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Two O’clock Drunk

It’s only eight o’clock. I’ve been here since just after five, parked on this stool, in this bar, in this town. Like I am nearly every night since it happened.

On this stool, chosen because it’s on the end, near the men’s room and furthest from the entrance. The bartender with the ponytail knows me and leaves me alone, mostly. Except when he sees my glass is nearly empty. He’s a good bartender, this ponytail one, and here most nights. The other one, the one with the bushy beard, is okay, too. But not as good.

In this bar, chosen because it’s convenient to my apartment and the stools are comfortable. Quiet, but not too quiet. Interesting music, but not too interesting. Clean, with good lighting. The bar three doors down, where I go sometimes if someone has my spot here, or if neither ponytail or bushy beard are working that day, is okay, too. But not as good.

It this town, not chosen at all, or perhaps chosen by failure to choose. People act like there’s always a choice – not about everything that happens but about how you handle things. I guess that may be true. All I know is I ended up here, so I stayed. This town’s not that good a place. Not even okay. A hundred, or a thousand, places would be better if I had the energy to leave. But I don’t.

If things had happened differently, maybe there’d be a different place, a different bar, a different stool. Alma liked to stay in motion. Places, bars, and stools were very fluid, back then. And there was more to life then than bars and stools anyway. Lots more.

But Alma’s gone. She believed she was going to another place. Maybe a better place. I believe she’s just gone. Alma didn’t have a choice about anything that happened. About the lump or the surgery or the treatment. Or about dying. I didn’t have a choice either – if I had, I would’ve chosen it to happen to me instead of her. Then I wouldn’t have to choose how to handle it. Alma would’ve had to make that choice, and she’d have chosen more wisely than I have.

So, I’ve made my choice or maybe failed to choose. I’ve chosen to sit here since just after five, parked on this stool, in this bar, in this town. It’s only eight o’clock but I’ve chosen to be two o’clock drunk. Or maybe failed to choose not to be.


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A Great Day

It had been a great day. So great, Tyler felt like bragging about it.

Tyler had an anxiety disorder. When he was a kid, he’d never really understood what that meant, except he’d been different. And not in a good way.

As an adult, it was even harder, sometimes. As a child, people tended to humor you and would occasionally cut you some slack. As an adult, not so much. Tyler’s biggest struggle involved waiting – he experienced all kinds of unease when he had to stand or sit idly, even for a few minutes.   Lines at a store, waiting rooms, and even pausing at long traffic signals could send him into high gear. Usually, Tyler tried to occupy himself with games, music or other activities on his cell phone to get through it. However, that didn’t always work.

But today had been a great day. Tyler had stood patiently in line behind the old lady at the convenience store who’d waited until AFTER the cashier had rung up her purchases to even START pulling her wallet out of her purse. And then she’d pulled an even smaller change purse out of her wallet and slowly counted out exact change, one bill or coin at a time.

And there’d been the oil change during his lunch break – he’d gone across the street to a coffee shop while they were working on the car. Neither the WIFI nor the cellphone signal had been good there, and it had taken forever for Tyler to get his order. But he’d smiled politely and told the barista to have a nice day. Just like a normal person.

Toward the end of the day he’d knocked off work early to attend a teacher conference at his daughter’s daycare. He’d arrived right on time – he’d found punctuality to be a good way to minimize waits – but the conference before his had run long. Tyler had sat for fifteen minutes surrounded by children’s toys and books, none of which held any interest for him. Thankfully, he’d pre-loaded a podcast onto his phone that helped him through it, sort of.

After leaving the conference, his daughter had wanted to buckle herself into her car seat on her own, and he’d forced himself to let her. She’d taken a long time, but he’d held onto the steering wheel tightly with both hands to control his frustration. When she’d finally gotten it right, he’d smiled at her in the mirror, and she’d smiled back.

Yes, it had been a great day. Tyler thought maybe a drink at the corner pub might be in order. His daughter was asleep, and his wife was finishing up some work on her computer. A perfect chance to slip away for a little while and celebrate. Most evenings, there was a game or something playing behind the bar to keep his mind occupied, at least for the half hour or so it took to drink one beer. Tyler never drank more than one – he had enough problems as it was.

