I broke my arm

04Aug08

so here is a bit of a story I was writing earlier this summer. pardon some inconsistencies.

Once in time of great hardship my father would reassure me that things would return to normal, that it was the way of the world and that normalcy was the way of life. That the good will always be balanced with the bad and life would be, on average….average. How I wish that would be the way things were now. Well I suppose it could be worse, the emancipation was a boon to all of us, the conscription was over and we were free to live our daily lives. Thing is, my daily life before the draft was to wander aimlessly, doing odd jobs here and there but for the most part I lacked meaning. The military gave me that meaning, the security that I needed albeit at the hefty sum of my freedom for a few years. So here I sit, in front of the first bar I ever drank at in the first and only car that I’ve ever owned. I’m surprised it even runs yet I am pleased that it does. The bar is kind of a shithole, not that it’s overrun by the bad types of people, just that it was never really good. The college kids came here because it was relatively cheap and close to the university. It’s been 7 years since I first came here, I figured there was some sort of symbolism in coming here again. The ‘freedom’ that came with turning 21 and now the freedom that came from the emancipation, There was something still bugging me, something buzzing around in the back of my mind that only, when the light shone right, would come into focus for brief couplets of seconds at a time. It wasn’t fear but something closely related and for those brief seconds that taste of iron on the roof of your mouth turned bitter and poisonous. It’s as if this return to normalcy had atrophied my nerves, not that I was a tense bundle of twitches before, just that when you’d been used to paying attention to every single detail in your surroundings, when placed in a non-sterile situation everything seems so superfluous and the tiniest aspects became looming omens of future acts. The feeling was too shiny to be fear, and for now I’ll let it be. It’s nothing of great importance at the moment and perhaps when I’m as inebriated as I hope to be later on tonight it will come to me. The last thing I need to be doing right now is chasing phantom wasps in the mental archives and after all, I’ve spent, what, 15 minutes sitting here in my car thinking about absolutely nothing. Hell, the emancipation was only 2 days ago and this was my first night out. This was cause for celebration; this night should be about enjoyment of freedom and the fellowship that is in drink. I check the glove box for nothing than to just see what’s still in there, close it and step out of my car. The smell of asphalt coupled with the subtle smell of garbage from the dumpster at the edge of the parking lot is the first things to greet me. The warmth of the setting sun was starting to be infiltrated by the cool breeze of evening. Eight o’clock and all is well, god is in his house and I am about to get plastered. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The sounds of the interior of the bar reverberated through the stucco pseudo-veranda around the front doors. The outer door was typical fare, glass with wood making little squares screaming ‘Don’t throw someone through me!’. It seemed that all the glass in the bar had the same feeling, panels of glass interspaced with pieces of wood, none larger than eight inches square. ‘Fuck fire code, I’m keeping my windows unbroken’ I doubt that was the owner’s intention, something design oriented to route light better and make us want to drink more or some bullshit like that. Quite possibly a remnant from what was in the building before the bar. This place wasn’t the type where people would be thrown out of windows; it’s a shitty place but not the Wild West. As I walked in I was greeted by dimmed lights, the smell of bad food and wave after wave of conversation. I found a quiet place at the end of the counter and gave a slight wave at the bartender; I got the ‘Gimme a few’ gesture and left to my own devices as she helped a few college boys at the other end. The only thing this place needed was cigarette smoke and I would have seen no difference between now and seven years ago. But as went the times so did out freedoms, first they take our cigarettes then they force us to join the military. Quite the journey for that hop, skip, and a jump. If anything it reassured me that the will of the masses was as reasonable as it was idiotic. While politics really wasn’t my forte, I did have a solid understanding of…things. Though it’s hard to defend something when your ‘Last I checked we lived in America’ was quickly rebutted with ‘Last I checked people weren’t trying to kill us in our homes.’ I was joined to my left by a gentleman in his mid twenties and to my right by a pair of young ladies 21ish from the looks of it and most definitely twenty and some days from the sound of their conversation. Their business was their own, I wasn’t much to pass judgment on them, if I were in the same position I would have pulled the same thing, albeit passing myself as my older sister would be much more daunting given the ‘woman’ part and the ‘not existing’ other part. Soberly, conversation was never my strong suit and until I had a couple drinks in me the garrulous aspect was going to have to stay back chasing phantom wasps and other creatures of my psyche. And so it was until the ‘gimme a few’ became an ‘at your service’. She was beautiful, dark red hair in some sort of country cut and a violet tank top that spoke ‘Tip well, tip often.’ All those feelings of uneasiness and impending calamity were quelled for that moment and I knew the very second that ‘What do you have for a recently emancipated soldier?’ that she would be the undoing of me. She could undo a lot of things for me. I didn’t pay attention much to what she said, just enough to say yes to whatever she said second. When making a verbal list on what you have you always save your preferred to second listing. The first is always the test; you use it to gauge what you’re selling and what the other person is willing to take. The third is always a step below and the last is always the most expensive; the second is always the favorite, I’ve never been wrong with this. And now wasn’t any different, she smiled that half-smile that you see when someone doesn’t want to seem overly amused but enough to put on a show, as the words formed with her lips I mouthed the complementary. It’s your favorite.

