Jersey Girl

by J A Heron

  Getting me through this crazy night are Yan and Marnie. They know the situation with Benny is getting me down, and they’re doing their level best to keep my spirits up. I keep checking my phone, just to make sure Benny is surviving her first night at her folks’ place.

  One thing I’m pleased about this evening is that being around this alcohol has not even tempted me. Even though many drinks have been bought for me, not one has passed my lips. I vowed to boost Grumpy’s profits rather than drink a single drop. I’m proud of myself.

  I must write tonight’s achievement in my blog.

  “You’ve pulled.” Yan sidles up beside me and murmurs in my ear.

  “Huh?” I look at him, puzzled.

  “Twelve o’clock. Red hair. Kinda hot. Don’t look yet,” he warns just as I’m about to see what he’s talking about. “Okay. You can look now.”

  When I see the man he’s talking about, I start laughing. I place a hand on Yan’s arm. “Sweetheart, I’m not his type,” I wink. “He’s checking you out.” As Yan turns back to look at the guy a few feet away from the bar, the red head flashes an almighty smile, and my suspicions are correct.

  “Oops, my bad. Don’t be sad, girlfriend. There are more sexy guys for you to get your paws on.”

  Tonight is more fun than I thought it’d be. With the music, and the drunken clientele in a festive mood, the time seems to be passing by quickly. Song after song is a Christmas classic, and the whole crowd sings along at the top of their voices. I don’t quite sing as loud as everyone else, but I can’t help joining in with them. Yan and Marnie are entertaining to be around. Working with them this night has ensured I’ve had a permanent smile on my face.

  It’s Christmas Eve, and I stand and wonder how many people will be leaving soon to meet up with their loved ones. Wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, mums, dads, sisters… I quickly wipe away a tear that threatens to fall. This time of year always makes me sad, being without my family. Mum and Dad loved Christmas, and they always made it special for me and Lisa.

  I remember most years being overly excited, wondering what gifts awaited us under the Christmas tree. I remember my mother telling us in her sweet voice ‘Santa’s been’. On many occasions, she’d have to wake me and Lisa up, as we weren’t the kind of children who woke their parents up at stupid o’clock on Christmas morning. Lisa would rip off the wrapping paper faster than the speed of sound, whereas I would take my time, carefully peeling off the Cellotape, prolonging the surprise. Every year, we would have a mound of presents, and each year, Lisa would check to see if she got more presents than me. Mum and Dad always treated us the same, but one year, I had one more present than her, and she went crazy. She screamed at mum, saying, ‘you love her more than me’. They always spent an equal amount of money on us, but on that occasion, Lisa had a fraction more money spent on her that resulted in one less present. Mum tried to reason with her, but she still maintained I was favoured over her. When I think back, I realise Lisa was spoiled. She always got what she wanted, and if she didn’t get her way, a massive storm lingered over our house for days until Mum and Dad rectified the situation. I guess I never was materialistic. I didn’t care for a lot of ‘stuff’. The most important thing to me was the abundant amount of love shown to me by our parents, but that was never enough for Lisa.

  I’m thankful she’s out of my life. The major stab in the back she administered was enough for me to walk away from that chapter of my life and concentrate on myself for a while.

  I watch as Grumpy starts to usher people out of the bar. It’s closing time, it’s late, and we have a mountain of clearing up to do before we can leave for the night. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and pull it out. The text has come from a number I don’t recognise, and I frown. Maybe it’s from someone who knows my number, wanting to wish me a Happy Christmas.

  Tears pool in my eyes when I realise it’s from Lisa. How the hell did she get my number?

  Lisa ~ Merry Christmas, sis x

  I want to reply, but I’m not ready to respond or forgive her just yet. I promised myself that, over time, I would come to forgive the bad shit she did and let her back in. She’s my only family left in the world, and I think the years that have passed may have patched up old wounds, although they’re not fully healed. I decide to respond.