There were only a few people in the place, but the bartender was flirting with a couple of women on the far end and pretended he didn’t see Tyler.   When Tyler called down to him, he raised one finger to let Tyler know he’d heard, but still didn’t seem in any hurry to serve him. Finally, Tyler walked around the bar, grabbed a mug, and filled it up from the beer tap.

Of course, the bartender wasn’t happy about that, and things escalated. A small scuffle ensued, and Tyler ended up getting a black eye. The police were called. It took another wait of twenty minutes for them to arrive, so by that time Tyler felt quite agitated. The police assumed he was drunk, or on something, and took him away in their squad car. Fortunately, rather than booking Tyler for anything they just put him in a cell to sleep it off.

But Tyler was too keyed up to sleep and waiting in his cell was torture. He didn’t want to call his wife, even though he’d been offered the opportunity. Tyler just couldn’t face seeing the disappointment in her eyes, yet again.   After a while his cellmate, a heavily tattooed man with a shaved head, got fed up with Tyler’s pacing and got rough. One thing led to another, and finally the guards came to break them up. But they were too late to stop the cellmate from bashing Tyler’s head against the cell bars. Tyler ended up bleeding rather badly from a gash on his temple.

The ambulance ride to the emergency room was another unbearable wait. With the assumption being he was high on something, the EMTs were hesitant to sedate Tyler, and one strap they’d used to restrain him hadn’t been properly fastened. Tyler thrashed out with his arm and hit one of the EMTs hard enough to knock him into some equipment, which started buzzing and beeping loudly.

The ambulance driver, startled by all the commotion, jerked the steering wheel slightly. The right front tire dropped off the pavement edge into a rut, followed by the entire ambulance, which then rolled and flipped over several times. By the time it came to rest, Tyler didn’t know which direction was which. No one else in the vehicle seemed to be conscious.

Tyler assumed that, sooner or later, first responders would arrive to pull them out. Probably after another long wait. He could see an LED light on some piece of equipment or other flashing the time. Tyler tried not to look at it, knowing it would only add to his anxiety, but finally couldn’t help himself. It was 11:59.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a great day, after all. Tyler didn’t feel much like bragging about it.


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Anthony & Lars

Anthony’s daughter, Julietta, had a boyfriend. A boyfriend named Lars.

Lars had a tattoo of a dragon or lizard or something on his arm. Lars had a motorcycle. Lars had a pierced nipple – he even pulled up his shirt to show Anthony one day, as if that was something Anthony really wanted to see. And what the hell kind of name was Lars, anyway? Swiss or something?

Lars was spending way too much time with Julietta. With Anthony’s only daughter. Julietta began bringing Lars with her to family functions. Anthony tried to avoid him, but it was hard. Sometimes Lars would walk up to him and try to strike up a conversation, right out of the blue. And Lars was always smiling. Trying to get on his good side, Anthony was sure. Well, if Lars thought any of that was going to work with Anthony, he was going to be disappointed. Anthony would NEVER like that sonofabitch.

But Lars continued to hang around. He continued to make small talk with Anthony and his wife, Marie, every time he saw them. Anthony noticed after a while Marie started to act funny, almost as if she LIKED Lars. And Julietta’s three younger brothers didn’t even pretend to hide it. They loved Lars. They loved his motorcycle – Anthony knew Lars took them for rides even though Anthony strictly forbade it. They loved Lars’ tattoo and were thinking about getting some of their own when they were old enough. It made Anthony cringe.

One Saturday evening they got some news. Julietta called from Las Vegas to tell them she and Lars had ridden out there on Lars’ motorcycle and gotten married. She talked to Marie first, but Anthony figured out the gist of their conversation well before Marie handed him the phone. Even though he loved Julietta, Anthony couldn’t bring himself to fake much enthusiasm. He just wished Julietta well and handed the phone back to Marie.

Anthony’s only daughter had eloped with a guy named Lars. He felt cheated. Cheated out of a big formal wedding. Cheated out of a son-in-law he could drink beers with and proudly introduce to his friends. And Julietta deserved better. Better than a guy named Lars with a nipple ring. But she was 24 years old and didn’t need Anthony’s approval. She hadn’t even asked for it.

Julietta and Lars moved into a house just a few blocks away from Anthony and Marie. Lars got promoted at the concrete plant where he worked, and they somehow scraped up the money for a down payment. They didn’t even ask Anthony to help – not that he would have been able to help much anyway given the cost of tuition, cars and other expenses for Julietta’s brothers. And Anthony was having some health problems that had forced him to take early retirement, so money was tight.

