Surviving Michael

by Birchall, Joseph

  Come on, Ruby. This isn’t like you, girl. I peer up over my knees. The heat and sunlight are trying to squeeze their way past the drapes, like one of those giant Hollywood movie lights. I need a cigarette. Jesus. I can’t smoke any more. Apart from everything else, my day is starting off without any form of a hangover whatsoever, which is practically a first for me since, I don’t know, maybe twelfth grade in high school. Danny jokes that staying on in Dublin had nothing to do with him. That it’s actually one of only a few places in the world where my heavy drinking habits would go unnoticed. Unnoticed? It’s practically encouraged.

  Sure, there are other countries, mainly in Eastern Europe, that drink more liters per capita, but none that has it as a national pastime, an almost rite of passage and so intrinsically embedded into its society, as it is here. It’s the biology of their souls. The etymology of the very word – Ireland. It’s not even a cliché here as it is back in the States. I think that secretly they’re proud of it. They consume vast quantities of alcohol and they’re amiable to foreigners – it’s a fact. Sometimes they’re not so friendly to each other, though. They seem to suffer from a sort of indigenous xenophobia. Not in a violent way, necessarily, but more with a distrustful attitude. A natural tendency or bias toward suspicion.

  I first met Danny in a pub. In fact most of the people I know today stem from one pub experience or another. I got offered my first job in a pub. Christ, even when I first met Danny’s parents in their home, the first thing his father asked me was, ‘will you have a drink?’ When I replied, ‘one of those would be great,’ and nodded to the glass of whiskey in his hand, he smiled approvingly. There was almost this palpable sigh of relief from the rest of his family members.

  I can’t imagine anything other than an acrimonious or frosty reception at best, next time I stop by their home. That’s if they’ll even grant me the privilege of another visit. I’m not so sure, though, that I can do this on my own. Not without Danny. I fucked up. But we can learn and grow from this, can’t we? Perhaps I’m asking too much? Of course I’m asking too much.

  I remember when I first met Danny. He was such a shy kid. I mean, he wasn’t young or immature or anything like that. If anything, I was the kid. He’s seven years older than me, but it was me who had to do the chasing. All the time pretending that he was taking the lead. He didn’t even try to kiss me until our third date. As for sex, I practically had to drag him into the bedroom and pull his shirt off. And he was so sweet. So loving.

  I could tell that his buddies Nick, Charlie and Liam had their designs on me, but there was something different about Danny. An incorruptibility about him. And yet a sweetness too. And when I chose to sit with him that night, he was like a little puppy dog with a new treat. He talked and talked, and I just listened to him, and looked into those big, chocolate, brown eyes of his. And not once did he glance at my breasts. He didn’t even try to sneak a peek when I crossed my legs in front of him.

  When we were saying goodnight, I asked him to close his eyes, which he did, and then I asked him what color my eyes were. He told me that they were emerald green, but that when I laughed, and the light shone directly into them, they turned a golden amber. I’ve been fed more lines than a Shakespearean actor in my time, but the way he said it rocked. It wasn’t the usual BS I get every weekend. Well, I almost jumped into his arms. But I didn’t, of course. I kissed him on the cheek and handed him my number. The fool even texted me an hour later about what a great night he had. But that’s what I’ve always loved about him – no games. Such a rare quality in any man. Practically impossible to find it in an American one these days. I think I’m his first real love. I’m not saying that he’s my first, but I can’t help but be crazy about him. Nothing makes me happier than when he texts me and asks me if he can come over. No assumptions. No possessiveness.

  This is going to hurt him, and he’s going to have to man up a bit. Take one on the chin. The thing is, I’m not so sure he can take it. It’s gonna kill me to see those big puppy brown eyes of his so sad. Maybe he’ll surprise me. A girl can always live in hope. Can’t she?

  I squeeze my boobs again. One in each hand. Christ, they’ve definitely grown.

  I lean onto my side and stand up, but I do it all too fast and my head spins. Oh, God. I need the bathroom.

  Ugggghhhhhh.

