When You Find Yourself Awake at 3 AM After Halcyon Wednesday

When You Find Yourself Awake At 3 AM After Halcyon Wednesday

  Charles J Eskew III

  Copyright Charles J Eskew III 2012

  “I’ll just be another minute.” I hear the harpy shriek from the bathroom through her blackened teeth and vodka laced lips. She is not unlike a nurse, I think, but instead of mending wounds with bandage and antidote she quails my aches and pains with a tallboy and smokes. She lets me know that this is just what I needed all along, to be sitting here on her suede couch, my bare skin chilled with the thought of what possible parasitic pests could be working their way across my body as I wait for her to ‘freshen up’. Two pillows lying about did nothing to hide the assortment of stains that I could only attribute to a carton of spilled milk (or two…god, maybe three, that’s a lot of milk). I considered standing, but while the spirit is willing the flesh is, well, drunk and horny. It’s not just the carnal pleasure that keeps me seated though, I know this; every time the prospect of sex is dangled in front of me I find out just how much of an everyday jerk I am beneath the surface of “holier than thou”, but even I can mouth the words ‘no’ or ‘I have an early day tomorrow’, so I can in all honesty say that it was more than that; than the chance to rock her world for all of five minutes. It was the want. This girl, this woman who stunk of beer sweat and tobacco dreams wanted me over the others floating around at last call. She wanted me here, like this, the only way I could. I see now, sitting with a cigarette between two fingers on the left, a PBR chilled in my other hand that this is what self-destruction is; small but distinct steps toward the bottom, each one screaming I just don’t give a holy fuck in its own pathetic little way. It wasn’t a good feeling, per se, but it was a feeling, and at the time that’s what mattered.

  I turn for a moment when I hear the toilet flush and her feet shuffle around the bathroom floor, there is a tonk! And I imagine it’s the beer she’d been clutching on her way to the toilet that hit the ground. I hear the words, “Gawd Dammit!” bolt out her mouth before she pushes the door open and stumbles over to the couch to sit next to me. So, here we are, I think, and prepare for the inevitable small talk that preludes any respectable one night stand, as if by talking about the weather our peccant act will be just a tad more virtuous.

  “Gawwd, I can’t believe how dirty this place is.” She said, referring to chaos about her living room.

  “What do you mean? It’s not that bad.” I say, though it is that bad. There are twenty or so empty boxes of assorted beers lying about, torn envelopes and other papers tossed around, a lamp pushed to its side, the aroma of dog feces. When you’re naked in a strangers apartment at three fifty five in the morning with the emperor’s robes on it’s best to not insult your host. I wonder how differently the night would have gone if I replied to this with, “Me neither, it’s like the filth had its own little filth babies who don’t clean up their filth.” But since I don’t, and wisely choose my words, she leans in to bite my shoulder,

  “You’re such a nice boy,” she says, “Do you have any condoms?” and ends what thus far has proven to be my shortest pre-one-night-stand conversation yet. I’m thrown a bit off guard by the question though I know I shouldn’t be, it’s just I was expecting more pointless chit-chat before we began, “I don’t really think cash for clunkers was a good idea,” or maybe, “So what’s your last name?” but no such luck, so I lean over her fully clothed body to my jeans hanging over the side of the couch fumbling fingers in search of even one ring. None.

  “Shit, no I don’t.” I say, and she shrugs her shoulders, “It’s okay, I think I still have some.” She says, and her hand still damp from washing her hands in the bathroom slide up my leg and cup between my legs.

  “My name is Tammy, by the way.” She tells me, though she told me earlier back at the bar I’m still thankful she repeated it since I wasn’t paying much attention the first time, I was too preoccupied with the thoughts of Holly, and how the bar, Hamptons on King, was one of our places before she went from the woman that made me feel like I had everything figured out, finally, and into the woman that reminded me that in all likely-hood things will never make sense.