  Me ~ Merry Christmas x

  I put my phone back in my pocket and start to clear up. I start with the tables, delivering empty glasses to the bar so Yan and Marnie can wash them.

  The last table has been cleared and we’re making a huge dent in the cleaning up, when I feel my phone buzz again. When I look at the screen, I see the same number has sent picture messages. I open it up, but this time tears of anger spill down my cheeks. I grip my phone so tight, I swear I could crush it.

  “You fucking bitch!” I whisper yell. I don’t want anyone to know she’s affected me. My mouth hangs open at the familiar sight. I’d know that skin art anywhere. Connor’s tattoos that are so distinctive sit on a message sent from my bitch of a sister.

  The caption under the last picture steals my breath as I try to breathe out, and in its place comes a shudder and a sob. So, this is why I’ve not heard from him. The pain in my belly returns, full force, almost knocking me off my feet. I breathe deep, shuddering with each inhale. Somehow, someway, Lisa has got to Connor. I switch names to the last message I sent him, but it’s still not delivered, so I can’t text him. I try calling him, but it goes straight to a recorded message informing me that I’ve got the wrong number.

  Confusion and frustration consumes me, crashing upon me in waves that make my temper flare. I scream out and run to the ladies’ bathroom, catching the baffled expressions on my co-workers’ faces as I pass them by.

  I throw the lid down on the toilet with a loud crash and sit down, holding my head in my hands. Tears stream down my face as I try to catch my breath. The palpitations feel like someone or something has a tight grip around my throat; I can’t breathe. So many questions run through my head, and they mingle with the pictures from that text. They will be forever ingrained there, tattooed on my brain for all eternity. How did they meet? What is she doing with him? Why? Deep down, I know all the answers to the questions, but still my brow remains furrowed as I try to fit all the pieces together.

  I make a call. Her sleepy greeting lets me know I’ve woken her. “I’m sorry to call so late, but…” I trail off, feeling an almighty sob work its way up my throat, seeking liberation. I quickly gulp it back down, take a deep breath, and try to remain calm enough to explain to my best friend. I need her.

  “What’s up?” I can tell she senses my upset. The concern in those two words lets me know I have her full attention.

  My voice shakes as I say, “I got a text. Two texts from Lisa. The first wished me a Merry Christmas…”

  “And the second? What has that bitch done now?”

  “She’s with Connor.” I pause, leaving her time to digest the words I don’t want to believe.

  “What? How? You’re kidding me, right?”

  “I wish I was. She sent me two pictures. One of his tattoos, and the other one shows him asleep. It looks like he’s lying in a bed somewhere. But it’s the words she used. She…” I sob again, unable to stop the sight of those words causing my heart to snap in two.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said, ‘just had the best fuck of my life’.”

  All I can hear on the other end of the line is my best friend’s soft breaths. She’s thinking.

  “Shit on a stick. Are you sure it’s him? I mean, it could be someone else.”

  “It’s definitely him. I’d know those tattoos anywhere; they’re unique.”

  “Why would she do this to you? How did she even know you dated? What does she have to gain from this? What’s her end game?”

  “Believe me, these are all questions I’ve asked myself, and if I knew the answers, I wouldn’t be calling you.”

  “Go home. Get some sleep. Le
t’s both sleep on it, and we’ll talk in the morning. Let me think, and don’t do anything Kat-like.”

  “Kat-like?”

  “Yeah. Don’t do anything rash or stupid.”

  “Okay.”

  I know Benny is right, but the sombreness inside me, consuming me right now, is too much to bear.

  I make my way back into the bar and I’m glad to see the place is glistening again. You’d never know a bunch of wild animals were in here earlier, causing havoc.

  “Switch off the pumps, then you can go home,” Grumpy shouts from his office door.

  “I’m taking you two home tonight,” Yan says.

  “Thanks, but I’d much rather walk tonight. Get off now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod then make my way into the dark and dingy cellar.

  “What have I done to you? What have I done that’s so bad?” I talk to my phone lying dormant in front of me on the coffee table, asking both Connor and Lisa the questions, they’ll never hear.

