We’re sitting at the bar, with burgers in front of us, a few empty shot glasses beside a full one and a beer in front of us as well. We’re properly lubricated, and I know that at this point no work will be done today.
We have a small crowd gathered at the bar with us as we are taking turns telling jokes with Noah and Miles when the crowd breaks for both Nydia and Madison.
I open my arms for Madison and almost fall back in my seat.
“Didja hear the good news, they’re getting married, so we’re celebrating!” I tell Madison, likely at too high of a volume.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Geez, you stink, how much have you had to drink?” she asks looking at the bar where the scene of my evening lays.
She looks over everything in front of me, then slowly returns her gaze to me. She has a look that my fuzzy brain cannot compute, I smile at her, hoping that she will return the smile, but she doesn’t.
“So, I’m going to go. I don’t want to see you like this,” she says to me as Miles walks up to us.
“Hey there, can I get you a celebration shot?” he asks her.
“No thanks, I was just leaving,” she returns her gaze from Miles to me again. “I’m not a fan of drunk Lewis.”
I have nothing to say, not because I don’t agree with her, but because I can’t actually form the words of apology.
She gets off my lap and taps Nydia on the shoulder, whispers something to her and without any other words, she leaves.
Ten
With a nasty hangover, I work on the last bits of programming in one of the software’s that I’ve been commissioned for from a huge client of mine, a company that I’ve done quite a bit of work for.
I’m running the last bit of tests to look for additional bugs, so I figure now is a good time to finally shower and grab something to eat.
I pull up my phone contacts and press for Madison. I haven’t spoken to her yet today, so I’m curious as to what she’s been up to.
There’s no answer, so I send her a quick text message instead.
Me: Hey, how are you on this fine day? It’s already the afternoon, and I haven’t heard your lovely voice yet?
I wait to see if my text has been read or for that bouncing bubble, instead, there is no response. I put down the phone and head into the bathroom. Once I shower, I return to the kitchen and pick up my phone. Still nothing from her.
I make myself a sandwich and settle back down in front of my desk as the computer runs through a few more pass throughs.
Upon the results returning completely polished, I send a message to my client and wait for them to return the call.
After an exceptionally long and shitastic day, I decide to head over to the bar and drink my sorrows away. Today has been a blow to the gut, something that I haven’t dealt with in an incredibly long time and I just want to forget that it never happened.
One of my biggest client’s businesses tanked today.
Apparently, the business has been on the verge of bankruptcy for the past year and I had no clue during any of my dealings with them that this was even possible. I have developed three programs of which they used, and I was still waiting to get paid for the last two which was completed within this last quarter.
When I reached out to their accounts receivable department today, I received constant ringing. When I tried two cell phones with the partners, one sent me directly to voicemail and the other answered with apprehension.
“I’m sorry, Lew. This was something that we were trying to prevent, but ultimately, it was a looming shadow on us. We have no money in any of our accounts and I’m so sorry,” the partner that I signed my contracts with said.
“So, you knew that it was going to happen, and you still contracted out for new software? I’m not understanding here,” I say with my hands running through my hair in frustration.
“We might have something else happening in the next few years, and I wanted to get a leg up, that’s all.” he explained as if it was nothing.
“I’m still expecting payment, you understand that, right?”
“Can I just pay you piece by piece? I don’t have all the money right now, but I have a little bit to get by, it just would be a solid piece by piece payment, will that work?”
I slam the empty beer bottle on the bar top and signal for another. Miles approaches and leans on his arm.
“I haven’t seen you drink this bad since you made me take shots with you that one night,” he observes.
“I know, but today is mighty shitty,” I say pulling a long drag from the bottle.
“Need another shot to numb you,” Miles asks.
“How about you just line them up and I’ll say when?” I close one eye, point at him over the lip of the bottle.
Miles shakes his head, grabs a bottle of something amber colored and lines up a row of shots in front of me. He looks at me one time with a quirk of the eyebrow, “Are you sure about this, my friend?”
When I nod, he begins to pour.
Once he’s finished, I grab the first shot and lean my head back to shoot it.
One down, nine to go.
My fingers are gripping the last shot, when the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I slowly turn my barstool and come face to face with Madison.
And while Madison is generally smiling and looking happy to see me, right now, she looks disgusted with a hint of worry? Or is that anger?
She’s a little bit blurry and I can’t really tell right now.
I reach behind me for my beer.
I hold it up in a cheers manner, then take a sip.
“Hey Mads.” Miles says from behind me. “Our friend, Lewis has had a pretty bad day. Don’t be pissed off or anything, he just needs to let off some steam.”
She smiles, then takes a seat beside me at the bar.
“Is this why you’ve been ignoring my phone calls?” she asks.
“Phone is home,” I slur using both of my hands to move my body in the stool.
“Okay, so you are not ignoring me?” she asks.