  “I’m..ugh.. Martin.” I say, giving a nice moan, much in the same way you give a generous mmm! No matter how mediocre the pot roast tastes. She laughs and leans in biting at my ear, it’s the first time since I’d been a single-ready-to-mingle man of the city that I’d known that feeling, the feeling of scintillation that you just let burn in fear of returning to the cold; the feeling that can only been given from one person to another, and I was thankful for her gift. I imagine that if I brushed off Roy’s invitation I would still be sitting at home watching When Harry Met Sally for the thirtieth time or blubbering about with the stereo blaring Adele’s Rolling in the Deep. Instead though I find myself here with Tammy, a cigarette that is now burning between my fingers and the inability to stop thinking about just how I arrived here.

  *****

  “Just come on out, you shouldn’t stop being you.” It was Wednesday when Roy tells me this over the phone, and by this I can only gather what he means is I shouldn’t stop being an alcoholic.

  When I was still dating Holly our Wednesday consisted of drinks with the gang, a kind of celebratory ‘we made it this far in the week’ outing. It was… nice, and it only got better when my large group of friends started to make the outing with us. Drink, be merry, go home and sloppily try to make love for a while before realizing we’d been far too gone; it made it so when the actual weekend rolled around it’d been just another obstacle standing in the way of our unholy Wednesday, but like all good things…

  When Holl’ and I called it quits, or rather, when she called it quits while I listened and bawled like a toddler, I, like I imagine every forgone couple has to, began trying to divvy up the friends in my head; Months earlier when the whirlwind was still about we were lying in bed and joked about this part, if we were ever to break up, “I’ll taaaaaake…Kaylee…” she said with much consideration, like we were picking partners for dodge ball (in lieu of everything this strangely isn’t far off from what it was) “That’s not fair, Gary is her boyfriend so you get a two for one there…” I respond with a huff and cross my arms in feigned protest. She laughs and rolls over, nuzzling my neck and putting a hand just below my chest, the fluff of her auburn hair tickling my nose. “Pleeeasee?” I hear her say, and I give in; if I’d known at the time we were entering a binding contract I may have fought a bit harder. The problem with this game was that, even if it was just for laughs, the only friends we’d really been filtering through were mine. I’m well aware that the use of the word mine makes them sound less of friends and more of Leggos or Pogs, but that’s what they were, my friends. We’d known each other for years before I brought Holl’ too meet them, and when she finally had they fell completely in love with her. I grinned with an uplifted chin and puffed out chest in self-admiration for the 5’3 bi-racial trophy I toted around unabashedly before them all, as if to say, “Ha ha ha! Croon in admiration of my Prius-driving diva!” It was a good feeling. Holl’ was the type of person you couldn’t help but be wholly absorbed by. She spoke about things that demanded nothing but your full attention and admiration, and unlike the sparkling conversation I’d often engage in, “They really shouldn’t have put three villain’s in Spider-man 3,” or the erudite analysis that, “If you really think about it, as much kryptonite that’s just laying around Metropolis shouldn’t Batman and Superman maybe do a city-swap?” Holly offered more to social commentary than I ever could. Most men would be thrilled to find their significant ot
her completely accepted by their group of friends, and on one level I was, but on another it scared the holy hell out of me. Try as I might I can’t help but expect the worst possible outcome of any situation, and I knew the worst possible outcome of my friends becoming so familiar with my ex was the one that I found myself in. Wednesday and the world became hers, without discussion I found myself a king without a kingdom, like Shakespeare’s Richard the II but more whiny and full of himself.

  It wasn’t just the people I’d lost, but the city as well. Downtown Columbus is like a snow globe in the center of Ohio, filled with a moderate supply of culture, youthful abandon and, well, good drinking; if you somehow find yourself outside that thinly crafted glass there’s not much to see but a cornstalk here, and a confederate flag there, but I heard Lima got a street lamp the other day, so yeah, there’s something. So when the prospect of seeing the person who was once everything and then forced themselves to become nothing is a bit too much to bear your best option is to…

  (A) become a recluse- read, write bad-seventeen-year-old-the-world-is-so-cruel poetry and satisfy no one but yourself with your droll, anything but profound words at open mic nights where the audience applause you receive is bittersweet at best, since their faces are bravely cringing as they clap their hands.

