MARGARITA ON THE ROCKS
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By: Shelly
Tell me what you think of the story, and make any changes. Margarita on the Rocks As the story goes, my mother was reading a book about Andrew Jackson when she gave birth to me. Jackson Hickory Hadley became my name, but I never told anyone my namesake. I never took after it. Andrew Jackson liked war. His fame from the war won him the presidency. I could never gain anything but suffering from war. Before World War III, I never thought I would lay my hands on a gun. I preached integrity and morality to hopeless teenagers at a counseling center. I applied to the Peace Corps a few years ago, but they rejected me. I don�t remember why, but I didn�t cry or abandon my cause. I didn�t ask for comfort from God because I found comfort in alcohol. Alcohol, not religion, found me my girlfriend, Mona Lisa. I never asked if that was her real name. I didn�t want to get into the story of my name. We didn�t talk much, just argue and make love. I don�t even remember the night we met. All I remember is the smell of her hair when I woke up beside her the next morning. �Where am I?� I asked. �In the temple of Mona Lisa.� �Who are you?� �Are you kidding?� �No.� �I just said it.� �When?� �Just now.� �Well, I don�t remember it.� �I�m the stunning and charming Mona Lisa, much more beautiful than Leonardo�s creation. Wouldn�t you agree?� She posed for me like a Greek goddess. She was pretty. �I�ll see you tonight at 10 at Moe�s Tavern, okay, Jacky-poo?� I smiled as she walked out the door and let the hotel tab flutter to the floor for me to pay. Later that day, I drove my pickup truck down Warriner Road and over the railroad tracks while I passed the grocery store and the bank. I realized I needed to cash in my check because my refrigerator was empty except for a bottle of ketchup and jar of pickles. When I got to Moe�s, Mona Lisa dragged me to the bar to get some liquor. �Now, Jackson, I want a dark ale and a gin martini, extra gin. You can�t go wrong with twice the booze.� We had a few rounds of drinks with my old high school buddies, Brewster, Al, Jimmy, and Donny.� �You know, Mona Lisa,� Jimmy said, �you look like you might be interested in a little fun in my car.� He waved around a few hundred-dollar bills. �You know, Jimmy, you look like you�re ready to be beat up by a girl half your size.� She grabbed the money out of his hand. �Waiter, another round of drinks for everyone in the bar.� �Mona,� I said, �that�s not your money to take.� �Don�t you want me to be happy?� �Well, I do, but�� �Then you better listen to what I say. I wear the pants around here.� I gave up. I drank my whiskey and looked around the bar. A drunkard was tugging on his dog�s leash. I wondered who had let the dog in there in the first place. A man was pulling his girlfriend out the door, and another was hitting his wife. I had to work at the counseling center the next day. I took another swig of whiskey. * * * The war started that summer. Al went off to fight because of the draft. I told him to run away to Canada, but the idea of female nurses in the infirmary was too appealing. He left for Korea in September. Wars were against my philosophy, and I always thought they were against his, too. He had a going-away party at La Barra Loca. I went for the margaritas. �Jackson, why don�t you want to fight?� Mona Lisa asked me while I was downing another world-famous margarita on the rocks. �I�m a lover, not a fighter.� �Well, you�re going to get drafted sooner or later. Madame Mona Lisa can see the future.� She smiled, but I just ordered another drink. �I�ll run away to Canada if I get drafted.� �Either way, I�m going to lose you.� �I�m sorry, Mona. Why don�t you go to Canada with me?� �And lose my manicurist here in New York? I don�t think so, Jackson. We�re not that serious anyway.� I put my drink down after one last swig and drove to an empty church that I remembered from a funeral there a few years ago. I dipped my hand in the bowl at the door, but it was empty. I kneeled in a pew that looked ready to fall apart. The altar looked like an old card table. I noticed the paint on the statue of Jesus was chipped. I put my head down to pray and saw curse words engraved into the wooden pew. I didn�t know how to start my prayers. I used to be so good at talking to God. I thought about the war and how I would never fight because I didn�t believe in war, and I didn�t want to lose Mona Lisa, even though she didn�t even treat me that well, but she was good in bed, and she liked to drink with me a lot, and she would become more stable in time, so I probably should propose to her and settle down and have a nice house with a picket fence and two kids, and I would name them after good people like John the Baptist or Noah so they wouldn�t hate their namesakes. I sat in the creaky pew for a few more minutes. I tried to pray again, but I couldn�t fight the alcohol. I pulled out a bottle of rum from my coat pocket and started drinking. Sometimes even God couldn�t help me forget about my problems. * * * That winter on a Wednesday night I went to Moe�s Tavern with Mona Lisa and the boys. We sat at our usual table. Someone turned up the volume on the television when we were on our third round of beers. Mona Lisa grabbed my arm. �Jackson, they�re calling the numbers of the next set of draftees.� �I don�t care.� I took a swig of beer. �My number�s not going to be up there.� �Well, at least get out your number and check.� She reached into my wallet and took out my ticket. �Let�s see, you�re number 13,426.� �Mona, I�m not going to be drafted.� I grabbed the ticket and ripped it up. �What we all need now is more beer. Hey, bartender! We�re thirsty over here. Can we get a little customer service?� He gave me the finger. �Jackson. Pay attention to the screen. They�re getting closer.� She put her hands on each side of my face and turned my head toward the screen. The announcer kept rattling off groups of numbers, �9,545 to 10,110. 11,205 to 12,096. 13,213 to 14,565.� Mona Lisa grasped my arm. �Jackson, you�re going to Korea!� I looked around at the men sitting at the bar. They drank their beer and told their jokes as usual. I saw my friends staring at me, waiting for my reaction. �Anyone else want something from the bar?� I asked. When I got back to the table, I noticed Mona Lisa was sitting next to Jimmy, drooling over his new tattoo, a cross with the words �God saves� below it. The ink was bleeding, and it already looked faded. The caption was barely legible. I set the beers down. �Who�s going to Canada with me tomorrow?� * * * Somehow, I ended up at the airport with a ticket to the U.S. Army Base in Okinawa. Mona Lisa, Jimmy, and Donny came with me. Brewster went to the bar instead. They called my flight on the intercom. I felt sick. �Mona Lisa, will you write to me everyday?� �Well, not everyday, Jackson. I mean, tomorrow I have a hair appointment so I can�t write you then. And I can�t write the next day because I�ll be at the bar with the guys all day. But the next day�wait, no, I have a party to go to. I�m sure I�ll find some time in the next few months or so.� We walked to Gate 52. I got in line to board. The flight attendant started to take everyone�s boarding pass, but the captain told her to wait a few minutes. �Jacky-poo, don�t go out there and get yourself killed. And if I ever hear about you sleeping around with those nurses, I personally will become a member of the Korean army and shoot at you myself.� �Baby, I have something to ask you.� I bent down on my knee. �I think I�m in love with you. Mona Lisa, will you marry me?� She stared at the ring in my hands. �I suppose, but I may never see you again. That�s not very practical, is it?� She took the ring anyway and placed it on her finger. �You could have gotten a bigger stone, you know.� �I promise I�ll be back soon. I love you, Mona.� I stepped onto the ramp and started walking to the plane, but I felt like I was missing something. I ran back to hold Mona Lisa in my arms one last time. As I reached the terminal, I saw Mona. She was kissing Jimmy. I opened my mouth to speak, but then I saw her throw her new engagement ring into the trashcan. She never wrote me a letter while I was in Korea. Maybe even alcohol can�t solve my problems.
