My High School years sucked. I think we've clearly established that what with the divorce and the deadbeat abusive mother and the bouts of alcoholism and binge-drinking I stumbled in and out of because I was a embittered little shit. And really, who the hell hasn't been there? You know, the grim dark cavern somebody crawls through and it's filled with mud and piss, and there's insects and bats latching onto them while sound clips from Alfred Hitchcock movies echo throughout the humid disgusting cave, and I want to turn this into a dirty joke about sex with your decrepit old mother but this shit is serious business. And that person is just desperately clinging to life just struggling to make their way towards that dim light at the end of the long and narrow tunnel. I think we've all been there. Hell, some of us are there right now.
This particular story has no ties to any other events or situations I've discussed in the past. It stands on it's own, which is nice to not be bound to some kind of continuity bullshit I seem to be weaving into these stories. Although for some context, this takes place a particular time in 2005, after I said my last goodbyes to my lady and some time before I say it to the rest of my school. Middle of July. School's out. It's hot as hell. Sweltering hot. "Let me take a hot shower to cool down" kind of hot. Because of this I predominantly enjoyed going out at night when it cooled down, but I could only do it when my brother was working Graveyard because after taking over the parenting role my dear old parasite of a mother forgot about, he wouldn't necessarily approve of me going out at 11pm or midnight or 4am.
While wandering the streets binge-drinking. Yeah he probably wouldn't like that, either.
Now this was one of those nights. After waking up at 3pm to peel off my clothing and take a shower, my brother was working nightshift and my mother was stuck at home in her own little world where the rivers run beige with liquor. Guess who would be suffering all by his lonesome that night? Well it sure as hell wasn't me, because as soon as my brother left I fucking bolted out of that place faster than I would out of an AA meeting. And like escaping an AA meeting I would reek of alcohol while tripping and stumbling to grab the walls as often as I could, screaming in my head "BEING HERE IS A BAD IDEA, LET'S GET OUT AND GO KICK SOME ASS."
Of course there would be no ass-kicking as I was drunk enough that my legs lacked the coordination to properly aim and propel themselves into one's unsuspecting posterior. It being late at night, down the road a good mile or so was the last bastion of hope for some late-night grub; a Foster's Freeze burger joint. And it's usually empty to boot, so I can just literally sit in there and attempt to soak up the alcohol in my body with a spongy burger sitting in my gut while I ask myself why I can't eat actual food like this at home. Granted it was a hell of a walk and I often never had enough money to go there, once every couple of weeks it was a brief glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the ceiling of Hell.
Until that particular night in July.
My usual trek had its beautiful dead silence interrupted by a girl behind me talking on a cell phone. Mind you, this was about 9pm in the evening, and she was roughly my age, I would guess. Maybe slightly older. She didn't sound particularly enthusiastic either, so being out at this time one could probably guess she wasn't discussing the weather. She wasn't really loud or obnoxious, but when your ears are ringing and you just want the sound of passing cars to occupy yourself with, somebody 5 yards away talking on a phone doesn't help the mood. I picked up the pace and hoped to out-walk her to my sanctuary where I can get some peace and quiet.
As my luck would have it, she ALSO went to the Foster's Freeze. How fucking unpleasant. The one night in two weeks I have to stumble out of my house for a breath of fresh air and I get stuck listening to another woman weeping into a phone. Now she hung up eventually, just in time for my food to show up. But you still heard her. Like before, she wasn't particularly loud or intrusive, but it was just that stifled sniveling and occasional hiccup that you heard escape her mouth. If it was loud and ear-shattering at least I could've opened that door inside my head and lock myself in there to shut it out, but no, I have that unsettling silence where it's occasionally broken by the fact that you know somebody distressed is right across from you.
I don't even know this person, why the hell should I be taking note of this? I guess when one's put into that high-alert status for so long, it's hard to shake it off even around strangers. Of course that high-alert went into code maroon or blood-red or whatever the terrorist color for "FUCK THIS SHIT, BAIL OUT MAN" is when the girl was making her way for the door. "Thank God," I thought. "Some precious alone time."
The woman tripped and fell. She fell. THE BITCH TRIPPED AND FELL IN FRONT OF ME. FACE PLANT. RIGHT FUCKING THERE.
Now poses the moral conundrum. If I help her up, I'm certainly going to be forced to talk to her. In which case there's a good chance she's going to just snap and dump whatever the hell has her so upset on the next random stranger to help her. I'm the only one in the diner aside from the people behind the counter. She tripped in front of my table. What the hell was I supposed to do? I contemplated leaving my food there and just sprinting the fuck out of the place as quickly as possible since I was probably sober enough at this point to run, but then there's the chance I could trip on the way out and then the situation would look worse. Or I could continue to nonchalantly eat and ignore her, which would be nice because I honestly didn't feel like helping this girl.
