Lars
THE BUTTONS IN the elevator didn’t close those big steel doors fast enough. The elevator itself moved like molasses in winter. There were too many people in the hallway and in the lobby, too many smells, the floors were too shiny and the lights too bright. I could even hear the swish of people’s pants as they walked and the starched crisp doctor’s coats.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” one man commented as I bumped into him, too enchanted with the lights to watch where I was going.
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t even think straight. My eyes had targets that went way beyond the revolving doors of the hospital.
I could almost taste it in my mouth. Feel it trickling down my throat with that wonderful burn letting you know you were still alive.
Because I needed to be reminded of that right now.
“Sir, sir, are you okay?” The receptionist called after me until she was out of hearing range.
If I thought Molly’s tactic for getting me dry were stupid, I was sure they were nothing compared to that hospital’s attempt.
I didn’t remember crossing a street or stopping to look each way to see if traffic was coming.
I didn’t remember seeing the sign.
I just knew it was there.
One in the afternoon–perfect time to get plastered.
Perfect time to forget about loving Molly again.
I sat at the sticky-topped bar and almost plugged my ears at the baseball game in the background. The bartender was chatting it up with some old man at the other end of the bar. Already, he was pissing me off.
“Can a guy get a drink?” I barely recognized my own voice scratching its way out of my throat.
The bartender wiped the counter some more and held one finger up.
I could think of another finger to give him but decided better. This guy was going to be my best friend today.
That was the one and only reason I gave him a few more minutes to gossip.
I eyed the bottles from my perch. I opened and closed my mouth and began to salivate at the thought of having that savior come down to save me once again.
The phone rang and I nearly sprang over the top of the bar and into the next county.
Of course, the guy had to answer it. He put the phone up to his ear and turned his back on me, his voice whispers and mhmms. He was probably getting a reaming from his old lady. Good thing I didn’t have one of those.
He took a decade to get off the phone and when he did, I grabbed his attention. “Hey, man, how about that drink?”
The young man tipped his chin to me like I was someone he was greeting in the street.
I almost thought about going behind the counter to make myself a drink.
At least I knew how to do that.
The door to the bar opened and cast the sun’s rays on my face. I lifted my hands up to shield myself from the light.
“Lars.” The tone was condescending yet familiar. It could only be one person.
“Jameson. It’s a little early for your vodka rocks, isn’t it?”
He chuckled and with two fingers the bartender came running. I looked at them back and forth while they spoke.
Jameson ordered a Tom Collins and the guy poured it…just like that.
“What the hell is going on? Is my money not good in here? I want a vodka rocks. No, now that I think about it, I want the whole bottle.”
The young man turned to me with some regret on his face. “No, sir, your money is no longer good here unless you want a Coke.”
I looked at Jameson’s drink and out of some instinct or stupidity, I reached over to take it.
“Don’t be stupid, Lars. I’d hate to put you out of here before I say what I need to say.”
I didn’t give three rats’ butts what he had to say.
“Just say what you have to and then I’m taking my money elsewhere.” Like a child, I pointed my voice at the bartender.
“You know why I can drink this? Because I’m not a drunk like you. I don’t drink until I slur my words and piss in my pants and make my best friend drag my sorry butt home night after night. I don’t drink until I throw up all over the sidewalk where kids ride their bikes and I don’t forget to pay my bills or you know eat. That’s why I can drink.”
“So what? I’ve seen you shake and shiver so much you couldn’t even pull the trigger on your rifle when the enemy was right in front of you. So what?”
That was a cheap shot. Even me in my “need a drink” fury knew better.
“Well, at least I’m man enough to know that and admit it.”
“I am too. I went to one of those meetings.”
He chuckled and drank half of his drink in one shot. “Yeah, such a big, brave man. Your old flame drove you two towns over to go to a meeting that you didn’t want to go to and you went in to avoid her. Good job. You should really be proud. And yet, here we are.”
“Some good it did avoiding her. She’s dying in a hospital and claims it I was the reason she filed for divorce. Me!”
Jameson looked down. “You know what I hear? I hear someone who is blaming all of their problems on the people who love him and take care of him. You’ve gone from being my best friend and hero to the most pathetic man I’ve ever known.”
I got up and began to storm toward the door to go to the grocery store. I knew there was liquor there, and I didn’t have to wait for some snot-nosed kid to decide to serve it to me.
“Don’t bother going anywhere else. There’s no place within four counties who will sell you alcohol. I made sure of that myself.”
“Then I’ll drive somewhere else.”
“With what car and with what license?”
“Then someone will take me.”
“Not anyone around here.”
I snorted. “What? Do you have everyone around here bullied not to help anyone?”
That’s when Jameson snapped. He crossed the darkened bar and before I knew it, he had my collar fisted in his hands while the other fist shook inches from my face. Redness blotched out his normally calm features.
“Let me tell you something, Lars. The people of this town do nothing but help you and I’m putting an end to it. Your landlord lets you live at your apartment for free and cooks you meals on top of it.”
My shoulders sank as I thought about it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually paid rent.
“As if he doesn’t have to clean up enough crap during the day, the janitor who lives under you washes your vomit off the sidewalk so his kids don’t have to see it and can ride their bikes in a clean area. I make sure the clothes that Mrs. King brings over from donations are clean for you to wear. Your new bed, if you even realized you had a new bed, was given to you by Henry at the mattress store because you had pissed all over your other one. You’ve become nothing but a leech on this town, and that’s why I’m ending it. Once and for all. You clean up or you’re on your own. And don’t you dare say another word about Molly. She’s your last hope and for some God forsaken reason, she still manages to be in love with you.”
I didn’t believe him.
“Why? Why would everyone do that?”
“Why?” He sneered, putting his face even closer to mine. I smelled his drink on his breath and even with everything he was saying, I wanted to crawl down his throat and drink from the contents of his stomach. “Because in this town you are still their small-town hero. You went to war, saved some people, killed some bad guys, and now–even in this state–they think you’re a hero. So for once, why don’t you try to live up to that reputation instead of proving them wrong second by second?”
He shoved me away, and I landed right on my butt on the floor of the bar with all the other filth.
I sat there for a span of time–I don’t know for how long. Long enough for more customers to come and go. Long enough for Jameson to finish his drink and then leave without another word.
He was right.
I was pathetic.
I had become nothing.
Instead of going places I wasn’t welcome, I went to the one place other than the bottle where I could hide.
My apartment.
Except this time, it wasn’t mine anymore.
The place smelled like vanilla and the tea she brewed in the afternoon. The floors were mopped and the clean dishes were stacked by size. She was everywhere and yet not here.
I sat down right inside the door on the floor. That’s where I belonged–on the floor.
I needed Molly.
Not because she was helping me or saving me but because I needed the woman who I loved.
But this time, Molly was better off without me.