  Christ, that was a sore one. Am I supposed to be vomiting this early? I haven’t even eaten anything today. It’s most likely just my body reacting to an uncommon twenty-four hour sobriety spell. I don’t think I’ve ever knelt in front of the toilet before for a non-alcohol related illness.

  I should call home. Mom is going to fucking freak out. I know exactly what she’ll say, and what she’ll want me to do. But that’s not a decision I’m prepared to make yet. I need to talk to Danny first. I can handle my dad. He’ll be disappointed in me, but won’t actually say anything. As for any support, Mom will make sure he’s toeing the family line. Which means her fucking line. He’ll throw a couple thou into my checking account, as he’s already done a few times.

  Christ. What sort of financial implications is this going to have? Can I even afford it? I can’t manage it on a bartender’s salary, that’s for goddamn sure. And what if I do have to do it all on my own? How will I cope? I’ve no family here. Shit. I’m starting to sound like my Mom…

  Aaaaagggghhhhh. Oh, Jesus, God. Maybe I should go home. That is if they’ll have me back.

  If I could just stop vomiting and crying for five minutes. I just need some time to think. I’ll tell Danny first. Depending on how he reacts will determine what I’ve got to do next. Depending on how he reacts? That hardly sounds like the warring feminist I was known for in college.

  If my college girlfriends could see me now; half naked, and sitting on the bathroom floor, tear tracks all down my face, the smell of vomit on my breath. Actually, that’s not too far from those days as well.

  No, I won’t go home. I’ll be on my own. I’m not so sure I have the patience though. I can just about keep myself on the straight and narrow. But then where do I go? I can’t stay in this apartment. When one of my friends went on vacation last summer for three weeks, I hid her cat in my apartment. I don’t think I could hide a baby.

  A baby? I think that’s the first time I actually thought the word. A baby. A little boy? A little girl? Mine. My little boy. My little girl. Oh my God, this is real. A little person growing inside of me. A little person who I’m responsible for. Who needs me. Needs me to step up to the plate. Danny can afford to have morals and everyone can have their fucking opinion. I can’t.

  Maybe I can do this. Be a mother? Be a good mother. Me. A mother. My mother a grandmother? She’ll freak out.

  Oh, God. I wish that I could just stop crying…

  Yaaaaaaaahhhh.

  The closer I get to downtown, the more nauseating the smell of vomit is. Every couple of blocks I confront someone’s afternoon’s discharge on the sidewalk. I pause to barf, but only dry retch, and lean against a bus stop until the sensation has passed. Passers-by are quick to judge, and throw me their ‘holier than thou’ glances. I’m so glad I’ve moved out of the Temple Bar area. It’ll be a minefield of puke puddles tonight, if it isn’t already.

  When Ricky offered me that job in Broderick’s, I almost jumped over the bar at him right there and then. It’s further out on the south side, so it gets mostly an indigenous crowd. Not that I’m xenophobic in any way, how could I be? Everyone still gets pretty much bombed, but it isn’t as sloppy. Tonight is an exception though. The Irish can handle their drink. What they can’t handle is the sun.

  You gotta pace yourself in this weather. Drink plenty of water, otherwise you dehydrate, and the alcohol is like a fucking mini twister in your head. They should put, like, a government health announcement on the TV or something. And while they’re at it, how about a few fashion tips on how to dress for the sun. They’re so used to wearing dark colors throughout the year that it’s like they’re color blind when the
sun comes out.

  I know Ricky was a little wasted that night he asked me to come work for him at his bar, and I know he was attracted to me and all, and perhaps I did even lead him on a little, but I was getting desperate to get out of that place. The two brothers who run it are a couple of jerks, and I was going to leave anyway, but I guess I’m the type of girl who likes to have a firm grip on one branch before she lets go of the other.

  Danny usually drops by on a Friday to say hi. Sometimes he’ll have his boys with him. Nick is his closest friend, and he seems to be coming out of his shell a bit more lately. I miss Aoife. She was good for Nick. They were both set in their ways, like an old married couple, but they were good together. I know plenty of girls who’d love to find someone like him, but I don’t think he’s quite ready yet for anything too serious.