"Eh, you alright?" I asked. God-dammit, you puss. You look like a heroin addict when you're wearing an oil-stained green sweatshirt with sunglasses while it's dark out. You're in a dirty little burger place when it's 10 o'clock at night while you smell like cheap beer. You shouldn't be helping people, you can't even help yourself. That angry voice inside my head that wanted nothing more than to be left alone just kept yelling that at me. And I knew that little fucker was right. But given the situation I suppose it was just a twitch reaction, tis all.
"I... fucking... HATE this night." was all I heard while I stood up and attempted to walk towards her.
"That makes two of us," I said as I grabbed her hand. "Come on, on your feet." Her trembling legs lifted herself off the ground as I helped her up.
"Uh... thanks, I guess." was all she really kind of said. Clearly shaken, she sat back down in a nearby booth, my booth and one would have it. I sighed and sat on the other side. She rested her face on her palms while the sleeves from her hoodie that was one size too big drooped down her arms. It was just kind of an awkward silence. While I hated the noise, I wasn't particularly fond of silence when there are two or more clearly uncomfortable or distressed persons in the room.
Of course I wasn't one to be talking right now either; I was still clearly drunk and in a situation that requires intense thinking and social interaction skills beyond "Where's the bathroom? I think I'm going to hurl" and "Dude when I get enough beers into her I'm totally gonna rail her".
"Oi." I tried to get her attention. Her hands parted from her face. "Hungry?" I held out my box of fries. It took me almost a second to notice it was missing and that they were in her hands as she shoved them into her gullet. I guess she had trouble walking for reasons different than my own.
"Where's the ketchup?" she asked as she shoved fries into her mouth.
"Uh, hang on I think it's over on the counter. And don't talk with your mouth full." It's a disgusting habit, and not even tragedy should excuse you from doing it. As I stood up and made my way to the counter, I seemed to follow suit with the night's trend of tripping. This time thought my head hit the side of the counter as I hit the porcelain floor with a loud crack.
"I'm okay."
I wasn't, but being tipsy and on at least a thousand milligrams of vicadin sure does wonders to avert that slightly agonizing head trauma.
"I got the ketchup at least." I said as I sat back down. It was already gone from my hand before my ass returned to my seat. "You are extremely quick, you know that?"
"Sleight of hand works wonders." she said. "I think I also took your watch."
"I don't have a watch."
"Not anymore, at least."
"I don't own a watch." I replied.
"Huh, I took SOMEBODY'S watch, then."
"That's not nice."
"You stop worrying about that after a while." she said with a slightly coy smile. "If it helps you get by, then that's how it goes." I laughed. Whenever somebody gets caught doing something that won't necessarily lead them down healthy roads, that's what you hear, or at least something of that general nature. It was terribly ironic, but I had no room to talk.
There wasn't any talking for a bit after that. I managed to get a good look at her for once, and despite dressing like a degenerate she was moderately attractive. Very dark, ashy brown hair that rested on her shoulders. Somewhat of a clear complexion with a few traces of acne starting to fade out over a thin nose. I couldn't gauge her figure particularly well since she wore jeans and a zipped-up hoodie. That rubbed me the wrong way since it reminded me of somebody else best left forgotten. Eventually that persistent silence came creeping back into the diner, and I wanted none of that. So I was going to leave.
"Hmm? You leaving?" she asked.
"Yes, didn't you just hear the internal monologue?"
"If it's internal, how could I hear it?"
"Touché."
"Ugh, I really don't want to leave." There was a twinge of hesitation in her voice.
"I don't believe I asked you to."
"I don't believe that I implied that you did." she responded. My mind was not in the proper condition to be shooting rhetorical jabs back and forth with somebody. It was like trying to play tennis while there's a bullet wound in your leg. And you were high off of LSD. And blindfolded. And were being ra--
"FUCK IT, THEY GET THE POINT!" I snapped back into reality.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Her eyebrow was raised as I yelled at the imaginary voices in my head.
"I don't really know anymore." My head was starting to spin.
"What are you, drunk?"
"It would be a stretch if I said I was sober." I sighed and sat back down in the chair.
"Don't you think you should probably get home?" I was slightly exasperated at this point.
"Why the hell should I?" she muttered.
"Beats the piss out of me, I just asked that."
"I really, REALLY don't want to."
"That's not a good answer."
"They probably wouldn't even notice that I was gone." I started laughing a bit. I think she found it a bit insulting since her lips puckered up.
"What's so funny?" Despite her flustered voice, I only started laughing harder.
"Heh heh, THAT'S WHY I'M HERE!" I shouted with a smile on my face. "Fuck all if the bitch knows I'm not even home." A smile started to creep onto her face and she started to laugh a bit, too.
