weddings." she said, as she handed me my beer. "Just keep em coming." I said, as I slipped a twenty into the tip jar and walked back to my seat.
I passed on dessert and stuck to the never ending stream of local beers that flooded my table. That bartender sure knew what I meant when I said "keep em coming." perhaps he noticed the constant eye contact between me and my ex. perhaps he saw the sadness in my eyes. Maybe a twenty dollar bill goes a long way in small town Wisconsin. I waited until dinner was done, speeches were made and toasts were drank. I never once took my jacket, and I never once took my eyes off of her. Her stares started becoming few and far between, most of them belonging to her boyfriend. It didn’t matter. I owned this night.
I nodded at the bartender as I digged into my jacket. I grabbed the CD from the inner breast pocket, gave myself an unsure smile, and headed towards the DJ booth. I slipped him the CD and a five dollar bill. He informed me I had two songs before mine. I had six minutes to decide if I was going to stay or bail on the party, which I had done too many times to count. The last sip of my beer sealed my fate. I was going to see how this turned out.
I headed back to the bar just as the first chords of my song filled the hall. "More liquid courage?" the bartender asked, cracking me a new one. "Just make sure there’s a beer at my seat when this song in finished." I turned my head towards her, she was already looking. "Saturday Night" by the Misfits. Our song. Well, not officially, but that song always brought me back to this one night three years ago. We weren’t even dating at the time, but we slow danced to this song in my living room. I’ll always remember the coolness of her hand in mine, the way her lower back welcomed my other hand, the way her head nestled so perfectly into my neck. I was trying to bring her back to that moment, and judging by the look in her eyes, she was there.
I nodded to the dance floor. She looked at her boyfriend for a few seconds, turned and stood up. I turned to smile at the bartender and headed towards the dance floor. It took all I had not to turn my head to her boyfriend and see flash him the shit eating grin I was currently wearing. But as many times before, she had trapped me with those brown eyes. We met each other on the dance floor. My hand fit exactly where it did that night in my living room. Her head fell into my neck and it felt like I had been missing a part of myself, now complete. I closed my eyes. The dance felt like a lifetime.
"I remember when we danced to this song." she said, right before it ended. I felt tears drops fall onto my neck and roll past my collar. I still had the smile as the song faded, and I let her go. I walked past her boyfriends table and gave him the look I had longed to give him. I picked up my jacket and the beer that was waiting for me, turned and smiled at the bartender. I took a hit and looked to the dance floor. She was still there, a tear falling from her eye. I smiled. I grabbed my beer and walked into the cool Wisconsin night.
The Perfect Pint
It scares me to think I could drink all the beers in the world, and never find the perfect pint. Or even worse, that I already had it. The smooth curves of the glass, the coolness you feel as you first embrace it. The way the condensation runs down those curves, like sweat, anticipating your embrace, maybe the blonde one, towards the end of the bar. She’s more of a summer fling. I was never a fan of the bitter ones. Or the ones that smelled of fruit. I like mine natural. What about this dark one? With just a hint of white on her head? The one that takes so much grace and care to pour. The one that seems like an eternity before I hold. The first sip ends excitement through my tongue. She lingers in my lips for a minute, before she is gone. I close my eyes and smile, knowing I’ve found the perfect pint.
Boulevard of Death
Queens Boulevard. The Boulevard of Death. Scattered across this beast of a street, lies yellow street signs with the words: CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE". And yet, among the many times I stumbled across this six lane death way, not once have I came close to being one of those unlucky fools, forever immortalized in a traffic sign. I thought of this as I left the 7 train and crossed the boulevard into The Gaslight Pub. I turned around at the door and pictured a traffic sign with the words "CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE" outside the bar, but instead of that traffic man walking, he was sitting at a bar, beer in hand. "Perhaps the city would bury me under it..." I thought somberly, as I pulled the door open.
It was an early fall Wednesday in Queens, and the Gaslight had become the after work, "a few more before I go home" spot for my Wednesdays. "Aye, Lad. Pint of Guinness?" the bartender asked, as I pulled up to my usual seat at the bar. I nodded. This is why I came here. It’s quiet. The Mets are always on (and losing) and every third Guinness was on the house. And it was the same and as predictable as ever for a Wednesday. Until I turned to the sound of the door opening to my right. A beautiful brunette with a wool sweater and jeans, black flats and a half smile entered the bar. I was not the only one to take notice, as most of my unspoken-to bar friends were men in their late forties. She sat two stools away from my left. Instinctively, I looked into my beer, taking a generous swig. I was caught off guard. A beautiful woman never has walked into my Wednesdays of solitude. "Guinness, please" she said to the bartender, with another flash of her half smile, peering over to me. Nervously, I peered out of the corner of my eye at her. She must have seen, because as I rapidly made eye contact with my beer, she chuckled. I sat there silent for 10 minutes, though it may have been an eternity. I watched her drink her Guinness out of the corner of my eye. After she had taken the last sip, she thanked the bartender and rose from her seat. Still intently watching her out of the corner of my eye, I saw she smiled at me. But by the time I mustered the courage to turn and do the same, I barely caught that long black hair turn the corner before the bar door shut. "Better luck next time." the bartender said as he put another Guinness in front of me. "This one's on the house."