  “I’m the worst human being on the planet,” I say to the two stolen bottles of rum from Grumpy’s cellar. When he finds out, I’m done. My job is gone, and he’ll disown me.

  As I sit here, words come into my mind, reminding me why I shouldn’t, mustn’t drink. You’ve spent enough time at war with yourself. Be stronger. Win the fight.

  The irony of this situation is not lost on me, and the longer I sit here staring at both problems I’m facing, I realise that one will numb the pain of the other.

  It’s official… I’ve hit rock bottom. Yet rock bottom could turn out to be the solid foundation on which I rebuild my life.

  A clean conscience, instead of the overwhelming sense of guilt.

  My mind is warring with my situation. In my head, I’m fighting all the words that should keep me from opening both bottles, but when I think about everything else, I find myself reaching for them, wanting nothing more than to twist off the caps and go to town. Then I think of Benny and pull my arm back.

  Real friendships, not a lonely existence.

  I wish they would shut the hell up.

  My eyes widen when the realisation hits me. I’ve lost my mind and my sobriety because of my sister, and a guy I thought I could have a future with. I was on the right track, I was getting my shit together, but all that is now lost.

  I expected this kind of shitty behaviour from my sister, but I thought more of Connor. I think back to the night Raven and the Blue Bottles played at Grumpy’s; the time he sang that song to me. I lift my laptop onto my knee. I’m halfway through writing my blog, but I need a breather. I load up Jersey Girl on YouTube, and I listen to the lyrics over and over again, but all it does is draw me closer to opening the two bottles sitting in front of me.

  Tempting me.

  Your life won’t get better by chance, but it will with positive change.

  I need to change the bloody song to something more positive, but in my favourites, I see another song that has the power to make me smile, sing, and dance, but at the same time, it evokes so many heart-breaking memories. I sing along with the song whilst looking at the twinkling fairy lights on our Christmas tree. I remember the stories Mum and Dad used to tell us when we were kids, about how this song was their first dance when they got married. They used to play it all the time, and they would dance, just like they did on their special day. I remember their long, loving stares into each other’s eyes. They would dance for the entirety of the song, not letting go of each other until it had finished. Lisa and I grew up surrounded by the music of Buddy Holly. Everyday is the song that causes goose bumps to appear all over my body when I hear it. I haven’t played it for a while, and the smile appears involuntarily on my face as I feel the lyrics warming my cold and dark past. Music of the fifties was predominant in our house, even though Mum and Dad weren’t of that era. I think it had something to do with our grandparents’ influence, and that influence passed on to me and Lisa. Me especially.

  Even though it’s a happy song, I feel the gloom overshadow the upbeat melody. I reach for the bottle closest to me and twist the cap off, ignoring the tiny cut on my thumb from the sharp metal. I pour the largest of measures into a cut glass tumbler, then take a swig, feeling the burn as the warm liquor hits the pit of my empty stomach.

  That feels good.

  Failed at the first hurdle.

  I’m an idiot.

  I drink a little more, and before I know it, a third of the large bottle has gone. I feel the delicious hum spread from head to toe, and a light fog drifts over my brain.

  But still I need more.

  As I drink the last third of the bottle, I can feel the alcohol-induced stupor coming along nicely. I sit and wonder how crappy my life has become. I hear the ping of another text come through. I know I should ignore it. I know it’ll be another bitchy comment from the woman I hate to call my sister. Curiosity gets the better of me.

  Lisa ~ He just whispered to me after fucking me for the third time tonight. Guess what he said? He said, ‘you’re sexier than your sister’.

  She follows it up with the laughing emojis. I shake my head at her childishness, but that childishness still has the power to hurt me. The visions of him and her together, lying in a bed somewhere, incites a stab of pain in my chest. I feel foolish for believing something magical could happen between Connor and me, and although I hardly knew him, the time we spent together, I was certain we’d shared a connection deeper than just a fling.