"Ha ha," I sighed as I calmed down a bit. "Parents, am I right?"
"Damn straight."
"What'd you get stuck with?" I asked.
"Divorcing parents." she snickered.
"Well no shit, small world."
"What'd your parents do?" she asked.
"Got drunk and racked up a bunch of debt. You?"
"Gambled and racked up a bunch of debt."
"This is California, where the fuck do your parents gamble?"
"Lived in Nevada."
"That explains it."
"Lost the house, moved in with relatives out here."
"Shit, that happened to me about 6 or 7 years ago."
"I guess it really is a small world." she said while laughing a bit. That kind of talk went on for, well, I can't remember. Probably an hour, maybe longer. Just two kids who met in a diner in the middle of the night and had nothing better to do than bitch to each other about how hard God was trying to fuck them in the ass.
"Hmm..." She started pondering to herself.
"Eh?"
"I probably should get home." she said.
"Meh, same. If my brother gets off of work early and doesn't see me home, that might cause some problems."
"Yeah, my dad might notice I'm gone if he wakes back up." After we both finished talked, we stood up and left the Foster's Freeze.
"Hey." she said. I glanced over.
"What."
"Mind walking me home?" she asked. "It's not far from here, and these streets are kind of unsettling alone at night."
"...That means I would have to walk them alone on the way back since I live on Union."
"Shit. That's quite a walk."
"Hmm... actually I'll do it under one condition." She blushed.
"I'm not doing that."
"Not THAT, you idiot." I pointed across the street to the liquor store. "You said you're good at sleight of hand, right?"
* * *
"Good lord, this stuff is going to knock me on my ass." I'm being serious here. The liquor she got out of that store was potent shit. I would tell you what it was, but frankly after two drinks I couldn't see straight enough to read the bottle or bother to remember the name. The best liquor's the name you can't recall because it's just that good.
"You're not supposed to drink scotch."
"Well shit, that explains a lot." I'm slurring my speech at this point, but I'm not putting in the effort to write it as such. If I wrote any of my dialogue in accordance to how much I've been drinking, most of it would be illegible.
"Well, this is it." she said as she zipped up her hoodie. To answer the earlier question regarding her figure after catching a glance, voluptuous and an ass that could cushion and stop a car. Also about a head shorter. After I managed to pull my eyes away from her ass, I looked on at the dingy apartment complex in which she inhabited.
"Well..."
"I'll be on my way. I can barely fucking walk." I started to make my way back towards the road.
"Um..." I stopped and looked back at her.
"Hmm?"
"Uh... thanks for that."
"S'aright." I started walking again.
"Wait hold up, I never got your name." she said. I turned around and laughed a bit.
"Well to be frank, I'm too drunk to remember it at this point."
"Really."
"Let's just say you're better off not knowing." She laughed.
"Heh, what? Are you some shady phantom of my past?"
"Shady? Absolutely. A phantom? Well, a man can dream."
"That sounds like a really bad cliche."
"Hon I'm drunk enough that I probably won't remember this in the morning." That was a lie since I'm clearly writing a story about it now. "Trust me, it's for the best if you don't end up getting involved with somebody like me."
"Meh, I could say the same."
"So we're in agreement then."
"I guess we are."
"Then good night, and good luck."
"You stole that from that movie."
"Fuck, when is that coming out? I want to see it." I never saw it, by the way.
"Uh... September?"
"You're stalling, you should get back inside and I should get home."
"Dammit, you caught me." She sighed in a sardonic tone. "You know, if you wanted to do THAT before I went back in, I cou--"
"I CAN'T EVEN FEEL MY LEGS!" I'm serious, that booze was fucking strong.
"Alright alright." She trotted up to her apartment and ever so gently opened the door. I saw her whisper "Thank you" before slipping behind the door and closing it.
And that was it.
I managed to stumble my way three miles back home. Or not. I actually got lost for a bit and just gave up the idea of going home and finding a bench to pass out on for a few hours or so before waking back up with a hangover strong enough to hemorrhage the brain of an infant.
"God-damn, it hasn't even been a few hours and I feel like shit." I sat up and threw the bottle into a nearby dumpster. "Fuck this, that's where I draw the line."
I had no clue where I was, but I figured I should probably get home before the sun starts to rise. As I walked past a small local skate park across the train tracks, my thoughts were just loud enough to be heard over the screeching of the hangover.
"Hmm... I wonder if she was serious and I could've..." The smile on my face was immediately wiped off as I shook my head. "Bah, I don't need to be swept up in something like that again, at least not for a while." And that was true. I don't think I was ready to start a clean slate. I still needed a bit of air to breathe before that would happen again. But hell, maybe it could've gone somewhere.
Probably not, but a man can dream, even if it might be unhealthy. As long as it helps you get by, then that's how it goes, right?
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