Drink

[papers]

You’re in too deep inside my head! Get out! A flick of my wrist and the top of the silver lighter pops open. It’s almost as if I’m watching someone else, as my free hand cups the end of the cigarette in my mouth and while the other brings the lighted flame to it. There is a irony to the little image. Life reflected in that single moment, a flicker of a flame lighting a cigarette. Why does every fucking thing in my life have to be about you? Who the hell are you and why are you here?

I could almost hear my own sobs if I ever bothered to listen. But the din of conversation around me at the bar is too loud. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Cuervo Gold Margarita on the rocks with salted rim,” I shouted over the pounding music and loud conversation.

Now who decided to play “Tequila Sunrise” on that damn jukebox? My eyes suddenly cloud as my vision blurs. It’s just the smoke that fills the air around the bar. Too many cigarettes and the smoke must have gone up the wrong end making my nose sting. So why am I still taking drags on that damn wasted butt, lipstick staining the end.

The ring on my finger winks at me as my wet fingers caress the cold glass. One sip and a slow drag. Night’s turning into a pattern for my life. When did my life get as predictable as the sun rising in the east? My hands clenched around the glass and squeezed. There was a low snap and then a crack. As if in a dream I watched the glass shatter, the shards flying every which way, some embedding themselves in my flesh. Blood seem to gush out from the cuts made by the shards of glass.

For a second I wondered whose hand it was that was bleeding. The bartender’s startled “Oh shit!” made me glance up at him curiously. His eyes were wide as he reached out to take the glass from my hand. I glanced down, as if in a dream, and saw the blood and shards of glass being pulled out. Was that my voice that laughed? I couldn’t be sure.

“Lady, what the hell is wrong with you?” The bartender asked. I doubled over laughing. It was funny wasn’t it, his question?

“Well I don’t know, maybe I just happened to have glass shards embedded in my palm that’s what’s wrong,” I snapped when I was finally able to stop laughing. “Don’t stand there shocked, give me some rubbing alcohol and a clean towel. I’ll get myself across the street to the hospital.” I have never seen anyone move that fast. He must have thought I was dying. If he had bothered to ask me I would have told him I was already dead.

“Will you be okay, lady?” He asked handing me the alcohol and clean towel.

“It’s just broken glass, I’ll be fine,” I said with a slight grimace as I yanked out the shards of glass. The rubbing alcohol stung my hands but I barely felt the pain. When I had wrapped my hand in the towel, I looked up into his gray eyes and found myself laughing again. “Relax darling, believe me, I’ve had worse than a few shards of broken glass embedded in my palm.”

He blushed and reaching under the bar, handed me the first aid kit. I took out a gauze bandage and wrapped it around my hand. Giving him a sardonic smile I tossed enough bills to cover my drinks twice. I didn’t look back as I walked out of there and into the night once more.

The air outside was humid. It hit me with the force of a tractor trailer as I stepped out of the smoke infested air conditioned interior of the bar. The door swung closed behind me, leaving the humidity to envelop me. I walked down the block towards the hospital around the corner. Somehow my footsteps took me past it and further down until at last I was stopped by a laughter of children.

My head swung around at the sound, as if suddenly coming out of a coma. There they stood, young women with children surrounding them. They were mostly likely in their late twenties. So young. My hands wrapped around my belly of it’s own accord as I watched from the shadows.

One of the young mothers had an infant in her arms. She was cooing to the little boy while one of mothers chased a few rather exuberant little boys. Her two friends were cooing at the little baby, playing with him. I doubled over, suddenly aware of the pain gnawing at me. Clutching my injured hand to my breast I groaned aloud and fell to my knees. One of the young women rushed to my side.

“Are you all right?” She asked leaning down next to me. The bandage was still bleeding. Red stained white.

“I’ll be all right,” I said. When had tears started streaming down my face? When had the pain finally conquered my determination to not give into it? The mother with the infant and her friends had rushed to my side whether in curiosity or concern I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. His huge brown eyes stared down at me as a chubby little arm reached out to me.

“May I?” I finally croaked, tentatively reaching out an arm to the baby. My voice was a cracked whisper. “Please?”

Maybe she understood what I couldn’t bare to say. Her friends protested as she let the baby go into my arms. He reached out his chubby little hands and wrapped them around my neck. Holding his body close to mine, I inhaled his scent. It was more intoxicating than any alcohol or drugs I could have introduced into my body. The smell of baby powder tugged at the cold control which had ruled me all my life.

“Here,” I said suddenly, handing him back to his mother. I stood on shakily on my feet and gave them a wavering smile. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink obviously.” I held up my hand for them to see. The condemnation I saw written in their eyes at my words restored the control the infant had nearly threatened to destroy. I gave a shrug and slowly turning, walked on towards my own home.

They say nothing is impossible. But some things in life are just never meant to be. It’s not God, it’s not man, it’s just the way it is. Sometimes you just have to learn to deny the aching emptiness that drives you everyday to the same hell for a drink. Only the drink never quite eases the thirst you ever feel.

Copyrighted to the Shazriel Archives with the permission of Sharon Coote, December 11, 2004