Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

There was plenty of reason to be happy that Wednesday, but I had the nagging suspicion all morning that life was going to start flinging shit at me as soon as I let myself relax a little bit. It might have been that I hadn't been able to get ahold of Beth for the last two days which, as anyone who's ever been isolated from his loved ones for an extended period of time knows, might as well have been ten years. Undoubtedly, I was afraid of what was going to be waiting for me when I stepped back into the world I'd left behind six months ago.
The short walk from the jail to the lobby was one of the most transcendental moments I'd ever experienced. Looking at your surroundings and seeing a world so vast and beautiful and not surrounded by ten-foot fences...there's no words to describe the kind of inner-peace that brings after you've been deprived of it.
Oh, shit. That was a moment of relaxation.

I tried calling Beth twice from the payphone in the lobby, but she didn't answer. I sighed and kissed my relationship goodbye. Welcome home, shithead.

I didn't have the courage to go home and face the inevitable situation that awaited me, so I got a cab and headed downtown to visit my favorite locale.
At least Stoney's was still where it was when I left. All the familiar faces were happy to see me back on the scene. Big John even came out from behind the counter and bear-hugged me nearly to the point of suffocation with his grizzly bear arms. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I traded in the six-month AA chip I got in jail for a free beer.
There's something so warm and comforting about drinking in your home bar. You get to know the regulars and the staff and it gets to be like a big, happy, inebriated family. Even when real life has you by the balls and doesn't show any interest in letting go, you always get the feeling that peace and understanding are just a few blocks away.
I had three more drinks and spent the last of my money on a cab ride to my apartment.

Beth's car was in our spot, but the door was locked and I had to pound on it for what seemed like a minute before she answered. She opened the door just wide enough to look out at me.
“Hey,” she said flatly.
“Hey...so can I assume we're no longer together?”
“I left your stuff at your mom's house. I made sure to pack up everything that was yours.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don't think so.”
“What the hell's going on, Beth? You've been with me the whole time I was in jail, and now that I'm out, you act like I'm nothing to you.”
“Look, I didn't want to break up with you while you were in there because I knew you were going through a tough enough time without having this to think about this.”
“That was thoughtful of you.”
“Wasn't it?”
“You had to know I was getting out eventually.”
“Honestly, I didn't think you were going to beat your charges.”
“So what if I didn't? What if I had to do ten years? Would you have just led me on the entire time?”
“Look, Travis. I loved you and I'm always going to love you. I'm twenty-eight years old and you're the first person in my life that I've ever been able to be myself in front of. And I have no doubt in my heart that you felt the same about me. But we can't be together. We can't. I told you a million times that I needed you to grow up and take care of me, but you didn't take me seriously. You wanted to hang out with your friends and get drunk and get high and sell drugs and do all that dumb shit you've been doing since you were seventeen. Well, I can't take that anymore. I'm sorry.”
I heard someone move around inside.
“Who the fuck is that?”
She tried to close the door, but I wedged my foot in and forced my way in. Standing in the hallway was a familiar face.
“Mike?”
His eyes were wide with fright. I'm sure he fully expected me to grab the nearest blunt object and start swinging.
I hung my head for a moment and then looked at Beth. She wore a frightened expression.
“Leave now, Travis, or I'm going to call the police.”
My heart was skipping too many beats, and I was certain that I would drop dead at any moment.
“This has to be a nightmare.”
“Travis, please leave.” Her voice was full of apprehension.
I turned to go. Then I stopped to take one last look at Beth. Beth. The first girl I ever loved, the first person I could honestly say I would die for. There was still terror in her expression, but I looked into her eyes, and I saw every kiss and every tender moment we ever shared play simultaneously in that instant. I saw her brushing her hair in the mirror and smiling at me as I walked in. I saw her putting on that shirt I loved--the silly one with the yellow silhouette of a bird cawing, the one that I always loved because it reminded me what a silly person she was and how much different she was than any other girl I'd ever met. Then I looked at Mike, my friend since high school, the guy who I was certain would be the Best Man at my wedding. A lot like me, but with a real job and financial stability. He still hadn't said a word, but I could see his eyes full of fear and also a mountain of regret.
For a moment, I thought of doing something crazy. What reason did I have for living anymore, anyway? But that wasn't me. I didn't do crazy shit. I wasn't a psycho. I was a coward. I was the kind of guy who scraped out a living and took everything he had for granted and no matter how bad life got, hung on until there was nothing left. I didn't have it in me to kill myself, and I certainly couldn't hurt anyone else. I was a beaten dog. I would go on, sad and lonely, until I found something else worth waking up for. That was me.
“Mike, you're a good guy,” I said. “You've shown that to me more times than I can count. Take care of my girl, okay? She's the most beautiful person I've ever known. And if you ever think of doing anything that would hurt her, think long and hard about this moment.”
With that, I left. Beth closed the door behind me. I heard the deadbolt lock.
I walked the five miles back to Stoney's. It was now dark outside. Big John was still behind the counter.
“Back again, huh?”
“Beth just dumped me.”
“Aw, well ain't that some shit. Can I get you another beer?”
“I'm all out of dough, brother.”
“It's on the house.”
A few of the guys had lined up to pat me on the back.
“Get good and plastered tonight,” said one of the regulars who I knew by sight but not by name. “It's on us.”
I got drunk. I played some pool and had some good conversations. I chatted up a rinsed out blonde who was probably ten years older than me. At the end of the night, we got a motel together.
God bless good friends and good beer.

Sad.
Real.
Gritty.
True.
Direct impact. Casablanca sighs.

No coward could have written this.
I'd like to read more...
H

My opinion of myself varies wildly from day-to-day. I suspect Travis's does, too.

Thank you for the feedback again, HP. I appreciate you reading my stuff.

I'm scared of pain and I hide from it, or the possibility of it, as much as possible. The unfortunate thing is that the possibility of pain is life and it's life that I seem to be hiding from. My jail is self-made seclusion.

Consequently, I have no such stories. Thanks for posting this.

.

I was a coward. I was the kind of guy who scraped out a living and took everything he had for granted and no matter how bad life got, hung on until there was nothing left. I didn't have it in me to kill myself, and I certainly couldn't hurt anyone else. I was a beaten dog. I would go on, sad and lonely, until I found something else worth waking up for. That was me

I can relate to that. One of the blessings of longevity, i just like to wake up these days. For no particular reason. Except maybe to write a little bit.

You write well, I hope you are still writing, I enjoyed reading it. Another thing to wake up for, good writing.

Punchy, powerful, enjoyed.