‘It’s my favorite’ Her voice was duskier than the chipper exposition she had given me on her bar’s drinks, almost as if she was trying to keep it secret from the rest of the bar. Again I went the complementary route and held a finger to my lips ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ She gave a half laugh, one that I couldn’t tell if it was being in good business or flirtatious. What next, a half kiss, a half lay? god, the first woman I run across that shows any semblance of interest and my first thoughts run to bedding her. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing, I had been out to sea, or so to speak, for a long time. Just…I thought myself above small dalliances in the scheme of things. Sex really wasn’t my thing nor were relationships. I mean, they were nice but unnecessary. From my aspect other people were just things that annoy you when you don’t need annoyance. They were gnats that spoke, ate, and drove cars. I would never hurt the gnat, again not my thing, but I did my best to avoid them. Anything close to friends were just the people that annoyed me the least, whom I could be around without wanting to be alone after five minutes. How dare this woman just swoop in and perch. Maybe it was the perfume she was wearing of the old standby of natural pheromones, something about her just made me feel steady. Something had to explain why she could do such a thing on just actions, nay half-actions, alone. By the time I had come to my senses again she was halfway across the bar taking orders from other customers and, presumably, pouring my drink. I needed time to adjust my perception of reality, she wasn’t a goddess and she wasn’t perfect. The half-actions could just be in the same vein of the purple tank top. Show a little to get a little. I had been away from civilian life for four years now, enough time to bolster my emotional shortcomings into lovely little complexes; was it fair to let the unrestrained side of me come into view on such a lovely lady. Maybe I’ll just follow suit and half-present; show a little get a little. The wasp of discord had returned by the time she had come back and it appeared her presence this time wasn’t enough to quell it. She handed me my drink and turned around towards the mirrored backing behind her. Her hand moved rhythmically to the music, some au courant band playing the au courant song. She strummed the bass line with her fingertips on her thigh before she began mixing what I could only assume was the order she had taken in her absence. The strumming was replaced by an entire upper body shake, lord it was pleasant. She poured her magic dancing mix drink into a glass lifted it up to her mouth and graced her lips before leaving the light. The put the half consumed glass in front of me and spoke.

‘So, how’s emancipation treating you?’ I couldn’t tell if she was just making conversation or genuinely asking. What was I to say? ‘Oh just fine, the only thing that gave me some meaning in life is gone and now I’m left to the everyday drudgery of living.’ I refrained from making dark a conversation that needn’t be. I replied.

‘That obvious?’

‘You’ve got’ she motioned towards my head ‘that whole soldier haircut going on.’ I felt a little red, half from the unexpected strength of the drink half from the absurdity this situation. I ruffled my hair.

‘Ah, not many people would be daring to have as much forward fashion sense as I do. Take a look, it’s all government issue.’

‘Swanky’

‘The swankiest’

‘So what brings you to a place like this—‘

‘—With people like these? Didn’t you hear? This place is the hippest place to be on a, what is it, Tuesday night’

‘Oh, and here I figured you were one of those barflies, come around and drink and enjoy the company of such’ she made the same disapproving hand motion to my fellow sitters, the same one she gave to my hair ‘wonderful people. Just a sec.’ She turned to the two Marys next to me ‘Listen, I don’t care if you’re underage but only one of you is drinking tonight. Last thing I need is to find out that some’ she took a breath. I could have said the words she wanted idiot girl, but being she wanted to keep a job and get a decent tip ‘that some poor girl was raped because she could walk home drunk with her friend, I don’t want that to happen, your money is just a green as any other person’s here. I’m looking out for your safety. Ya ken?’ The two girls looked somewhat mortified but otherwise nodded accordingly. She turned back to me ‘Ah so where was I? Ah yes, speaking in a friendly if not flirtatious manner to a young soldierly gentleman’

‘Flirtatious you say? Just what sort of man do you take me as?’

‘Just home from the horrors of war, free after what’ she grabbed my arm and saw the dashes on my skin ‘four years. The only leave you get is to approved places with approved people. Places like…these are typically not on the list of shiny government recommendations. Hmm, just a sec’ She turned back to the ladies ‘Why are you here on a Tuesday night anyway? If you wanted to get drunk you could have just went to the convenience store and bought yourself something girly. Why don’t you leave and come back when it would be beneficial to come to a bar. Tuesday night, really? It’s kind of trashy.’ I don’t think the girls stopped looking mortified from her previous lecture. The swish of movement marked their leaving and a question from me.

‘So how do you know so much about government regulation on soldier good times?’ She leaned in close and brushed her hair aside, she casually pointed out the three dash marks on her neck.

‘Got out a year and a half ago, the big C. As far as the government’s concerned I still have it. I’m not even sure if I had it to begin with. Had mysterious chest pain, they did a scan and saw something residing in my right lung that wasn’t supposed to be residing there. They send me home and I find out that it was one of those phantom cancers, some people call them miracles I call them tickets home. So now I fly down to Mexico every three months for a doctor to tell me there’s nothing there and to tell the government that I’m dying. Who said that private medicine was dead in America. Just got to expand what you consider America.’ She took a long swig from her glass and turned red ‘And now I just realized I probably told you more than you most definitely wanted to hear. So now soldier boy, are you going to divulge something on an “intensely private matter” such as mine or am I going to have to get more alcohol in you?’

‘How awfully forward of you? Who says I’ll play game?’ The alcohol was winning; hell, I’d even bring the bats.

‘Who says you won’t?” The alcohol had won.

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Tags: bar scene, first person, story