  How wrong could I be?

  The woman is over eighteen months older than me, yet she continues to behave like a female half that age. If she was standing in front of me right now, I’d slap her so hard she’d feel the sting for days after.

  When she came to see me a while back, I was certain she was serious about making amends, building bridges. Yet again, she’s shown me she has no intention of being my sister again. Cutting ties with my last remaining relative is the only resolution. Connor has already cut ties with me, because I have a feeling he’s either blocked me, or replaced his number with a new one. That’s fine. I can live without either of them.

  I carry on drinking, and with each mouthful, it feels like a new beginning. I’ve always been a ‘glass half full’ kind of person, but right now I feel more like a ‘glass half empty’ person. My glass certainly needs a refill, so I swig back another mouthful.

  I close one door by blocking the number Lisa text me on, and open another by vowing to start afresh tomorrow. I write in my blog before I’m too wasted to know my own name.

  Yes, I didn’t just fall off the wagon today. I jumped head first of my own accord. Rum – neat – tastes divine, and the warmth in my tummy is the comfort I’m craving right now. I’m not a fool. I know I’ve done well up until this point, but the temptation was too strong to ignore. The need outgunned my will, and with all the shitty things people are capable of, I just had to numb myself against the heartache. Any alcoholic will tell you, giving up the drink is a marathon, not a sprint – anyone who’s addicted to anything will tell you the same – and I can testify that I wholeheartedly agree with that statement.

  However, tomorrow is a new day. I have cut the cancer from my life. I have vowed to stay sober, starting from the moment I wake. So, I will finish this bottle, and probably put a huge dent in the other one in front of me before I pass out and can start my life over when dawn breaks.

  My name is Kat… and I’m an alcoholic.

  Bye for now.

  I stay true to my word.

  I drink, sob, drink some more, and cry like I’ve never cried before. I need this. I need this blowout before I take control once more.

  I’m willing the blackout to come as quickly as possible. I wrap my arms around me, rocking back and forth, with the occasional tug on my hair. If anyone could see me now, they’d think I’d lost it.

  The dizziness of being wasted is getting stronger, the room is spinning faster than it’s ever spun before, and my vision is compromised
. The rum-induced fog is sweeping over my eyes, the bottle drops from my fingers, and my body falls to the right. When my head hits the cushion on the couch, I’m out.

  Darkness.

  Peace.

  Heaven.

  Fields of corn as far as the eye can see. Me running. My fingers brush the spiky husks as I keep on running, my lungs tired, but still my feet keep moving. Am I running away from something, or running towards something? It’s hazy and muddled, but warm and sunny, and I don’t have the answers, to anything. My legs continue their motion, pounding the soft earth beneath my feet, as my arms keep me balanced with their back and forth motion.

  Voices interrupt this confusing vision, trying to pull me away. It’s peaceful here, and I don’t want to leave.

  “Kat! Kat! Wake up!”

  No. I don’t want to.

  I want to run, with the sun on my face, with the heat caressing the areas of exposed skin, with the feeling of liberation. I’m smiling as I run at an incessant, steady pace. The tranquillity I’m feeling is sublime, so why would I run toward the voices? The sounds bouncing all around me hurt my head, banging away, screaming at me. The voices are trying so hard to piss on the amazing feeling of being free, so I continue to run away from them, the sounds echoing the more distance there is between us.

  I’m never coming back.

  “Mum? Dad?” I can hardly believe my eyes. What are they doing here? They’re dead. Why am I in hospital? Why am I here? What’s going on?

  My parents wave to me as they come nearer.

  This is the strangest hospital I’ve ever seen. Why are patients allowed to be outside? I’m lying in a hospital bed, yet I’m outdoors on a hot sunny day. I’m hooked up to all kinds of machinery, but with the sun hitting my face. I suddenly remember the dream I had of running through a field of corn; maybe this is a dream too. It must be. My parents are walking along the beach, waving to me as they get nearer. That’s impossible.