The next week was a blur. Nothing eventful transpired. I went to work. I slept. And any free moment I had, I spent thinking of the brunette from last Wednesday. Her half smile, the way her lips carefully caressed the pint glass right before her first sip of Guinness. I worked and slept as much as I could, just so it could it be Wednesday again. And soon enough, it was. I jumped off the train anxiously, jogging across the boulevard. I needed to get my usual seat at the bar, though I was certain it would be there. It was. I ordered my Guinness and paid faint attention to the Mets game. And then, on schedule, came in the wool sweatered girl I had come to think about for some time over the last week. Only today she had a portly, smug blonde with her. The brunette sat two seats away from me, thankfully with the blonde on the other side. "Ughhh...." the blonde said to the bartender,""Vodka Tonic." I cringed in disgust. Surely, the girl from last week was not this type of girl. She couldn’t be. And then with another half smile, she politely asked the bartender for a Guinness. I pretended the smile that came across my face was for the Mets pitcher striking out the batter. I sat and ordered beer after beer, waiting for a moment that I may intervene in the constant slop that was coming out of the blonde’s mouth.
I had only heard the brunette utter two words, "Guinness, please", but I was certain that she held more depth than the blonde headache sitting two feet away from her could have in her lifetime. But that moment never came. The pointless drivel that seemed to take refuge outside of the blonde’s mouth never stopped. I paid more and more attention to the game the Mets were currently losing, enough that I didn’t notice the blonde had excused herself to the bathroom. And just as our relief pitcher gave up a ninth inning homerun to lose our lead, I heard the word "fuck" simultaneously muttered with my voice. I shot a glance to the left, where the brunette's eyes had been waiting for mine. "Bad game" I said, as we still locked eyes. "Bad season." she replied. She put on her jacket as the blonde walked back into sight. "Ughh, I need to leave." the blonde said, heading towards the door. I watched as the brunette stood to leave with her, but instead of catching the long, black hair of last week, I caught her eyes on mine, half smiling as she turned the corner.
The rest of the week went faster than any week I remember. I smiled at work. I barely slept, and when I did, I dreamt of her. Wednesday came easily that week. I smiled all the way home on the train and on the walk across the boulevard, as I walked into the bar. "Thirds time’s a charm, huh?" said the bartender, as I took my normal seat at the bar. "I sure hope so." I replied. I ordered a Guinness. And another. "On the House." I don’t remember how much time had passed, or how many times I had heard "On the house", but she didn’t show. That I remember. I stumbled out of the bar and remember looking at the boulevard. There was that sign I had thought about weeks earlier. "CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE". And there was that traffic sign guy, beer in hand, looking as lonely as I did just seconds before. I stumbled my way across the six lane monstrosity, into that same familiar blackness that I was used to. This truly was the boulevard of death.
I went back to Gaslight the next Wednesday, not with hope of seeing her, but just out of routine. I watched the Mets blow the first six innings. I drank my Guinness. To my right, I noticed a fifty-something year old lady drinking a wine spritzer, alone. I turned to her as I finished my last sip. "Beautiful night in the greatest city, no?" She didn’t even look up. "Not one with the ladies I see. Another Guinness, on the house?" asked the bartender as I stood up. "Not tonight" I said. I went to the bathroom and washed the day’s work off my face. I stared at myself for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. I walked back to my seat with head down. As I looked up to say goodbye to the bartender, I saw her. She was sitting in the seat next to mine. My eyes widened, as I slowly slid back into my seat. "Can I buy you a Guinness?"She asked, with the half smile creeping across her face. I sat there, eyes open in amazement, when she said, That is, if your girlfriend doesn't mind", her head motioning to the fifty-something on my right. "No, I think its okay," I said, as my own half smile crept across my face. And it was. And I thought of a new sign they should build outside of that bar, on the boulevard of death. "CAUTION: A PERSON FOUND HOPE HERE." maybe they'll bury me underneath that one instead.