“Darlin’, I don’t think I could even operate a phone right meow. Meow.” snort, “I said meow, like I am a cat. Am I cat? I have no fur, but I could be a person cat.” I put my finger up in the air at my thoughts. “Have you seen the trailer for that movie? Creepy as hell, loved seeing it on Broadway, though”
She turns to Miles, “how much has he had to drink?”
Miles stands straight, “well, if we’re counting everything. He’s had three beers and ten shots. No, make that nine shots, he still has one left.” Miles points.
As if in slow motion, I watch Madison turn to look at me. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is wide open. In shock.
“How are you still standing?” she asks.
“Um, I’m not. I’m shitting. I mean sit-ting,” I enunciate for my benefit more than hers.
“Miles, how much does he owe you for tonight?” Madison asks him.
“He’s got a tab. He pays it weekly,” Miles replies.
“Good, I want him to remember how much he drank, when he’s not only dealing with a hangover but the repercussions from tonight.”
“He doesn’t really pull out all the stops like this.” Miles waves his hands piling up the shot glasses.
“He’s here all the time,” she says.
“Half the whole town is in here all the time,” Miles defends.
I watch the exchange while they argue quietly back and forth. Madison places her hand on my arm, turns to me and smiles with her jaw clenched.
“C’mon, we’re leaving. He gave you enough alcohol to kill a person, I’m not sure how you’re still alive right now and not drowning in your own throw-up.”
“I know when to schtop,” I slur while she swings her death stare gaze at me.
Eleven
I know when it’s time to shut up, and this is one of them. Madison looks pissed off and I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I’m drunk or what. I decide to try to pay attention to her cues and do as s
he says as much as I can.
I’m not in the right frame of mind to be making any decisions anyways, so I go along with whatever she says and wherever that she leads me. She has my arm gripped in her hands and we’re briskly walking down the street in the direction of where we both live.
My feet are trying to keep up with her fast-moving feet as well, but I stumble, and my palms are in front of me to break my fall. Only my arms failed me, and my face broke the fall.
I watch Madison’s feet stay still as I groan and move my face to face her feet. I roll over onto my back and look up at her. Her hands are on her hips and she sneers down at me.
“I’m not sure why you’re so mad at me?” I say, lightly touching my nose. “Oh man, I think that my nose is broke. Actually, my face is broken. Ow!”
“Why am I mad at you? I’m not really sure why you are asking me that question,” she straightens her arms and balls her fists.
“I’m asking, because I don’t know. Oh my God! My face feels like it’s on fire! Isn’t alcohol supposed to make me numb?”
“Your stupidity is making you numb,” she huffs out. “Why am I even still here!” she steps over me and then walks out of my eyesight leaving me laying on the sidewalk, alone.
I’m still in my clothing from yesterday.
I’m face down on my bed and the sliver of light coming through from the blinds in my bedroom.
How the hell did I get home last night?
When did I leave the bar?
Why does my face feel like someone took a baseball bat to it?
I try to sit up, but my body is achy, and my head is pounding.
“Fuck! What did I drink last night?” I say to myself rolling over onto my side on the bed.
Bam! Bam! Bam! I’m not entirely sure if that’s the heartbeat bashing around in my head or if someone is at the front door. But when the same sound happens again, I can tell that it’s the front door.
“Come in!” I shout from the bedroom, and even that was hurting me. The pounding on the front door came again and I knew that it wouldn’t stop until I answered the door. I brace myself as I push up from my position on the bed and wobble on my feet as I take my first steps since waking up. With each foot placed in front of the other, I can feel every fiber in my body screaming at me as I approach the front door.
Just as I place my hand on the doorknob, more pounding ensues, and I pulled the door open to see Madison standing on the other side looking pissed. The same expression that she has on her face right now, flashes into my mind. Was that from last night?
“Fucking finally,” she says pushing past me.
I shut the door and slowly turn toward her. She’s looking in my fridge and comes out carrying some orange juice. She grabs two glasses and fill them, pushes one towards me and then gulps her own.
“Is everything okay? Listen, if you’ve been trying to call me, my phone is,” I look around the space, “around here somewhere.”
“Well, a part of me is happy that you made it home, the other part of me hoped that you were still passed out on the sidewalk where I left you,” she says.
“So, I was with you last night?” I ask.
“Not all night. I came around when you were likely blackout drunk and then you fell at some point and I left you there.” she explains.
“You, you left me there? What if I was to get run over? What if some rabid animal decided to chew on my leg?” I say dramatically as she laughs running her hand through her red mane.
“Last night sucked. I don’t like drinking and you know it,” she says.
“I know you don’t, but if you could just understand my shitty day yesterday, you would see some reason behind my drinking last night. I got fucked over last night,” I say in means of an explanation.
“I don’t think that I can listen to any of this right now, I’m sorry if I’m being closed minded, but the drinking and how drunk you were last night, I’m just not sure this is something that I want, that I need in my life. My family is still recovering, will be recovering for a long time.”
