Chapter 1

 I scan the scene in a buzz, carefully deciphering candid human interactions as I often do. Here in this bar, unmerciful liquids become the only barrier between the beautifully-crafted fronts we monsters construct and the true monsters we are within. There, across a few noisy tables in a dusty corner shooting pool- pinstriped dress shirt on, sleeves folded up, fitted and tucked in to his light grey pants. His cuff links probably cost more than half these peoples' mortgages. Laughing and indulging in shameless leisure with, what looked to be, a few friends and coworkers. To be that carefree…

Before I can make anymore assumptions, a drunken party member climbs onto a billiard table and taps a fork against his glass to silence the chatter. "Everyone," he says, no one in the crowd taking him seriously based on his obvious presentation. "No, seriously, everyone…please, just a minute of your time." The white noise begins to slowly fizzle. "A toast...to a man great, and I mean great, at his job. But, even more importantly, to a great friend... even though sometimes I wanna kill 'em for being so damn good looking." The crowd laughs as someone amidst the blend whistles sarcastically. "Here's to you Jake, way to go on the promotion bro!" The swarm of spectators lift a glass and, with a quick drunken shout, the inebriated spokesman slips back into the crowd.

            A promotion. A businessman. Intriguing. I’ve never been one for businessmen- they seem too well-put-together for me.

*

            In my peripheral senses I detect him approaching from behind. The echo of his footsteps gets louder and then silences directly behind me.  He leans in close to my ear, his whiskey-soaked breath on my neck sending a shameful chill through my body. I get the strange feeling that this is how good people screw up their marriages. Not premeditated escapes from matrimonial bonds but from simple, swift, intoxicating chills like this. Shame on me.

             "Let me take you back to my place and I'll show you the only thing bigger than my wallet." 

            The chill stops. Even in my judgment-handicapped buzz, the piggish nature of his comment fully registers. It doesn't take long for my limited ounce of self worth to bite back. "You know, you truly were half tempting before you spoke. Now you're just an a*s." 

            The bartender quickly chuckles under her breath, first laugh I've heard from her all night. "Jake, give the girl a break. God."

            "Okay, okay. Asinine move, I know," he laughs, almost as if prideful, and slowly hovers his way onto the stool next to me. He glances back at his buddies, the way chauvinist males like this do, smiles, nods, and then starts right back up as rudely as he began. "So what brings you down here anyways?"

"And how do you know I'm not from down here?"

"I don't," he laughs, "I'm just too drunk to think of a better way to redeem myself.” He smiles, spins the Jack in circles, and sips. "So then, tell me, if you're not a local, where are you from?"

            I debate on whether to answer him or not. His arrogance sickens me. And yet, I envy every filthy inch of it. "Well, normally I don't open up to strangers about my personal life. Especially ones as highly revolting and detestable as you. But, since you're probably too drunk to remember me anyways, why not." I reach for my wallet, pull out my license, and slide it slowly across the bar and toward Jake. 

            He looks. He smiles. "Ohio huh? A Midwest farmer's daughter...that's pretty cute, I won't lie." There goes his stupid laugh again.

            "You know, guys like you don't hit on girls like me. If you were the least bit sober you'd know that."

            "What, you don't think a gorgeous....built....rich....strikingly hands-…"

"Oh shut up. You're pathetic.” I down the last swallow of my Yuengling while he continues with his annoying attempts at conversation.

            “Ok, ok, for real this time. All jokes aside. Seriously.” The smile quickly drains off his face and a slightly more solemn look emerges. For some reason I still can’t take him seriously. “What you doing alone down here in a bar like this? I mean, really. You down for spring break?”

I close my eyes as a mist of salt and nostalgia squeezes its way in from the dock through the bar's open windows. I breathe in. How sweet that smell.  “Not exactly.”

“Okay then. Lemme try again. Visiting someone? Death in the family? A criminal on the run?”

I smile. “Try all of the above.”

            “Wow, ha. Geez girl, you must have quite the track record. I’m just glad you don’t have a gun on you! You….don’t…have a gun… on you….right?”

            “No promises.” I smile and ask the bartender for another bottle of beer. “So looks like you’ve done something pretty great for your company. Must be one of those hotshot city boys.”

            “Yeahhh, ha. I dunno. I guess if you wanna call it that.” He doesn’t speak for nearly twenty seconds before he proceeds. “I bet I seem like a real dick to you.”

            “Just a little.”