It was an early fall Wednesday in Queens, and the Gaslight had become the after work, "a few more before I go home" spot for my Wednesdays. "Aye, Lad. Pint of Guinness?" the bartender asked, as I pulled up to my usual seat at the bar. I nodded. This is why I came here. It’s quiet. The Mets are always on (and losing) and every third Guinness was on the house. And it was the same and as predictable as ever for a Wednesday. Until I turned to the sound of the door opening to my right. A beautiful brunette with a wool sweater and jeans, black flats and a half smile entered the bar. I was not the only one to take notice, as most of my unspoken-to bar friends were men in their late forties. She sat two stools away from my left. Instinctively, I looked into my beer, taking a generous swig. I was caught off guard. A beautiful woman never has walked into my Wednesdays of solitude. "Guinness, please" she said to the bartender, with another flash of her half smile, peering over to me. Nervously, I peered out of the corner of my eye at her. She must have seen, because as I rapidly made eye contact with my beer, she chuckled. I sat there silent for 10 minutes, though it may have been an eternity. I watched her drink her Guinness out of the corner of my eye. After she had taken the last sip, she thanked the bartender and rose from her seat. Still intently watching her out of the corner of my eye, I saw she smiled at me. But by the time I mustered the courage to turn and do the same, I barely caught that long black hair turn the corner before the bar door shut. "Better luck next time." the bartender said as he put another Guinness in front of me. "This one's on the house."
The next week was a blur. Nothing eventful transpired. I went to work. I slept. And any free moment I had, I spent thinking of the brunette from last Wednesday. Her half smile, the way her lips carefully caressed the pint glass right before her first sip of Guinness. I worked and slept as much as I could, just so it could it be Wednesday again. And soon enough, it was. I jumped off the train anxiously, jogging across the boulevard. I needed to get my usual seat at the bar, though I was certain it would be there. It was. I ordered my Guinness and paid faint attention to the Mets game. And then, on schedule, came in the wool sweatered girl I had come to think about for some time over the last week. Only today she had a portly, smug blonde with her. The brunette sat two seats away from me, thankfully with the blonde on the other side. "Ughhh...." the blonde said to the bartender,""Vodka Tonic." I cringed in disgust. Surely, the girl from last week was not this type of girl. She couldn’t be. And then with another half smile, she politely asked the bartender for a Guinness. I pretended the smile that came across my face was for the Mets pitcher striking out the batter. I sat and ordered beer after beer, waiting for a moment that I may intervene in the constant slop that was coming out of the blonde’s mouth.
I had only heard the brunette utter two words, "Guinness, please", but I was certain that she held more depth than the blonde headache sitting two feet away from her could have in her lifetime. But that moment never came. The pointless drivel that seemed to take refuge outside of the blonde’s mouth never stopped. I paid more and more attention to the game the Mets were currently losing, enough that I didn’t notice the blonde had excused herself to the bathroom. And just as our relief pitcher gave up a ninth inning homerun to lose our lead, I heard the word "fuck" simultaneously muttered with my voice. I shot a glance to the left, where the brunette's eyes had been waiting for mine. "Bad game" I said, as we still locked eyes. "Bad season." she replied. She put on her jacket as the blonde walked back into sight. "Ughh, I need to leave." the blonde said, heading towards the door. I watched as the brunette stood to leave with her, but instead of catching the long, black hair of last week, I caught her eyes on mine, half smiling as she turned the corner.
The rest of the week went faster than any week I remember. I smiled at work. I barely slept, and when I did, I dreamt of her. Wednesday came easily that week. I smiled all the way home on the train and on the walk across the boulevard, as I walked into the bar. "Thirds time’s a charm, huh?" said the bartender, as I took my normal seat at the bar. "I sure hope so." I replied. I ordered a Guinness. And another. "On the House." I don’t remember how much time had passed, or how many times I had heard "On the house", but she didn’t show. That I remember. I stumbled out of the bar and remember looking at the boulevard. There was that sign I had thought about weeks earlier. "CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE". And there was that traffic sign guy, beer in hand, looking as lonely as I did just seconds before. I stumbled my way across the six lane monstrosity, into that same familiar blackness that I was used to. This truly was the boulevard of death.
I went back to Gaslight the next Wednesday, not with hope of seeing her, but just out of routine. I watched the Mets blow the first six innings. I drank my Guinness. To my right, I noticed a fifty-something year old lady drinking a wine spritzer, alone. I turned to her as I finished my last sip. "Beautiful night in the greatest city, no?" She didn’t even look up. "Not one with the ladies I see. Another Guinness, on the house?" asked the bartender as I stood up. "Not tonight" I said. I went to the bathroom and washed the day’s work off my face. I stared at myself for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. I walked back to my seat with head down. As I looked up to say goodbye to the bartender, I saw her. She was sitting in the seat next to mine. My eyes widened, as I slowly slid back into my seat. "Can I buy you a Guinness?"She asked, with the half smile creeping across her face. I sat there, eyes open in amazement, when she said, That is, if your girlfriend doesn't mind", her head motioning to the fifty-something on my right. "No, I think its okay," I said, as my own half smile crept across my face. And it was. And I thought of a new sign they should build outside of that bar, on the boulevard of death. "CAUTION: A PERSON FOUND HOPE HERE." maybe they'll bury me underneath that one instead.
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