“I told you that I’m not an alcoholic,” I say firmly, pushing through the pain in my head as I straighten my posture, or at least I hope I am.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but now I’ve seen you shit-faced twice. That’s two times more than I wanted to think you did when we first started this thing,” she sits down on the wooden chair next to the small table in the corner that I use as more of a second office than somewhere that I eat.
I sit at the opposite end of the table, leaving enough space between us, to give her enough room to figure shit out.
“Sure, you’ve seen a few of my bad days, and yeah - I go to the bar and drink a few extra beers than I normally would. But I do not, I repeat, do not have a drinking problem. What you’re seeing here is usual relationship shit. You see people in their good times and in their shit times. Congrad-u-fuckin-lations, you’ve seen both.”
“Is that how you normally cope with a bad day? You go to the bar and drink?” she questions.
“I’m sure there are other ways to cope, but that’s the quickest and I’m surrounded by people instead of wallowing in my sorries alone. I told you, I’m not an alcoholic, I’m a casual drinker.”
“What kind of casual drinker needs a tab?” she asks coldly.
“If you would look at what’s on my tab, you’d notice that I rarely owe high amounts, but either way, it’s doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that you are judging me for how I deal with shit,” I say quietly shaking my head.
“Maybe, just maybe we should cool things off, maybe I need to reframe everything.”
“Reframe? What’s there to reframe?” I ask.
“Maybe we should take a step back,” she says, “I think we’re moving too fast, too soon.”
“A step back?” I repeat.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure about the future when we first began dating, but maybe I need to see if I can manage dating someone who hangs out at a bar, and not let it affect my own personal judgements.”
Too late for that! I think to myself.
I nod, not really wanting to say anything as well as giving into the hangover.
I can’t force her to see it my way and I really don’t think I would have any power over her decision. She feels one way and no matter what I tell her, I don’t think that she will listen. So, there’s, no point.
“I’m just going to let myself out,” she says standing.
“Do we just leave it like that and go our separate ways?” I ask turning and walking behind her to the front door.
“I mean, we’ve existed in this town before without really knowing one another, why not?” she shrugs.
“Right,” I respond. “Mads? Do you really think that I’m an alcoholic?” I ask.
“I’m not saying that you are, but I think overall what I am saying is that I can’t deal with the little bit of drinking that you do on an occasional basis as it stands.”
“So, the standard line of, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” I say.
She avoids my gaze and then nods.
“Okay then, well, just to be clear, this is not something that I want,” I tell her.
“I know. And you are a great guy, but I can’t be around someone who–”
I hold my palm interrupting her, “I know, you don’t need to say it again.”
The front door opens and she steps over the threshold, then stops before turning around again.
“For what it’s worth, you’re a great guy. But I think that you’re just not the guy for me,” she says sadly, lowers her eyes to the ground and walks away.
One more thing to add to my hangover, a break-up.
Twelve
A few days of radio silence from Madison and I’m crawling out of my skin. We were only dating for a few weeks, but I felt that we grew close and sort of bonded something powerful.
One part of me is pissed off that she can be so closed minded the other part of me underst
ands. She dealt with some horrific shit, losing her dad due to someone drinking, but she also cannot put restrictions on someone as soon as she meets them.
I never showed her any disrespect or show her that I didn’t care. I was open with her about why I hung out at the bar and truth be told, I was hanging out less at the bar than I normally would since she and I began dating.
Before starting something with her, I was there daily, as soon as I finished my work for the day. But since we started dating, I worked a little longer and would spend more time with her.
I’m sitting in my normal stool at the bar, with a bottle of beer in one hand and my phone in the other.
“I bet you could save a lot of brain cells by just putting down your phone and stop thinking about her, man,” Noah says putting a fresh beer in front of me.
“Yeah, probably. But there was something refreshing about being with her,” I explain.
“You mean, refreshing as in you were getting laid on a regular basis?” Noah says with a laugh.
“Possibly, but she is the opposite of what I thought about her,” I say taking a sip of my drink.
“Were you falling in love with her?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. We were in the beginning of our relationship and basically just had our first fight, but it was totally one-sided so I’m not sure if that even qualifies as a fight.”
“I think a fight is a fight. Even if it is one-sided. But it would have been cool for you to be able to fight back. Heard you were shit-faced, but why?”
“I had just finished my third project for a huge client, when I finally got them on the phone, they broke the news to me that they’ve gone bankrupt and wouldn’t be able to pay me for two of the programs that I created for them.”
“Oh shit man, isn’t there some kind of insurance that you can get for shit like that? There’s insurance for everything.”
“They’re going to startup another company and they were planning to use the software that I created for them, for these new ventures. Said that they would pay me then. Suing them would mean nothing, they have no money, I’d just be wasting money of my own.”
Your Neighborhood Regular: The Neighborhood #9 Page 4