  Charlie will be working the room as usual, if he’s there. He says he’s an actor, but I’m from California where every other person who isn’t an actor is trying to be one. Either that or a scriptwriter. I know tons of actors, and I know he ain’t no actor. He has that whole Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise look going on, but that’s it. No versatility whatsoever. As for that other sleaze ball, Liam, I don’t think he’s actually ever looked at any part of me except my breasts.

  The bar is busier than usual for a Friday evening. I haven’t seen the place this busy since the Celtic Tiger days. A lot of office staff extending their after work drinks, the sensible ones already well gone. I nod to Ricky behind the bar, and he waves. I say hi to a few familiar faces as I make my way to the back. I can’t see Danny or any of the others, and can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved. I still haven’t eaten yet, so I head over to the kitchen to see if I can make myself a sandwich or something, but when I get there, I feel nauseous again, and drink a very sweet espresso instead.

  I’m looking out across the bar while standing in the kitchen, when I see Charlie coming in. He’s shaking hands with the bouncers, and a couple of people turn to watch him as if he were someone famous, but who they just can’t place right now. How does he do that? It’s more than just his looks. It’s a sort of undeniable confidence and appeal that he oozes. He walks to the bar, and shakes Ricky’s hand. I guess it’s a rare quality to be enchanting to both sexes. Ricky makes him a drink, and Charlie looks up and sees me. He raises his head and smiles. I don’t smile back.

  I look over his shoulder and see Danny coming in. The bouncers walk through, and hold the door for him. They know that he’s my boyfriend, and they’re only trying to be cool, but I know he thinks it’s because of his limp, and he hates being given any special treatment. Charlie looks over his shoulder to see what I’m looking at, and when he sees Danny, he turns back to me. I put down my coffee, and leave the kitchen, but by the time I get out, Charlie has already greeted him and brought him over to the bar. I have the sense that I’ve lost a race.

  ‘Hi, Danny,’ I say, rubbing his back to get his attention.

  ‘Hey, babe,’ he says, and turns to hug me.

  ‘Hi, Ruby,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Hey,’ I reply.

  Danny studies my face. ‘You look a little pale, babe,’ he says. ‘You okay?’

  I wipe my face with my hands. ‘Sure, I’m okay, honey,’ I tell him. ‘Too many late nights, I guess.’

  ‘I got news,’ he says. ‘Can we talk?’

  I look at Ricky. He’s managing behind the bar, but only barely.

  ‘I’d better go give Ricky a hand,’ I say, ‘but let’s talk on my break, okay?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Danny says, ‘let’s go outside for a bit.’

  He takes my hand, but I let go.

  ‘No seriously, I’d better go do my job.’ He looks hurt.

  ‘We’ll talk later, honey. I promise,’ I say, and I kiss him on the lips. I see him scowl over in Ricky’s direction as I leave.

  Charlie turns, and I see Liam coming in.

  ‘Hey, Liam. Over here,’ Charlie calls out, and I quicken my pace.

  Liam

  ‘HEY, LIAM. How’s it goin’ bud?’

  I half turn me head to see who it is, but continue workin’. I always verbalise the postal codes in me head when sortin’ the letters.

  Raheny, Dublin 5. Baldoyle, Dublin 13. Rathmines, Dublin 6.

  It’s quite… what’s the word... therapy… it’s quite therapeutic, that’s it.

  ‘Alrigh’?’ I offer him.

  Blackrock, Co. Dublin.

  ‘Listen, I, eh, got those DVDs off you last week,’ he says.

  Tallaght, Dublin 24. Tralee, Missort.

  ‘And?’ I ask.

  ‘And. Yeah, they were good.’

  ‘Course they were good. I don’t sell shite DVDs.’

  Rathfarnham, Dublin 14. Firhouse, Dublin 24.

  ‘But...’ he says.

  ‘But wha’?’ I ask, and pull out a new wad of letters, and then shuffle them in me hands to straighten them. ‘Too soft for yeh?’

  ‘No, no. Nothin’ like that.’

  Clondalkin, Dublin 22. Rathlyon, Dublin 16? In your dreams, pal. Dublin 24.

  ‘Too hardcore, then?’

  ‘No, no. It was just right.’

