If Only You Knew (1005 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.71 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Rizzo (View user info) at 2008-06-29 19:41:54 EDT
It wasn't the booze that got him, even though he had half a dozen draught Heinekens and at least three orange Stoli and sodas the night before. It wasn't the fact that he was tired, or near-broke on a shore weekend when most people were throwing their money into the pit of alcoholism and partying like the world was going to end tomorrow. No, what got him was the fact that, despite being surrounded by people, two of whom were arguably his two best friends, he felt desperately alone.
Desperately, nerve-wrackingly, alone. Wring the washtowl as tight as you can, close your eyes and clench your teeth. Feel the blood rush into your head. Open your eyes now.
Alone.
"You need to go to talk to that one." said Jimmy, slamming back the last of his draught. He was a half a beer ahead of everyone else, but somehow he would slow his pace and be the only one of the three manageable enough to drive back home. Girard had no hope at all of being sober by the end of the night. He had nine DUIs under his belt anyway. He couldn't drive across the parking lot stone cold sober if he wanted to.
"But I'm not going to talk to that one," said the lonely boy. Thirty years old. No girlfriend. Wracked with debts ranging from student loans to bloated car payments to looming rent checks. Shitty, dead-end job. The raises didn't even cover the increase in health insurance premiums.
Alone.
"Well," said Girard, "I'm going to go get some popcorn, and when I come back I want to hear a fucking story about you and her talking." And with that, he was off to the free popcorn machine.
Caroline's was one of those places you could really enjoy hanging out. Big spacious indoor area with a large ovalish bar in the middle, pool tables in a separate room, an established place for the band, a free popcorn machine circa 1908. The men's bathroom came equipped with a chalkboard by the urinals usually covered with drunken slur-filled rants about the Eagles and the New York Football Giants, in addition to the poorly drawn dick and tit pictures. There was also an outdoor bar, smaller but no less oval, presiding over an outdoor deck that made it very convenient for the smokers in the group to light up in non-smoking New Jersey. Not to mention, Caroline's had something probably no other bar in Southern New Jersey had - Heineken on draught.
Lonely Boy looked down at his new sandals, purchased on the boardwalk today. The toe thingie was ripping into his unweathered feet. He needed to cut his nails. They glowed like radon in the dim light of the bar.
"She's leaving," said Jimmy, holding up two fingers to the bartender. He turned to Lonely Boy. "I mean, you're not even going to go say hi? You'll never see her again."
"I have nothing to say," Lonely Boy responded. The Heinekens came sliding across the bar, foam surreptitiously dangling from the heliosphere.
"Anything," Jimmy said as he held his pint up to toast. Lonely Boy exhaled, then reluctantly clinked his glass before sipping.
"To anything," said Lonely Boy after the fact, then to no one in particular: "I'm going to go piss."
He was alone inside the restroom, the only sound the faint comforting buzz of the fluorescents. He liked the restroom because it was a place he could go to be alone and think. He sighed as he realized he really didn't have to piss but that he just wanted to come in here because he was depressed. He wondered how many times in his life he'd done this, forced out a piss to wallow in his sorrows alone, and the thought itself made him tired. The piss eventually came, but it was short and weak, as fitting as any piss could be.
He came out and nearly bumped into her. She gave him a doe-eyed stare, part flight, part alarm, then she charged head down into the women's bathroom. From behind, her white skirt alluded to her thong below. Tiffany's on the left wrist; Coach clamped in her right hand. Black curly hair. Perfect. He knew right then and there that he would never talk to her, ever.
This is what happens when you're depressed, he thought, but it was more than that. It had been this way for years now, a slow, affirmation of all his perceived faults. No girlfriend, no money, no one telling him it's going to be okay, no one congratulating him when something awesome happened. No real friends, save the peanut gallery at the bar, and even they were apt to disappear with the next available skirt. No nothing - even beer and vodka had lost their desired effect over the years. Now it was more of a ritual, the pill you needed to take at 5 p.m. so you could turn the other cheek a little easier. Only it was getting harder and harder to turn the other cheek.
Girard met him halfway back with a pint glass filled with popcorn. "Mmm, that girl ... mm, she went into the bathroom."
"I know, I nearly mowed her over on the way out."
Girard's eyes lit up and for a second his attention was miraculously not on the popcorn. "You talked to her?"
"No, I didn't even apologize."
This comment made the popcorn immediately more interesting to Girard. "Mmm, you suck." And with that, he headed back to his seat.