Julietta continued to bring Lars to family functions, and after a while their two small daughters came as well. Anthony loved spending time with his granddaughters, but he still avoided Lars as much as possible. At some point, Lars started coming around even without Julietta. Anthony knew Marie had asked Lars to tackle some household repairs she was concerned might stress Anthony’s health. Anthony pretended not to notice.

Then, Lars started to mow Anthony and Marie’s yard. He would mow his own lawn and after he was done, he’d wheel his lawnmower down to Anthony’s house and fire it up again. Lars joked about how it gave him more time to enjoy the noise of the lawnmower – he missed that sound ever since he’d gotten rid of his motorcycle. It WAS a big help, but Anthony hadn’t asked him to do it and wasn’t about to thank that sonofabitch.

Julietta’s brothers didn’t come around much anymore. One moved away to New York City and never seemed to have the time or money to visit. Another had a drinking problem and spent most of his time either attending AA meetings or drunk. The youngest lived right across town from Anthony and Marie, but he and Anthony had fallen out years before and weren’t on speaking terms.

So, family get-togethers and holidays now consisted of Anthony, Marie and Julietta’s family. And after Lars’ father died, his mother, Stepha, moved in with Julietta and Lars, so she started coming too. Marie quickly grew fond of Stepha and they started spending quite a bit of time together. But Anthony just couldn’t bring himself to like Lars’ mother. And what the hell kind of name was Stepha, anyway?

Lars did well at the concrete plant, and eventually became the General Manager. It sounded like a hoity toity title to Anthony – a fitting title for a sonofabitch. Lars and Julietta traded up to a larger house out on Sand Ridge Road, where all the rich people lived. It seemed to Anthony they were just showing off.

When Anthony and Marie’s medical bills started piling up, Lars paid some of them off without saying anything about it. Anthony also knew Lars had bailed Julietta’s brother out of jail on more than one occasion when his drinking had gotten bad. But it was hard for Anthony to appreciate these things. In fact, it wounded his pride a bit that sonofabitch Lars was usurping Anthony’s leadership role in the family.

The time came for Anthony and Marie to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. Julietta planned a huge party for them as a gift from her and Lars. Most of Anthony and Marie’s friends were there, at least the ones that were still alive. It was also quite a surprise when all three of Anthony’s sons showed up with their wives and families. They even expressed remorse at having stayed away so long and promised to bring the grandkids around more in the future. One of them let slip the reason for his change of heart was Lars had talked him through it. And it turned out Lars had been in touch with the other two as well.

Anthony and Marie couldn’t get around very well, so they stayed at the head table all evening visiting with a steady stream of friends and family. Everyone had wonderful things to say about Julietta, Lars and their girls. But especially about Lars.

“Well,” thought Anthony toward the end of the party. “Maybe Lars isn’t such a sonofabitch after all.”

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“What would make you hate me?” Jared asked.

“What kind of a question is that?” Olivia replied tersely, without really considering answering. It was a practiced deflection. Olivia had been deflecting Jared for years.

Olivia always said she wanted a deeper bond with Jared. She chided him for his silence, for not sharing enough details of his day, for never talking about his deepest thoughts and feelings with her. But, the truth was, Olivia didn’t want to know EVERYTHING that went on in Jared’s head – only the good parts, if there were any. The parts that would uplift her and reinforce the fairy tale world she’d built around their relationship. And, if there were no good parts, Olivia wanted Jared to make some up.

The truth was, Olivia feared truth. At least, any truth she might find unpleasant to know. So, she usually avoided it.

“It’s a simple question,” Jared replied. “You always say you love me, and you seem to have reasons for it. But what would make you hate me?”

Olivia sensed a trap, or at the very least, bad news. Was Jared about to tell her their marriage was over? Or he’d had an affair? Or he’d gambled away all their savings? Or was he just looking to start a fight? Because answering his question truthfully could ignite all kinds of fires. It wasn’t a positive question, and Olivia could think of no way to answer positively.

“It will make me hate you if you don’t let this question go,” Olivia replied smoothly, feeling good about coming up with a brisk, non-combative deflection.

Olivia and Jared sat in silence a while longer. The while stretched into a lifetime. The thoughts in Jared’s head were still there. But Olivia didn’t know about them.


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