Clipped Wings

It took me a moment to remember why my legs weren’t working. The sight of her had made me forget I was drunk, so when she slammed the door strait in my face, I didn’t quite know why I was still standing there. Well, leaning more than standing, but, you get my drift.

But, I got home Okay.

I remember getting in my car. I remember getting into bed, but, the trip home was a black hole. I do that too much. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I should be dead by now, let alone a DUI. Maybe some one up there likes me. No, if someone up there liked me I wouldn’t have been on her doorstep in the first place.

It wasn't the plan. Okay, that’s not completely true. I was aware of her proximity when my work buddies wanted to drink way the fuck out there. It’s a big city, plenty of places to spend an evening, but if I backed out there would have been questions and I don’t like questions.
We had our fun. Talked shop. Caught the tail end of the World Series of Poker. Then they had to appease their ladies’ constant text messages and call it a night. Was I ever that appeasing?

Anyway, I was three sheets to the wind and ended up on her doorstep even before I even realized where I was stumbling too.

I’m pretty sure I got some words out. Something to the affect of an apology for something I’m not quite sure whether or not I did. And to her credit, I think she listened, but honestly all I remember is how good she looked. Then the door.

On the sobering walk back to Main Street I turned it over in my head whether or not I had hallucinated a male voice somewhere in the background. Right before the door slammed shut.

When I got back to my car the last place I wanted to be was alone in bed. That’s how I found myself at Rick’s. The owner was a sixty year old Brit named Mickey but he was a huge Casablanca fan, which is actually what brought me in the bar the first time around.

Her name isn’t important, just that I was there that night because of her.

I had been going there for years. Everyone knew me. I could draw you all the do-dads on the walls by heart. I briefly dated one of the waitresses. The barkeep always had my drink on the oak before I reached it. One of the few places in my life that really felt like home. Safe. I hadn’t been there recently. Relationships have a tendency to create new homes for you. Anyway, the point is, I was there because of her.

“Fascinating sport, archery.”

“Excuse me” I said.

“The TV. Archery.”

Roused from my pit of despair, I looked up to the glowing monitor behind the bar. The one mounted next to the big glass mirror? Anyhow, ESPN was on. Bows and arrows. I was never a sports fan. I think my uncle was pretty good at it in high school back in New York. Or was it my cousin? I dunno. I wasn’t really watching it, just sort a staring blindly. Moping.

“Oh, I wasn't really watching.”

“Phallic sport. An angled head speeding to penetrate that small circular bull's eye.”

“Really? Always thought it more a weapon than a sport.”

“Same difference.” He shot back. “You’ve been nursing the same drink for the better part of an hour and I‘ve never been one to allow good alcohol to waste” he said.

Oh sorry, he was Cliff. Or at least that’s what I called him. He was this guy who reminded me of John Ratzenberger on Cheers. You know, Cliff Clavin, the mail man? “Everyone knows your name”? Anyhow, Cliff was this guy who pretty much lived there, always sat alone in the corner. He had never said a word to me, nor I to him. Always figured he was a friend of Mickey‘s. Had nothing better to do than to sit and drink for free. But here he was, out of his corner, stool pulled up next to mine.

“So uh, I don’t mean to pry but, uh... what’s her name?”

I took a long sip, “What’s who’s name?” I swallowed coldly.

“Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Doesn't mater, Really. Frustrating though ain’t it?”

“What’s frustrating?”

“It. The “L“ Word, numb nuts. S’ok, it is for everybody. But you know, a little more so for our ilk.”

“And what's our ilk?” I asked dryly.

“You know, us. You and me. Well, more you than me actually. I’m kind of excluded from the demographic. Insider information doesn't allow me to participate. Believe me I‘ve tried. With, what you might call various degrees of success.”

“Look man, I don't want to be rude or anything but I haven't a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. It’s ok, you're blinded at the moment. They do that to you. It’s not a bad thing, just something they do. Hell, most of the time they don‘t know they‘re doing it.”

I was starting to get a annoyed. I know this guy was trying to help but I just wanted him to retire to his little corner and allow me to wallow in my misery as I saw fit. HE however saw fit to continue.

“You and I are the same. I know, I’ve watched you. I've seen you in here. A dying breed we are. Dying, but not dead yet. There are still a few more of us out there, but it’s not like the old days. Yes siree, The Romantics are on the way out the door.”

“Look buddy, I know you’re trying to help, but... I’m not really in the mood for company.”

“Sure you are, only it’s not my company you’re wanting to keep. And I’m sorry to break it to you friend, but chances are she ain’t walking through that door.”

“Thank you for driving the nail deeper.”

“You’re welcome” he said through a toothy grin. “It’s what you need to hear.”

“Jimmy?” I asked the bartender, “Why don’t you get my carpenter friend here another drink? Put something to his lips so I don‘t have to hear what‘s coming out of them.”

“Whiskey, neat.” he orders and brought it to his mouth with a salute. “Thanks, brother.”

The slam of the glass across the old oak bar hammered back memories. Days at the beach, The way her eyes closed when she swallowed a gulp of wine, the way she smelled when she...

“Stop it!” he interjected.

“You’re not helping yourself, son. I’m trying to help you here, but if you don’t want to help yourself, what’s the point?”

“What is the point?” I fired back. “I came here to be alone, get fucked up. It’s all I want to do.”

