Night 1

I wonder who this woman is. I wonder who any of these people are? All I had wanted was a couple drinks, then bed. Why am I down here in a hotel bar (and it’s not even my hotel) talking to these people? Am I getting any joy out of this?

She’s talking about what she does. Insurance. She just passed her cancer insurance exam, so she can sell cancer insurance. This woman sells the ability to pay for your eventual death early. Same as with all medical insurance sales, I guess. Maybe I’m just weirded out by the juxtaposition of their right to sell short on death and their celebration of that right. Maybe I’m drunk.

She’s still talking, now about … how her best friend was shot and died in high school. Jesus Christ, who talks about that with a stranger? She must be pretty drunk, or I guess very forthcoming. Yes, I’d like another, especially if we’re going to keep talking about how our friends got goddam shot in goddam high school.

I’m talking now, explaining what I do, where I’m going, why I’m in this exact location at this exact time. She seems oddly interested in my explanation of how I work as an engineer in what is essentially a glue factory. Ever feel yourself get bored by a story, when you’re the one telling it? You know it’s not interesting, and worse yet you know it’s not going to be interesting?

Ever get bored describing what you do every day?

I finish up, having depressed myself merely by talking about what I’m paid for. She continues talking … her friends talk … I sip … she talks.

Eventually things are quieting down, people are staggering out of the bar. She glances around, then back at me.

“Want to come up, watch some TV or something?”

No, thank you. I’ve got a flight in the morning (lie). I better get to sleep so I can make it and maybe get a little work done during my travels (lie). I’m pretty tired (misdirection).

I’m in a very bad place emotionally and would really just like to get home (truth). I’m sad and lonely and hurt and betrayed and angry and I have this sickening feeling that I’ve lost something very important (truth). Going upstairs with you would bring me no pleasure (truth). And even with all that, I still feel emasculated and embarrassed that I’m turning you down, and I’m sorry (truth).

“No, thanks- I better get to bed. Congrats, again.”

Night 2

Yup, she’s definitely asleep on the other couch. There’s something comforting in seeing a friend, or really anyone you care about, safely at home, tucked in and asleep. Not to say you were worrying about them, but now you know they’re okay. It’s a good feeling.

I didn’t like driving through the city tonight. Forget the fact there was snow on the ground, or I was in an unfamiliar car, or the GPS couldn’t get a signal. There were too many memories. I even passed the street where she dropped off her bones. Very clear images from that day splattered across the inside of my head. Paintballs exploding.

The road and street signs made me hate them because I could remember them. The distance between the feelings I had then and the ones I have now is too far. It was a bittersweet but content happiness, peppered with hope and faith. The bittersweetness was from having to leave. The happiness was from having been there. The faith was from what I thought I had read in her eyes.

None of that was left.

I woke up to my friend turning the TV off.

“Have a good night- looks like neither of us made it through the movie. I’m going to bed.”

I rolled over. There’s something comforting about a friend’s couch, too.

Night 3

I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up from drinking at a bar.

Staring down at a toilet, spitting, feeling your organs being compressed upward by the muscles in your abdomen … they’re all very distinct physical sensations. When was the last time I threw up, anyway?

I staggered back out a few minutes later when the nausea had subsided a little. I was drunk, more drunk than the two previous nights combined, and I was starting to realize I was piecing together chunks of time to form memories.

Another drink? Okay. Not a shot though.

[break]

Walking outside the bar. Cold air. Someone yelling. “Get in the car.”

[break]

Walking up to my house. Kitchen. Snacks. Txt. Txet. Tetx. Extt. Text.

[break]

The room is spinning. I have good friends. I have really good friends. I’m not even sad right now. I’m nauseous and content. I have good friends. I’m not sad at all. How could I be? I have good friends.

…

I’m alone.