Dodger

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Dodger Page 3

by Dan Gallagher

3

  WE PULL UP TO MY place and Phil shuts off the engine.

  “Jim, we're here.”

  I stir suddenly. Sullenly. “Oh. We are.”

  “I got it.”

  He gets out, opens my door. I stumble onto the sidewalk.

  “Dude... thanks.”

  “Take care, man.”

  “Wait, you don't want to hang out?”

  “I can't, I'm on the clock. Taking you home was my job.”

  “Come on, Phil. I'm a... a broken man. I need to hang out! Well, you know. Just shoot the shit with someone.”

  “Jim, it's seven forty five in the morning and you're wasted. Go back to bed. It was nice meeting you.”

  And with that, Phil Jinx jumps into his Channel Eight News Lincoln Towncar and recedes into the night. Morning. Whatever.

  I'm starving.

  Ramen noodles never tasted so good, and almost burning the place down because I passed out for twelve minutes while the water was boiling never felt so worth it. Shrimp flavor rules. I finish them in a minute flat, then throw on some jazz and lay back.

  It takes awhile for them to come but like clockwork they do, through my well broken in tearducts, past my pretty eyelashes, down my makeup stained face. All over the place. The tears pour out faster than I can create them, and I swear to God I'm choking, thinking about everyone I'm going to let down, all the funerals, all the graves I'll have to visit within the next ten years, all the utterly disappointing eulogies I'll have to give and really, the worst part, not caring about any of it. I really just gave up karaing.

  Caring.

  Kara.

  Sayonara.

  I call off work the next day. And the day after that. The next day they call me and, knowing my state of mind, offer to let me take a few weeks off to get my head straight. I accept.

  Ever since the on air debacle people have been calling me for more interviews, wanting to know the whole story, dying to delve even deeper into my misery and pain. Paige Scott is the worst of them, leaving five messages. I ignore all. Footage of me losing it and throwing my water bottle at Parker Hardicoff are all the rage and even get made fun of on Conan and Leno. Clips of me on YouTube rack up multiple views and still put baby Bieber to shame.

  I keep in touch with my parents, my weed guy, and of course Ray, who serves as my siphon to our social circle.

  “Dude.”

  “What's up, Ray?”

  “Not much. Been waiting on your call. Everyone at work's been asking about you.”

  “I know, I've been meaning to call. I just... needed some time.”

  “I understand, man. That was one crazy interview.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah, not bad. Writers and reporters won't stop calling. Everyone wants to know who Kara is.”

  “That's crazy. I had no idea how much that chick got to you.”

  “What can I say, Ray? It just kinda happened.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “Have you seen her, by the way?”

  “Kara?”

  “Yeah.”

  There's a long pause on the other end. I check my signal.

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thought I lost you.”

  “You didn't.”

  “Then why the dramatic pause? This isn't an acting class.”

  “Dude... Kara left.”

  Now I pause. My stomach sinks. “Um... what?”

  “Kara's gone. She moved back home.”

  “To Iowa?”

  “Yeah.”

  I pause again. My heart sinks. “When?”

  “Yesterday, maybe? I'm not really sure. All I know is what Eric told me, and that was that she couldn't afford the big city lifestyle and had to move back.”

  “What about that guy she's seeing? You know, that other guy?”

  “I don't know. Like I said, I didn't get the details.”

  I sigh. “Well, at least it wasn't because I embarrassed her on national television.”

  “Well, I'm sure that didn't help.”

  “You're probably right.”

  “You okay, man? You wanna come over and drink some beers? The Cubs are on. They suck, but they're still on.”

  “Nah, I just wanna stay here and play the guitar. I'll call you tomorrow.”

  “All right, man. Well hey, my birthday's on Friday so some of the crew is going out. Wouldn't be the same without you.”

  “Ah yes, October second. Wouldn't miss it.”

  “Cool. Later.”