“Listen, romance is few and far between. Don’t spoil it. Your grief is part of the game. When a relationship dies, a part of you dies with it. Mourn it sure, but move on. Take what you’ve lost and apply it to something new Don't make the same mistakes. You will make the same mistakes, of course, but, It’s the only way we learn."

I was starting to listening. What can I say, the guy had charisma.

“Let me tell ya something...Ages ago. Long before you were born. Hell, long before anyone was born, I met this girl. She was, she was beautiful, no beyond beautiful. She was meant for me. I knew it, in my heart of hearts. She was like looking at the sun. So radiant she couldn't be denied, yet you knew you shouldn't look 'cause you'd go blind? But, she was to marry another. This, this hulking mass of putrescence. There was nothing in him. What could he offer her? Yet, it was he she chose. I had known her, well, as long as it mattered. I had been a faithful friend, I had been true, yet still, it was he who was to be in her arms. He who was to be...well, there you have it.”
There are some, well, most, who have told me that what I did was wrong. Ask me a thousand times and I’ll still tell you, wrong it may have been, but it in my heart of hearts it was right! I stole her away. Somewhere safe, content, happy. She WAS happy!
Night after night. I'd come to her. Sure, she cried, but, she cried because she knew it couldn't last, you understand? I know, how this sounds. but believe when I tell you, these were simpler times.” He insisted.

Now, normally from anyone else this would have sounded nuts. The rantings of a rapist. But there was something., I don't know, sincere. It wasn't creepy. Even in my inebriated state, it didn’t feel dirty, didn’t feel wrong.

He continued “She was happy. Away from him. In my arms, in, in my palace..." he trailed off.
Then silence.

"Well, what happened?" I inquired.

Glazed eyes, a thousand miles away he replied "It uh, it didn't work out. Could I have another Jimmy?"

He threw the amber liquid back with what looked like the wipe of a tear.

"Anyway" he said, composing himself, "I didn't mean to go on about myself. My time has come and gone. It's you that's the issue. The point I’m trying to make is that whoever she is, if she ain’t sitting down here next to you then, ces't la vie! I know how cheesy that sounds. But look, It doesn't matter what happened or who’s fault it was. The fact that the two of you couldn’t reconcile it like to grown adults speaks to the fact that it wasn’t written in the stars. It’s a lot of work, it’s trial and error. If it was easy then it wouldn’t be worth it my friend.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

“Oh, you misunderstand. It was never my intention to make you feel better. Just help. Tell you like it is. You decide what to do with it. It’ll never get easier, so get used to it.”

“So after all this, that’s your advice, get used to it?”

“Ya, that and alcohol helps. Jimmy, one more for the road if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Ya, uh, I’ll have another too please.” I said

The bartender set our glasses on the bar and with a clink of glasses and a wink in his eye we threw them back.

“Well, that dose it for me.” he said stumbling off his stool and awkwardly regaining his balance. “Don’t over do it tonight. Get home safe. As I said, there’s not too many of us left”

I held up my drink and lied “This is my last.”

“Right” he replied sarcastically. “You’re down, but not out. Don’t let her keep you down too long.”

The rest you know.

Made it back to my car. Made it in bed.

Woke up with not the worst of hangovers but pretty damn close.

I’d like to tell you that that night changed my life. That I went out into the world with a new found perspective and a bounce in my step. But I didn’t. He didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know. Hell, anything most people already know. He just put it a little plainer, maybe a bit more poetic in a drunken sort of way? I got over her of course. I’ve been visiting Rick’s more often. Mostly on Saturdays so my friends can make asses of themselves on karaoke night. I never saw Cliff again, but that hardly surprised me. One night I asked Jimmy what happened to him. He didn’t know who I was talking about. lame I know but, the truth.

That’s pretty much the end. Not the best of stories I know but, I saw you sitting here, nursing that beer for over an hour. Thought I’d pass on his words.

Anyhow man, finish your beer, get home safe, don’t let her get you down. There ain’t too many of us left out there.

Insomnia

In less than three hours I will have been up for an entire day. Unfortunately, it is in no way shape or form voluntary. I laid there trying everything; counting breaths, concentrating on relaxing my toes and then moving up the body, Sleepy Time tea, reading. No luck. My brain simple will not shut off. So, I rolled out of bed and figured what better time to start a blog.

I used to post my short fiction on myspace, which I'm sure I'll post on here in various degrees of completion, but I've never put my rants to paper, and I've been ranting a lot lately!

First off.

Definition: "You Are So On The Rocket"
Everyone naturally assumes that there is some sort of sexual connotation going on there. While it may be hard (wink, wink) for some to ignore the phallic, it's orgins lie in the dorky recessess of Simi Valley High School.

Among my many friends and cohorts was a one Mattamillion Raum. Part Andy Rooney, part Pinky & The Brain and part Unabomber, Matt had this crazy idea to run for Governor of the state of California on the platform of enacting a State run Space Program. Why let the underfunding of N.A.S.A. stand in the way of humans colonizing the cosmos? Of course the real goal was to invite a specialy selected group of individuals, let's call them "undesirables". They would board the spacecraft thinking they were to terraform the moon or Mars, but all Matt wanted to do was to shoot them into the sun.

The list would fluctuate from day to day: Teachers, Celebrities, heiressess, anyone who had ever appeared on a reality show. Cross his path and "You are so on the fucking rocket!"

So get your minds out of the gutter. You should know by now that anything I say has to have a dorky, yet oddly charming origin.

OK, I think this is enough for now. Stay tuned for some short fiction.
Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.