I remember when I went to visit my grandfather for the very
last time. He was cooking that day, as he would any other day. “A man like you
should have a hearty meal,” he’d say to me. We talked as we ate and then a
while afterwards until we no longer had anything to say to each other. The
silence lasted longer than either of us expected. He broke the silence by
getting up and bringing me to the garage. There, he pulled out a wooden box
full of bottles of Peychaud’s. It was one of the many souvenirs he still had
from being a salesman. He told me that this box was set to last him and
generations down for their entire lives. He handed it to me as I was set to
leave and brought me close into a tight hug.
“You’re a good kid.”
The words echoed in my head as I went back to that box. The
smell of oak and licorice were still as strong as ever. I pulled out one of the
bottles and went to the kitchen counter where I already had my mixture of
absinthe, whiskey, sugar and orange bitters. Two dashes from that bottle and I
had my daily midnight cocktail that would let me sleep in relative peace.
I was thankful that it was the weekend. All I wanted to do
was hang out with my friends and play video games. Unfortunately, I wasn’t
going to enjoy it. I felt my head pulsating like an out of control heart,
with my brain seemingly slamming against my cranium at each pulse. I hurried to
a glass of water which managed only to slow down the pace of the pulses, but
each one hurt ten times as much. I headed out to my car and drove my friend’s
house trying to bear the pain. I had to. I bailed out on them far too many
times lately not to. The headache would not relent. It got worse. One of the
pulses took the wind out of me in the middle of the highway. Thank god I didn’t
crash.
“Dude, you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said, fixing my disheveled hair.
“Whoa, what happened to you?” my other friend chimed in.
“Nothing.” The coffee on my shirt was not coming off.
“You sure? You look like you ran through traffic rather
than drove through it.”
“I said I’m fine.”
As soon as I fixed myself up, I went to get another glass
of water and chugged it. It ended up going in my larynx causing me to cough
violently, pushing at my head even further.
“Good god, you’re a mess.”
“No shit.” My sardonicism far surpassed my light sarcasm in
that instant.
“Aren’t you in a mood.”
“Please, he’s always in some mood.”
“Can you guys quit busting my balls already? I’m good now.”
We were there for a few hours. We had some conversation
about sports, girls, the like. I mostly was listening to the two of them,
occasionally chiming in. I pressed the tall cold glass I got on my head and
took measured sips from it. Eventually my headache had subsided and my mood had
bettered.
“This is nice. A warm summer day with a cold drink in the
hand. I really needed this.”
“Same here. This week was brutal.”
“You’re telling me. The night shift at 7-11 is killer.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I responded.
“Bro, you’ve got it easy.”
“I have my own problems as much as you do.”
“Dunno man. Everything seems to be in order for you what
with that cushy desk job of yours.” He rolled his eyes at me, as if I was being
pretentious with my remarks.
“Dude, don’t.”
“Look, I said I was sorry about not being at your party.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Things come up. I can’t bend the world to your fucking
will.”
“That’s what you said when I caught you hanging with your
friends from high school after you bailed out on us.”
“Dude, chill.”
“I’m not gonna chill. He comes up here trying to act like
everything’s fine and dandy but it ain’t.”
“I don’t need to deal with this shit, alright. I’ll leave.”
“Oh yeah, leave! Lord knows all you’re good at is not being
there!”
“Fuck off!”
“Fuck you!”
“Goddamn it.”
I raced back home, bringing back with me that horrible
headache. Even though it was afternoon, it was winter, so the sky was pitch
black. When I got home, I went to drink a bunch of glasses of water. Nothing. I
then went to make that midnight cocktail, pulling out that box to find the same
bottle I used before. I turned on my TV and turned on some Pac-Man to ease
myself. I took a swig and stared down at the empty glass. Before I could start,
I prepared another and played for a while.
The game became a tedious ordeal. All I managed to do was
eat the pellets mindlessly and lose lives. Every time I got the giant one, I
never managed to get one of those ghosts. I’d chase them and chase them but
they’d always slip from my grasp. Once the ability wore off, I’d go on for a
while and then one of them would sneak up on me. Once I lost the last life, I
slammed my controller down and turned off the TV, leaving to make another
drink.
Perhaps my friend was right that I had it easy. Compared to
all the heartbreak that he’s faced. But at least he’s a decent friend to
others. At least his relatives are still healthy. At least he can visit them
when they’re sick. Especially if they’re very sick.
I needed another drink. I needed it bad. My worries
compounded, magnifying my headache. I turned on a light so the darkness would
not consume me, but no matter how bright it was, I still was drowning in
misery.
All I could hear were the reverberations of each step I
took as I went to finish that box. I already felt the chill of loneliness for
too long.
I did not want to face the sting of loss.
I wanted to finish that box.
I wanted to drink.
Drink. Drink. Drink.
Drink.
Drink.
…
Darkness.
…
Suddenly, light peered through. In that, I saw a nurse come
up to me. She told me I had faced a terrible blackout. She said that if it
weren’t for my friend, I would have died. He had come to my house to apologize
and found me collapsed on the floor. I apologized for being rude and rubbed my
head which thankfully was not aching. Though the rest of my body was not in
great shape.
My cellphone was ringing in my pocket. I slowly picked it
up. Once I heard the voice on the other line, I began to cry. I hardly managed
to get a word in through my tears. There were so many things I wanted to say,
but I was too caught up in emotion to get any of it through. In my state, I
frankly didn’t remember much of what it said. All for what that voice said to
me at the end of the call.
“You’re a good kid.”
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