The sun was setting in Southern New Jersey. Lonely Boy stared out to the west, looking at the colors over the bay. Somewhere, he thought, a couple was making love. Somewhere, he thought, a person just like me isn't miserable today. Somewhere in this town there are people having fun doing exactly what I'm doing. He began to wonder, as he always did during these times, whether his feelings were being dictated by his situation, or whether it was something else, something more deeply ingrained and indelible. The thought alone made him tired again, and he realized it might never change, this thing of his. He might always be miserable. There was hope, but he was tired of clinging to hope. There was death, but he wasn't even sure that would let him off the hook.
He stared back at his friends, two men turning the corner on 50, both single, both neurotic in their own ways, both avoiding their own potentials in a puzzling display of self-defeat. They waved to him, true friends, staring proudly because, regardless of his disappointments, he was their only tangible ticket to vicariousness. The sun kept setting, eventually becoming a glow, and somewhere inside Caroline's the bartender turned up the dimmer a bit. Dim lights make you eat less, he thought for no apparent reason, then remembered once again that life was a little better with a cold Heineken in his blood. The pain would wait, if only for five minutes, but it would wait. By then the sun would be down, the glow gone, transferred, if only temporarily, to the beer and hope in the glass. Drink it up, he thought, as Jimmy handed him his glass back, not expecting a clink this time. Drink it up, he thought, for tomorrow, the sun rises again.
User Reviews
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2008-07-02 09:59:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2008-07-01 13:10:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-06-30 22:26:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-06-30 03:02:06 CDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2008-06-30 01:52:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
1.5
"It wasn't the booze that got him, even though he had half a dozen draught Heinekens and at least three orange Stoli and sodas the night before."
My main concern is that most times when somebody here tries to describe an impressive amount of alcohol consumption, it's like ... nothing. I used to drink this amount before I even left for the bar.
I may have a problem.
=====
I've often felt like this lung, I don't think anyone that actually drinks a lot has an alcohol checklist, as it feels more like a given than anything, therein lies the problem.
Probably. """
yeah gayjay the gay giraffe does that.
if i say i've drunk a lot, it's a lot. i couldn't list 'em, that's kinda the point of 'a lot'.
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2008-06-30 14:18:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
just got back from southern NJ last night.
point pleasant. Nice.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-06-30 07:11:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
So, depression eh?
Meh.
Submitted by uncoordinated_ninja (user info) at 2008-06-30 05:30:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I just realized this, is that sign in the picture from a place in Swansboro, NC? Damn. Small world if it is.
Submitted by uncoordinated_ninja (user info) at 2008-06-30 05:02:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2008-06-30 01:52:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I may have a problem.
----------------------------
Ditto.
As for the guy in the story, I've heard Lithium does wonders.
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-06-30 04:02:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2008-06-30 01:52:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
1.5
"It wasn't the booze that got him, even though he had half a dozen draught Heinekens and at least three orange Stoli and sodas the night before."
My main concern is that most times when somebody here tries to describe an impressive amount of alcohol consumption, it's like ... nothing. I used to drink this amount before I even left for the bar.
I may have a problem.
=====
I've often felt like this lung, I don't think anyone that actually drinks a lot has an alcohol checklist, as it feels more like a given than anything, therein lies the problem.
Probably.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2008-06-30 01:52:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2008-06-30 01:52:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
1.5
"It wasn't the booze that got him, even though he had half a dozen draught Heinekens and at least three orange Stoli and sodas the night before."
My main concern is that most times when somebody here tries to describe an impressive amount of alcohol consumption, it's like ... nothing. I used to drink this amount before I even left for the bar.
I may have a problem.
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2008-06-30 00:03:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Not the cheeriest of stories. I was tempted to write Lonely Boy off as another whiny loser, but you succeeded in eliciting a bit of sympathy for him.
This reminded me of my XGF: "He began to wonder, as he always did during these times, whether his feelings were being dictated by his situation, or whether it was something else, something more deeply ingrained and indelible. The thought alone made him tired again, and he realized it might never change, this thing of his. He might always be miserable."
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-06-29 21:48:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it. You accurately portrayed depression in a way a lot of writers can't manage.
Submitted by spidernutz (user info) at 2008-06-29 21:48:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for the diminishing returns of alcohol
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-06-29 20:52:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2008-06-29 20:45:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
awww hugs all around!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2008-06-29 20:10:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment