Comin' Home to You

by Dustin Mcwilliams

  “Man, Grace saw your truck pull up. As soon as she saw it, she went and hid in the fuckin' kitchen,” said a smirking Bubba.

  Owen took a sip of the beverage. “She'll have to come out at some point.”

  “She looked fuckin' mad, dude. How'd you piss her off now?”

  “Hell if I know. I called her on the way here just to see what she was doing later. Not sure why she got mad.”

  “Well, try not to piss her off any more, man. She's been a real bitch since she dumped you.” Bubba trailed off toward the end of the sentence, just in case someone else was listening.

  “Any idea why?”

  Bubba shook his head as he went to attend to another customer, leaving Owen alone with his thoughts. The bartender was a solid person to talk to, though he had difficulty saying a sentence without including at least one curse word. While taking another drink, he was stunned by a sharp, but fleeting pain in his chest. These pains were yet another result from the cirrhosis, and while Owen understood the reasoning of why he was in pain, he was almost at peace with it. With every drink of beer, I bet I get closer and closer to dying. But every drink also makes me happier. I can't deny making myself happy...

  While he drank almost every night, he never considered himself to be an alcoholic. What person would bestow himself with such a negative title? Owen never had symptoms of withdrawal whenever deprived of alcohol, though on retrospect, there were no extended periods of time in his adult life without a drink. He had been called an alcoholic by his daughter, brother, and his mother while on her death bed. It was easy enough to outwardly rebuff such comments, but they still cut him like a sharpened dagger. Sometimes, he would have doubts about himself, but at this point, there was nothing more that could be done to change him.

  After finishing his drink, he caught Grace trying to sneak by him from the corner of his eye. She was wearing a pink t-shirt with the Louie's logo on her left breast. She also wore a pair of skimpy black shorts that accentuated her beautiful and virtually shimmering tanned legs. Quickly spinning on his bar stool, he yelled at her to get her attention.

  Rolling her eyes in disgust, she reluctantly responded. “What the hell do you want, Owen?”

  “I came to see you, girl.”

  “Well, you saw me.”

  “What are you doing after this?”

  “Not you, that's for damn sure.”

  Owen had a snarky comeback at the tip of his tongue, but it couldn't function correctly to make the words. It felt like a dead weight inside of his mouth. Instead, he decided to remain silent, and his former smirk transformed into a plain poker face.

  “Listen, Owen,” continued Grace, consciously talking louder so the other customers could hear. “I can't live my life lettin' some old lecherous, greedy, stupid asshole like you get what he wants all the damn time. I'm 30 damn years old, and it's about time I start actin' like it!”

  Light laughs and snickers could be heard from the restaurant audience. Grace put a hand on her hip and awaited a response, but Owen quietly span around, mainly to avoid her piercing gaze, while at the same time escaping the stares and laughs from the customer audience. While her words had plenty of impact, he was more shocked that she knew the word 'lecherous.' Throwing back the remaining half ounce of beer left in his glass, he exhaled loudly. That was not the way he was expecting his conversation with Grace to go. It was disappointing, and that feeling evolved to a maudlin and brooding state. Dr. Myers' words were starting to repeat in his head, and a dark realization was beginning to set in. He was going to die, and more than likely, he would die alone.

  A minute later, Bubba placed another beer on the bar top. Owen nodded in appreciation.

  “Grace chewed your ass out, huh?” spoke a smiling Bubba.

  “Yes...yes, she did.”

  Bubba leaned over the bar to get closer to Owen. “Man, keep this on the down low, but we've been talking about it here at work, and man, the way she's been actin', a lot of us be thinkin' that she got knocked up. Either that or she's on the longest fuckin' period ever.”

  That was the last thing Owen wanted to hear. The news could explain a lot of things as to why she seemed angry at him. The girl was by no means a whore. As far as he knew, the two guys she was seen out with never went beyond simple dates. Of course, he didn't know that for sure, but it even took him a couple weeks before he engaged with Grace physically, and he considered himself quite the lady killer. If she did carry his seed, then his life was truly fucked. He couldn't even imagine raising another child, but it was doubtful he would get the chance.

  Now further depressed, he sighed audibly. “Well, shit.”

  “I hear ya, man. I had some scares like that in the past. Shit, one of them wasn't a scare. God dammit, been paying child support for two years now. Fuck, I'm fortunate though. I'm not paying as much as other guys I know. But still man, paying for a child you don't want, that's some shit.”

  “Let me ask you something, Bubba,” interrupted Owen, uncaring of Bubba's predicament. “You seem like the philosophical type.”

  “The what?” questioned Bubba.

  The comment was in jest, but he pushed the subject anyway. “Philosophical. You know, understanding beliefs, attitudes, and really looking at things...thoroughly, I guess. That kind of stuff.”

  “Uh...alright.”

  “Never mind, I'll just ask you. If you knew you were going to die, like, very soon. What would you do with your remaining time?”

  Bubba guffawed. “That's your question? Shit, that's easy. Smoke a lot of weed, drink a lot of beer, and fuck a lot of bitches.”

  Owen wasn't surprised. “That's it? You wouldn't try to make the world better or anything?”

  “Why should I? I wouldn't be alive to see it.”

  “That's a fair point.”

  “Why you asking me that anyway?”

  Perfectly faking a smile, Owen took another drink. “Just curious, my friend.”

  Bubba rubbed his bald head. “Shit, now that I'm noticing, you lookin' real thin and frail, man. You ain't dying on me, are ya?”

  “I'm just on a little diet...losing a few pounds. Just want to be ripped for the ladies this summer. You know how it is.” That was a terrible lie, but it would come off as truthful to someone like Bubba. He knew that he had few options when it came to explaining his weight loss. Lying was the only course of action.

  “That's one hell of a diet, but man, you looking too damn skinny. The only ladies you gonna get this summer are those who be suckin' your dick for some crank. You sure you aren't smoking that stuff?”

  “Have you ever known me to do any of that shit?”

  “Nah, man. I guess not. You better eat something, man. Seriously, you looking pretty damn frail.”

  Owen chuckled, then took another drink as a means to cease conversation. Unfortunately, no amount of food would pack on any pounds. He currently weighed in at 150 lbs., which was 30 lbs less than the norm throughout the years. When he did have an appetite, he would have problems keeping it down. Roughly 30 percent of the food he ingested made it through the digestion cycle. However, he just wasn't hungry most of the time. With his desire to go all out tonight, there was no point in eating anything. He would just throw it all up anyway.

  Slowly rubbing the temples of his head with his thumb and middle finger, thoughts from the past crept into his mind. Whenever he was alone, they were apt to materialize. He never admitted it to anyone, but that was the main reason he relentlessly sought a woman's company for the night. In her presence, regardless of who it was, Owen thought of her and only her. With Grace already refusing him for the foreseeable future and with the previous news prevalent in his thoughts, it was looking like a miserable night. There was only one way to hopefully avoid a night of sulking self-pity; he would have to become blackout drunk. Hopefully, he would wake up in the morning none the wiser. To accomplish such a task, he needed to leave this establishment as soon as possible. He couldn't stand to look at Grace anymore without
thinking how badly he needed her. Though, he would settle for any woman, but besides a few elderly women and a couple of young kids, no women were present. Simply going home was the only real solution.

  Raising his hand in the air, Owen waited patiently for Bubba to return from another customer.

  “What do you want, chief?” asked Bubba.

  “Three shots of Jack and tab me out.”

  Bubba had a surprised look on his face. “Two beers and three shots and you're out? My god, the world must be ending when Owen Tomkins drinks that fucking little.”

  “I'll drink some more at home.”

  “Man, you ain't the type to be drinkin' all alone. You sure you alright? You are acting like one strange son of a bitch today.”

  Owen ran his fingers through his hair and sadly exhaled. “It's just one of those days, Bubba. It's just one of those days.”

  Bubba was wide-eyed and confused. “Alright, hoss.”

  After pouring three shots of whiskey, Bubba placed the filled glasses in front of Owen, then walked away to help another customer. Perhaps he made his bartender uneasy. He spoke some strange words that Bubba was not used to hearing. Normally, all they talked about were girls, booze, and sports. It was for the best though. He didn't need anyone worrying about him or talking to him for that matter. Tonight was a night for himself. Not that he considered himself a loner, but there were times when a man took a small delight in tasting the strength of alcohol in solitude.

  That was another thing his father taught him. He remembered a night back when he was around nine or ten. It was a dark and stormy night, and he ran into the living room, as hyper and full of life as ever. He noticed his father, who was reclined back peacefully in his recliner, and asked to turn the television on. Taking a drink of his beer, his father didn't move his head, though his eyes tracked his son. He told him to go back to his room and leave him alone. Owen, being the inquisitive son, asked why. His father took another drink of his beer and calmly said that there are times when grown men need to drink alone. Owen knew not to disobey his father, but there was something in his words that rang out today. Alcohol is as social of a beverage as it gets. But until recently, he couldn't understand why someone would drink booze in solitude. All he knew currently was to finish the drinks in front of him and go home. He needed to dwell, and hopefully pass out. He could only pray that he had no bad dreams tonight.

  Throwing back the shots quickly, he was met with a familiar burn in the back of his throat. But that burn was taken over by a strong acidic searing. Realizing that it was bitter bile ascending up through his esophagus, he tried to mentally will the vomit back down. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in that endeavor. Knowing there was no use delaying the inevitable, he sprinted to the bathroom, pushed open the door in a strong fashion, and quickly placed his head over the stainless steel sink. He expelled everything in an instant.

  After almost a brutal minute of puking and dry heaving, Owen raised his head to view a withered and withdrawn man in the dimly-lit bathroom mirror. Even through the smears and smudges of the mirror, he could visibly see how far he had fallen in such a short time. His eyes abruptly watered, and while he was sure it was just a reaction to throwing up, an enveloping morose feeling made him realize that they were real tears. As he did his best to spit out the remnants of the bile from the back of his throat, he never wanted to curl up in a ball and emotionally die as badly as he did now.