  I hit End, appropriately. I look down and spot a copy of my demo on the coffee table. It stares back mockingly.

  The CD shatters to smithereens upon meeting the wall. Why I even recorded the damn thing to begin with is a mystery.

  Oh, yeah. Kara.

  And just like that... she's gone.

  Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are all a blur. I drink, smoke, smoke pot, do some shrooms, jerk off, watch TV, play guitar, and eat garbage. Become reacquainted with my Roswell and Dawson's Creek DVDs. Write the first three episodes of a sitcom entitled 'Beats Me' based on some of the stories Phil Jinx told me. Do the dishes and wax the floors, do the laundry. Clean the bathtub. Sleep.

  Thursday rolls around and I'm excited that not one media representative has called – maybe my fifteen minutes are finally up. I also remember it's a special day, a day I've been waiting for, a day I hope to put right a wrong that should never have been wrong in the first place.

  It's Kara's birthday.

  I drink.

  All my love just turns to hate. Saying that will stick with me forever. The first night we hooked up, the first time we really talked – it was like magic. We were at the bar that makes its own beer, where she worked and I hung out, and I was getting sloshed with my buddy Rick when all of a sudden there she is, fresh off her shift, looking for a seat. Like a fallen angel. I slid down one stool and she joined us, and five minutes later our conversation about nothing in particular took off and I was hooked. In those few minutes, my life changed forever. I felt it. Game on.

  The comedy bounced back and forth and there was never a dull moment, and I remember feeling so absolutely at ease with her, a feeling I never get, a feeling that's fleeting at best. Rick picked up on it immediately and left us alone. I was wearing three rubber bands around my wrist for some reason so she stole one and made it her own. While we drank and talked she'd say 'Really?!' every time I said something ridiculous and it happened so often that we both started getting annoyed so we decided I'd snap her rubber band every time she said it. Her wrist was red by closing time and our sexual chemistry was through the roof.

  As we waited for the subway I made a game of avoiding eye contact with her by weaving around and behind our post and at one point she backed me up against it and wouldn't let me go anywhere. So I leaned in for what I didn't know at the time would be the best first kiss in the history of the world, and as I think about it now if I died at this moment, I'd make that memory my eternal screensaver and just relive it over and over, kissing her again and again.

  I haven't had a first kiss since.

  Gin and tonic.

  I'm tanked now and listening to Weezers' Blue Album and a shred, yes a shred of dignity returns, and I start to dial Kara's number even though I'm holding two phones. Oh wait that's just one. My bad.

  Dial, listen, ring, ring, ring. Voicemail.

  “Hi, you've reached Kara, leave me a message, thanks.”

  It beeps. I sigh.

  “Okay, then. Kara, it's Jim. I just wanted to say happy birthday. You know, I always remember your birthday because it's a day before Ray's, so I just wanted to say, happy birthday! And also, to tell you once again, that I'm sorry about what I said to you that night. I was way out of line. God, I think about you all the time. All the precious moments we had together in the short time we had... and now you're just, gone. It haunts me. It floods my dreams.”

  There's a beep and I'm cut o
ff. I hit End, then redial. Voicemail. Beep.

  “You know what my best day is, Kara? That day we laid on my couch together in the middle of December and listened to Q101's countdown of the Best Songs of 1994. Remember? It was cold outside but warm in the apartment and we just laid together, talking and listening, eating each other's ears, seeing who would laugh first. You showed me pictures of your trip across Europe and I showed you pictures of me taking pictures of my family in a variety of places. And remember when Glycerine came on? And we just laughed like hell? And we made love on the couch in the middle of the day, the sun shining right on us the whole time? Jesus... I dream about that day sometimes. I dream about how different I would do things now, now that I've experienced life without you, and how I would do anything to avoid a life where I don't get to see you at all. I just... I miss you, Kara. I miss you.”

  And it's now, in this moment, I truly miss her the most.

  I close my eyes.

  “But my worst day...”

 

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