As I sit here, I'm chewing on a straw-- a red bar room straw.
My eyes are tired and my heart is tight.
24 night with B was just wonderful. He left at around 10:00 (when the show ended) and I was getting set for bed. Then I got a text from BarMan:
Did u by any chance tape 24 2nite?
I told him that I had it saved on the cable box but that I could transfer it onto a tape and bring it over to Cheers in an hour if they would still be open.
yeah, but don't go out of ur way :) he said.
I made the tape for him and walked it over. There was a fat guy named Dave and a drunk girl named Nancy in the bar. Otherwise, it was empty. BarMan was grateful for the tape. Nancy was grilling him about ThursdayGirl. She rushed up to me when she saw that BarMan and I are friends.
"Is ThursdayGirl his girlfriend?!?!" she squealed.
"You'll have to ask him," I said.
I ordered a Bailey's on the rocks. BarMan told me it was on him. He asked me to lock the door, so I did. He was readying to close up shop. Then there was a knock on the door. It was PumpedUp's dad (the owner of the bar). I went to talk to him. He pulled me aside and told me that my Super (his good friend) could "use a friend in the building." I will have to investigate what that's about. I sense myself becoming embroiled in some building politics due to my Cheers allegiance and the solid friendship between PumpedUp's dad and my Super.
I only had the one drink, but felt edgy and unsettled. I probably never should have left the house. Perhaps I would have fallen asleep. Oh well...
As I took myself home, the feeling just got worse. Waiting for the elevator I thought of Narc. I love him; I hate him; I want so badly to be done with him. He humiliates me. I know that his screenwriter's group was reading his script tonight. I know that he was in Midtown. I sent him a text. (Damn it! Why? You don't even want to see him! You just want to know that he's THERE!)
How did your script go over? I wrote.
I did not expect a reply. I sat down to write this post, still chewing on the straw from my single glass of Bailey's. Still chewing on the straw. As I wrote, my phone began to vibrate against the desk. (Still chewing on the straw). He wrote back.
Still in Midtown. Call in 5.
Why did I open that can of worms? Should I pick up when he calls? Do I have a choice? I'm going to put my pajamas on. I can't let this straw out of my mouth. If I do, I might chew off all of my finger nails. And what would I be left to type with but bloody stumps?
What am I anxious about? Why is the night time so hard for me when I try to behave like a normal person?
My jaw is tight.
No-- scrap that.
My chest is tight.
-h-
3 comments:
Our super could use a friend in the building. Maybe if and when he comes to fix your lock you could invite him in for some milk and some of those yummy sugar cookies of yours? You guys could talk about his youth and how he was a rebel and listened to all kinds of music and smoked a lot of pot.
Then, maybe, just maybe, a flicker of longing comes into his eyes, and you notice it, but ever so subtly. You're not sure what to make of it, but you know that deep down you have that same longing for him. For his scruffy pot bellied middle-aged body, ravaged by time and by drugs. You find his missing teeth endearing. And so, ever so slowly you beckon to him, you want to hold him close to you. You want to be with him. He spends the night and you become friends. And voila, he now has a friend in the building!
Maybe it was more about drugs..?
ndn, has no shortage of imagination.....
I'm glad the you and B enjoyed my earlier comment.
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