  ‘Like Goldilocks, so,’ I tell him and scratch me beard again. I look down and see white flakes falling onto me black T-shirt. Me beard’s gone a bit... what’s that word? Unkept. Yeah, a bit unkept of late. It’s gone a bit grey on me chin as well. That’s because I haven’t washed it in ages.

  ‘What’s Goldilocks?’ he asks, but I ignore the question.

  Templeogue, Dublin 16.

  ‘Too wha’ then? Too young?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Too old?’ I ask, raisin’ me eyebrows at him. I stop sortin’ the letters for a few seconds. ‘I don’t do them.’

  ‘What? No. No, of course not.’

  Blanchardstown, Dublin 15. Baldoyle, Dublin 13.

  He shifts from one foot to another. I know what he wants. I get it abou’ once a month. They go for the regular porn for a while, but then sooner or later they have to ask for wha’ they really want. First it’s couples. Then it’s threesomes, two blokes and a girl. Moving on up to orgies, gangbangs, and all the time the female role dwindlin’ and the pussy to cock ratio decreasin’.

  ‘Too straight?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Too straight,’ I repeat. ‘I’ve got some of them, but I don’t have them with me. I’ll bring them in next week. They’re harder to get though, so they’re a bit more expensive. Fifteen euro. Come see me on Monday.’

  Phibsborough, Dublin 7. Rathborne. Rathborne?

  ‘Paddy,’ I call over.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s Rathborne?’

  ‘Dublin fifteen,’ Paddy shouts back.

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Liam.’

  ‘It’s alright. There’s no need to be embarrassed,’ I tell him. ‘I’m getting lots of requests for the gay stuff lately. No doubt somethin’ to do with the heat.’

  ‘I’m not gay,’ he insists. I turn to face him. He’s gone a bit red. ‘They’re not too straight. That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Too wha’, then?’

  He turns and looks around. ‘Too white,’ he finally confesses.

  ‘Too white?’ I repeat.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says and shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down at the ground. ‘I’d like them a bit more...’

  ‘Non-white?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got loads of them.’

  He smiles at me. I wish he didn’t.

  ‘So what is it?’ I ask. ‘Asian, black, interracial, Indian, Arab, Japanese schoolgirl, Latina...’

  ‘Just black,’ he blurts out.

  ‘Just black? Okay. No problem.’

  He smiles again.

  ‘Black on white, white on black, or black on black?’

  He thinks about this. ‘White on black.’

  ‘Lesbian, young, old, MILF, teen, BBW, b
ondage, DVDA..?’

  ‘Just regular stuff,’ he interrupts me again.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, then. I might have somethin’ in the car. I’ll put it in your locker later.’

  He fumbles into his pocket and pulls out a tenner. Me hands are full of mail.

  ‘Just throw it there,’ I tell him.

  He puts it on the bench and then stands there not sure what to say, when there is nothin’ to say. I turn back to me work.

  Blackrock, County Dublin. Cabra, Dublin 7.

  ‘Thanks,’ he eventually says and shuffles off.

  I look up at the wall clock. It’s just gone three pm. The last few hours on a Friday are always the slowest, and the seat gets the most uncomfortable. I’ve spoken to the union about it already. It’s not right that a man of my proportions has to use the same size chair as everyone else. You can’t even see the fuckin’ chair under me for fuck sake. It’s like I’m levitating in front of me bench like Jabba the Hutt in mid-air.

  I reach into the cubby hole of Dublin thirteen, and pull out a Mars bar. I open it and shove half of it into me mouth, and then open a can of coke, just as Frank is walkin’ behind me.

  ‘No eatin’ on the floor,’ he declares, but doesn’t stop.

  He doesn’t stop because every Monday I put a new DVD in his locker. He has to be seen to be in charge, but we both know that I could have a whole fuckin’ picnic on this bench and he wouldn’t do shit. Big breasted blonde secretaries. That’s what he’s into. He must have over a hundred of them by now.

  I supply about half the men in here with porn. I used to download all the latest Hollywood blockbusters from pirate websites and print out a sheet with the titles. I’d always put a few hardcore titles at the end.