  (B) Masturbation, lots and lots of masturbation.

  (C) Grow the hell up and move on and live your life More Masturbation.

  (D) Wait until the moment prophesied by rom-coms when you will eventually come back together at the end of the final act before the fade to black and reclaim your night life with a cold play song playing while the credits role.

  There were probably other options, but five weeks out of dating your depth perception is a bit askew.

  It was when I was pleasantly enjoying option D when I get the call from Roy. Roy was always a good person, the type of guy who bummed his last smoke without mentioning it, (I can’t boast the same, if anything I make the grandest show of it I can muster “Thou hast no mercy? No understanding that this is the last of my precious tobacco sticks? Have at it then you fiend! And take with it all that makes the sun shine and the stars gleam!”)

  He’d recently been through something similar, though his relationship consisted of four years while mine consisted of only one, which led to a lot of…

  “It’s like I lost my best friend, I don’t know what to do,”

  “Oh yeah? I lost my best friend of FOUR YEARS, shut the hell up.”

  Or,

  “See that restaurant over there? Me and Holly use to eat there…”

  “Oh yeah, well that one over there? Me and Aileen use to eat there for FOUR YEARS, you ass.”

  And,

  “My grandmother adored her.”

  “Well guess what, my grandma adored Aileen for FOUR YEARS.”

  So on and so forth, I didn’t enjoy his suffering, but it helped to hear it every once in a while to put things back in perspective.

  When he asked me to come out it was Wednesday night, and I’d been combative to say the least.

  “Thanks man, maybe next week. I just got out of work, ready to crash.”

  “You said that last week.”

  “Yeah, but, I really mean it this week.”

  “Shut-up, get dressed, and get your ass here.”

  “I can’t man, I’m hurting, I can’t stand being there…”

  “Oh..I see, well…FOR FOUR YEA-”

  “All right, all right, I’m on my way.”

  I don’t spend a lot of time putting myself together, which went against the still be yourself mood Roy had been trying to push on me. When I was still a part of a we I’d felt it mandatory to try and look half as good as Holl did, spending minutes in front of the mirror making every dreadlocks fall in a perfect chaos, that my thickly framed glasses I had no real world application for hung just a bit under my eyes, but every inch of my shirt and pants always ironed crisply, no, that Wednesday I would stop playing abject and really wear it. I’d left the glasses at Holl’s without thinking and didn’t have the courage to get them back yet, I threw on an extra-large T-shirt I had from an old job that draped over me, the words Radio Shack displayed proudly in big red letters. I put on a pair of jeans still rank from days of unwashed bliss, and to top it off I slid my aromatic gym socks with black dress shoes neatly stuffed over them. I was the perfect storm of “Guy who didn’t expect to get laid tonight” and there hadn’t been any ruse to it, no underhanded scheme, I honestly just planned on shutting Roy the hell up for the night, that and getting completely hammered, I would find failure in one, success in the other, and to my surprise a startling third act twist in Tammy.

  When I arrive I sit in the driver’s seat for a while, my car parked with hands locked firmly at ten and two, I spy through the darkness to see if Holly was lingering outside with the other smokers which only proved my paranoia knew no bounds as Holly wasn’t a smoker anymore. I eventually light one up and my first drag comes out in a sigh, I rub the center of my forehead with the fleshy part of my thumb, tossing around the idea of departing, but before I could Roy, in his all of his gregarious glory slammed his hand against the windshield of my car with a small crowed of familiar faces behind him. He’d been making fish faces on my windshield, I tried to put the image of bird feces, splattered bugs and other surface wiped atrocities that’d ended up in the exact same place his lips currently mocked from, but when you see the worst well, it’s the worst.

