Jack

JACK

The drugs were kicking in pretty fast...pure, unadulterated MDMA. I was already flying high on 2 bags of blow, 4 tabs of pure god given LSD, 1 ecstasy pill, endless tokes of reefer madness, a thousand and one beers, and somehow was still, miraculously, violently alive... but that wouldn’t be for long. My angel of death awaited for me in the other room, and in the room beyond that...lay...well, I didn’t care. Of course, I didn’t know what fate awaited me...yet. My whole life had been a tireless stepping out in the wrong direction, unaware of the folly and danger ahead, and the effect it had on those behind. Why should tonight be any different.

I had been the leader of a rock band, lead singer...well before they kicked me out. I heard they replaced me with a talentless hack, and have since been signed, gone multi-platinum and are finishing up the last leg of a sold out European tour...or something like that. Doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters, as Freddie taught us. Anyone can see.

We had bought the ‘American Dream’ wholesale, and we were sure we were destined to be millionaires, oozing drugs and women like honeyed wine. Our faces would be written into the epithets of history, and future generations would look up and point and say “AHHH, that’s where it’s at! That’s the dream!” And that’s all it ever was. A dream I never had the courage to wake myself up from.

….I finish my last line of blow in the bathroom of “The Trash Bar”, a s****y NYC whole in the wall where pretend rock and rollers with dreamy eyes take the stage to s**t out their asthmatic guitar rock. SNNNOOOORRRTTTTTT...my brain supernovas, and my eyes shine with high fever of a thousand suns... I’d never played here...the walls were dirty and the audience was only ever the rag-tag group of mocking friends who would only show up to watch you embarrass yourself, and dirty old bar flies, way long past their expiration dates. I was too good for  that. I roll out of the bathroom, ebbing and flowing on waves of euphoric surrender and re-enter this dilapidated room of existence for the last time.

Sizzling at the bar is my last true friend Desiree Carrow. Desiree is desire incarnate. A real fox. Luscious black hair, shining green eyes, perfectly sized tits, and sultry long legs you could get lost in for days. Sadly, I’d never experienced such joys. Desiree and I were only friends, because that’s all she wanted from me. Oh, and my drugs. Desiree loved my drugs. I approach her, high as a f*****g kite, and try to not fall into the expanding abyss spilling below the bar. I sit down.

“You look like you’re about ready to explode.” Everything she says is so f*****g hot.

“...just put a bunch of sass in my frass,” I reply, trying to sound as cool as possible. Coincidently, “Space Oddity” starts playing overhead, “...and I’m starting to feel it”.

The background bar zooms out of focus, and dangling christmas lights catch my eye. They twinkle with the profundity of childhood, as all the nostalgia and sadness intermingled within the beauty of the light constantly remind us of the season that left us altogether way too early. I fearfully think these lights might be the last beautiful thing I see, but then I overhear Desiree talking to me. The bar comes back into focus, and I almost throw myself into the abyss right then and there.

“...so I went in to the audition, and the casting director has the f*****g nerve to ask me ‘Are you serious about acting, or are you just wasting my time?’”. She waits for my reaction, which is a rather lazy eyebrow shrug. “I couldn’t believe it. Then he has me read some stupid scene about selling wine. Wine, Jack!  Right! Like that’s what I became an actress to do, to give an oscar worthy performance as a wine salesman! I’d never felt more humiliated in my life…”

“Maybe you could’ve gotten some free wine out of it,” was my smart a*s response. God, no wonder I’d never hooked up with this chick! She pretends to laugh, then continues,

“After I read for him, he told me I was too nervous, my headshot was unprofessional, and I needed to work on my charisma….but that he might call me back. What a f*****g jerk.” She swigs her beer. I feel my turtle come out of it’s shell. I pull him back in, and try to be human for once.

“Maybe he’ll call you back. At least you're auditioning and putting yourself out there. That’s like half the battle, right?” I think this cheers her up, and my heart sinks like a stone with the desire to be the one she falls in in love with, the one she can’t live without, and that at this very instant what I had just said had planted the little love seed in the earth of her heart, and soon a blooming tree would grow and yield shade for us both from the downpours of life.

“Yeah well...I’m not gonna hold my breath. So, were you able to get the um...stuff for me?”

The stuff is colombian cocaine, her drug of choice, and suddenly I remember all I am to her. “Yeah, of course.”

I dig into my back pocket, and cooly slide her over a white envelope filled with 500 dollars worth of cocaine. She accepts awkwardly and fumbles to get it in her purse.

“God Jack, you could be more discreet.” she whispers. I could but who gives a f**k? The only people here are drug addicts and alcoholics, losers and users and abusers from all walks of life. Over at the end of the bar I see a group of hispanic punks, and one of them is eyeing me hardcore. We meet eyes for a half century, then Desiree distracts me. Meanwhile, a pretty young asian girl spills her beer on one of the punks from the gang, unleashing the furious lust of these petty perverters.

“...thanks, Jack. Look, I gotta go,” she finishes her beer. “I have another audition tomorrow, and I’m going to need to relax. Jack, you outta slow your roll. You seem like you have...decapitated eyes.”

“Decapitated eyes?” I repeat.

“Yeah, like you’re not yourself lately. Maybe you should start another rock band, or get into drawing. You were always such a good painter! You could go to school for….”

But it’s no use, her words are falling and there’s no one around to pick them up. My high is now taking center stage.  I breathe out a mountain wind, and feel my spirit start to soar.

“Jack, Im serious. You gotta do something with your life..”

We say our goodbyes, as she presses into me with all the pity and wayward emotion she can muster. If you loved me, Desiree, like I love you, maybe my life could turn around. Maybe I’d have a reason to get up in the morning and make a cup of coffee. Maybe then we’d kick our habits, get to work and be somebody in the world. Together. I hug back and smile kindly. It doesn’t really matter, I think as she walks out the door. I’ve never been loved so I don’t really know what being loved is, and so there’s really nothing to miss and nothing to hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I am an invulnerable walking medicine cabinet. I sit back down at the bar, I reach into my pocket and pull out a bag of molly, then I unzip it, lick my finger, and dip into the treasured powder and bring it up to mouth, all in plain view of everyone around me. Suddenly, I’m James Brown. Im Jim Morrison. Im the f*****g Dalai Lama.  I feel good, and I knew that I would. The bartender says something pissy, but I can’t hear her. I focus in on myself. The bar scene blurs out. My eyes are on fire. All the world around me has become a festering rat maze I can’t seem to find my way out of. One of the punks at the end of the bar laughs at me. I sense him. His anger complements mine. I know what he wants, what he hates, what he needs. I know him better than he knows himself. He wants my drugs….well fine...but it won’t be easy. I ain’t selling tonight, its all mine. And if he wants any, he’ll have to kill me for it….