  He cupped his hands underneath the water faucet, letting the cold water accumulate. Once his hands could hold no more water, he splashed it on his face. The water was extremely cold and briefly made his lips quiver, but it did not give him the revitalizing effect he had hoped for. On retrospect, it felt completely unnecessary. Afterward, he slurped some water, gargled it, then spat it out to erase any hint of vomit and bile from his mouth. He gazed once more at his reflection. His doppelganger reminded him thoroughly of his new, true form. He was now practically a walking husk, just like his liver. Mentally, he was still cognizant, but his body was showing so much wear and tear, that he half-believed his limbs would just fall off, like an action figure broken from overuse. He realized he was just a mere mortal, not God's gift to women or the most badass man on the planet. Owen Tomkins was just another man who could diminish and die just like anyone. It was all thanks to his favorite thing in the world. Despite his pain and sadness, he realized that alcohol was his death sentence, vice and salvation all wrapped up in one intriguing combination.

  I look like a fucking zombie, thought Owen. Emotions were starting to cloud his thinking, just as tears were blurring his eyes. He opened his right hand and examined the palm, noting all the creases and calluses. Then, he proceeded to slap himself furiously on his right cheek. He could feel a sharp stinging of pain, but it was the only thing reminding him that he is still a man. Suck it up, Owen. Get the fuck out of here. Don't let anyone see you like this.

  As fast as he could, Owen rushed out of the bathroom. He had every intention of leaving without anyone knowing. During his brisk journey, he knocked over a vacant wooden chair, creating a loud and obstructive sound. While his knee throbbed in pain, he continued quickly to the door, hoping no one saw him. He wished he could have caught one last glimpse of Grace out of his peripheral vision, but he sadly never saw her. He took it as a sign that it was truly over for the two of them.

  When his fingertips pushed open the exit of the restaurant, he could hear someone yelling loud enough that it echoed inside the building. “Woah, woah, woah, what the fuck is he doing?”

  It took him a split second to recognize Bubba's intimidating and booming voice. He guessed it made plenty of sense, as he was a man skipping out on his check. But he couldn't care less about what others thought of him or whether he was making a small infraction of the law. Freedom from the masses was all he desired. Just true solace, with him gripping a bottle of liquid heaven. He couldn't even remember what alcohol awaited him at home, but he knew he would drink damn near anything. His mouth practically salivated at the thought.

  It was a great relief when Owen felt the warm and muggy dusk air upon him after escaping the confines of Louie's. It used to feel like a home away from home, but now it felt like he was leaving prison after a long stint. The sun was descending in the west, creating a perfect canvas of orange and dark blue in the distant sky. He took in the beauty of it all while clumsily stumbling to his truck. Owen wondered aloud if he would ever see such a sight again. He didn't figure it would be his last sunset, but he somehow doubted he would see another as beautiful as the one tonight. Grudgingly removing his eyes from the setting sun, he reached his vehicle. Before he could place his hand on the door handle, he heard a familiar female voice yelling at him.

  “Owen Tomkins, where the hell do you think you're going?”

  The three shots he had recently drank had hit him way harder than usual. Normally, he would barely have a buzz, but now he was having problems formulating a reply for Grace. Probably another effect of his liver not functioning the way it should. The most he could physically do was look her way with glossy eyes. She walked toward him from the entrance with her shoulders in a permanent shrug. Stopping just in front of him, she placed a hand on her supple hips, showing a sense of frustration and confusion. Her current pose stirred him. He wanted her so bad right now, but he was having problems standing upright. He wondered if he could even perform sexually at the moment.

  Grace pointed toward the doors of the entrance fiercely. “You better get back in here and pay your tab!”

  There was no denying Owen was drunk as hell. Using his driver's side mirror as leverage, he was doing his best to even stay standing. His brain was thinking a million unclear thoughts at once. Most of them were wondering how best to explain how desperately he wanted her. He longed to hold her in his arms, to taste every inch of her and to make her scream in joy. Yet, none of his thoughts were precise enough for him to explain to her verbally. Instead of talking, he inexplicably threw his wallet at her. While
the sun still lingered, it had become too dark to see a brown wallet. She couldn't react quickly enough as it slapped on her forehead.

  Exasperated, she flung up her arms in angst and confusion. “Owen, what the fuck is your deal!?”

  “You wanted me to pay my tab. There's my wallet.”

  “Answer me! What the fuck is your deal!?”

  “The fuck...what the fuck is your deal!? Just coming over and fucking me and leaving.”

  “Don't...don't you dare try to make this about me! I did what I did as a test. I wanted to see if you really were the right man for me...I wanted to see if you actually gave a shit about me. And what do you do after we are done making love? You march your scrawny naked ass for some cheap beer instead of staying in bed with me. You could have held me for a minute, and fuck, I would have accepted that! But you never bothered to think about me and what I need!”

  She wasn't making any sense to his inebriated mind. While he easily remembered the night they had sex, he couldn't remember what happened after he chugged some Miller Lites from his fridge. Owen tended to have a long euphoria after the sexual climax, which usually led to memory loss. In retort, he replied with the first thing that came to his mind.

  “Why are you being such a fuckin' bitch?”