  “Come on!” He says, and I guess he’s probably five or six deep by this time, and I realize I’d have some catching up to do. The usual suspects are crowded about, but no Holly and I’m thankful but still apprehensive to go inside. I paint on a smile before leaving my car and embrace them as if I hadn’t seen them in years while thinking there’s nowhere I’d rather be but nowhere I fit in less. The aforementioned ‘group’ wasn’t just a random assortment of singles, no, they were almost all in exclusive godwilltheystoptouchingeachother relationships. There was Kaylee and Gary, Mick and Nancy, and a few months prior Roy and Aileen; most couples have trouble finding one bizarro couple to double up with but Holl’ and I had three, funny how that all kind of turns around and kicks you square in the dick.

  I lean over as we’re walking into the bar to Roy’s ear, “Is Holly here?” I ask, with the grave fear as soon as we walk in she’ll be there spread over a table being mounted by some eight foot, light skinned Conan who chatted about the next election with a che’ shirt on, and when we walked in Holly would look over for a moment before saying, “Oh hi…don’t I know you?” My fears were calmed when we made our way in, but while we sat at the table I couldn’t help glancing at the door every now and again.

  The bar tender gave a quick nod to me, and slid over my usual, a whiskey sour. I gave him a nod and swiped the drink from the bar and walked over to the others who’d already been picking out songs to sing for Karaoke. I meander over to them and the drink helps to ease the tension a bit, of being here and breaking one of the rules I’d promised to obey as if they’d been gospel.

  *****

  A few days after the break up I scoured the internet for “how to get over your ex-girlfriend” links, for the first couple of days the only thing I came across were whiny forum pages of woe is me this or I hate her guts that, but eventually I came to an actual site dedicated to expediting the whole getting over it phase. ‘Derek Carlson’s Guide to Getting Over Her’ I carefully browsed around to see if it was a scam, if it had a section that requested you to enter in your credit card number, but after endlessly searching I hadn’t found anything. So, the night I decided to finally read it I turned down the lights and locked the doors and made sure my roommates hadn’t been home, it’s a level of shame that should be reserved for viewing bestiality porn or glitter but I took the precautions regardless; I’d always been one to make fun of those who ate chicken-noodle soup for the soul and wouldn’t be caught slurping some down myself.

  There ar
e rules to abide by, if you wish to make it through my program.

  It began; I rubbed my chin and delved deeply into it as if it were the necrnomicon.

  If you follow these rules, you will move on to a better you.

  Ugh, I think, I always hated that line, ‘making a better you’ because it under minds the years of doting teachers, parents, and pop-stars telling you you’re perfect just the way you are. Fuck you Derek, Fuuuck Yo-

  These rules will not only help you move on, but they’ll also open the door to possibly reconnecting

  … Okay Mr. Carlson…I’m listening…

  I Suggest you get some paper, or a memo pad, to take these words with you wherever you go..

  Check, I think before reaching over to my roommate’s bookshelf that conveniently has a nearly blank memo pad I know he wouldn’t miss. I flip through and tear out the pages with words scrambled through and hold my pencil over the paper and my other hand over the computer mouse.

  You need to completely absolve the thought of her, her existence, don’t listen to any familiar songs for instance, don’t hang out with ‘mutual’ friends, and most of all avoid places you went together.

  *****

  I look around the bar for a moment and mentally strike through the first rule. Everything here, I realize, is Holly. The sounds of the Karaoke machine where we would stare at an increasingly uncomfortable white guy cutting an eye at us while he sang along to a Jay-Z song and mumble the word ‘nigga’, or the patio where every Wednesday we smoked the last cigarette of our lives, and of course the empty dance floor of the basement where I held her, and more importantly, she’d hold me back. You see, when you stop being an us these things don’t just melt away, the ghosts linger singing the songs of echo and nip away at your sanity, tugging away at the time she got so drunk she pissed the bed with you in it, melting away the fights and flung dishes that shatter and she screams at you for dodging it, my metaphorically marvelous ghost leaves something unnatural, addictive, worthwhile. I try not to drink too much but when they play our song, Return of the Mack, and a young girl with a raspy voice and short frame starts to sing the ghost tickles at my neck with a giggle, taking me back to the time it became our song.