            “Can’t blame you.” He looks down at the floor as if trailing off into a psychological realm deeper than I had thought possible for someone housing such arrogance. “You ever love something so much it just…destroys you?”

            “You mean like Gatsby?”

            “Like what?”

            “Like Gatsby. Jay Gatsby…The Great Gatsby? Fitzgerald?”

            He stares at me blankly then scrunches his brow.

            “Oh c’mon! You’ve never read The Great Gatsby?!”

            “Never even heard of it.”
            “Wow. Ok. Do me one favor. Read Gatsby.”

            “Done.”

            “What?”

            “Consider it done.”

            “Oh wow. Duh.” I must be more buzzed than I realize. After putting down the bill and thanking the bartender with a tip, I gather my things to head out. “I should probably get going; it’s getting late. And quite honestly, I’m so mentally exhausted I’m afraid my emotions are about to leak out my ears. My name’s Liz by the way.”

“Yeah I know. Got that from your license.” He laughs then reaches a hand toward me, inviting me to shake. “I’m Jake.”

“I know. Got that from your stoned friend while he was talking you up to the entire bar.” I roll my eyes and smile. “But, real quick, to answer your question, yes.”

            “Yes what?”

            “Yes. Yes I have loved something so much it destroyed me.” He smirks understandingly as I feel a simultaneous sensation of relief and misery. Didn’t think that combination was possible. “Read Gatsby, Jake. You won’t be disappointed.”

 

*

I walk into what will be my new home for the next however-many-days, dark and warm because no one has been running the air for months. Tactilely, I locate a light switch and flip it on. This is my brother’s house. Well, his other house. Usually he comes down here from October to March each year, then goes back home sometime near spring. Didn’t this past year though- he’s home with mom keeping an eye on her since the scare with her heart. She loves the company. I love the solitude. And, right now this place is as empty and lifeless as my spirit…

 

*

            “Hey Tommy, it’s me…I just got in. I checked the rooms, all safe.” The cell phone feels foreign on my ear. Haven’t made a phone call in days.

“I’m so glad you made it there alright. So is mom. She says hi. And that she loves you.” He trails off into a random spout of fast talking, spitting out meaningless details of the house that I truly could care less about - how I “may need to hold the toilet handle down longer than usual” to get a proper flush- how the “older woman living a few yards away might stop by sometimes with leftover food from the deli”…

“Oh, ha, and one more thing. Sometimes in the summer teenagers try to score out by the dock, so I suggest you...”

            “More power to them Tom, more power to them.”

            He doesn’t laugh- just takes a breath and sighs. “Sorry Liz, I’m just-“

            “Worried. I know. Everyone is, Tommy. Even me. But I’ll be okay.”

            “Promise?”

            “Promise…” As I mouth the word, I feel nothing but overwhelming guilt.

“Ok…” he says, with a lack of confidence in his voice. “I believe you. I won’t harass you anymore tonight, but if you need anything just call, alright? Even if it’s three in the morning, call. Please call. Mom says she loves ya.”

“I love her too. Thanks for looking out for me, just please get some rest tonight Tommy. You deserve it.”

*

I should not have made that promise. When in the past few years have I ever actually been able to actually promise that I’ll actually “be okay”? Never.

 I swallow two Effexor pills, pray to God for the power to ignore this internal demon telling me that death is superior to life, and head towards the living room in hopes of finding a decent distraction. I have got to find a decent distraction…

A 70’s-style record player, vintage but in great condition, sits in a corner of the room. How. Cool. Is. This. Below it, on a shelf, I find classic albums and a mix of rarities ranging from Jimi live at Woodstock to Al Green’s greatest hits. I dust off an old James Taylor album and place the needle on track three, “Song For You Far Away”. I dim the lights, lay on the couch, and  take hard, hard swallows of straight whiskey.

 

 

 

Author's Note

all chapters are rough drafts, still in the making.

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

Wow, that was good. I got so absorbed in the tale I didn't notice the writing, which to me is the ultimate accomplishment. Our heroine's distinct personality comes through the dialogue wonderfully. Her voice is strong and unique. The only time I noticed "This is writing that I am reading" were the first two sentences. All else serves the story. I look forward to reading more.

[Katie Richards]

Enormous thanks! Your comments were more helpful and appreciated than I can express. The things you mentioned were all things I have been worried about from the start of my attempt at writing this- you've given me further drive and inspiration to go on!