It
was hot today. His back was sore again and all he wanted was to waste
time on his mattress at home and let the broken air conditioner try
to cool him. But, like most days, his mind sent inherited electric
signals telling him he wanted something else before he could go
home, so he followed his craving towards the bar across the street
from his loft. The Spirit is
usually empty, save two or three lonely souls, and today was no
exception. He recognized one of them, an older guy they called Toad.
It wasn't his real name, but the way he crouched over his drink,
slurping and coughing, earned him the name. He even more resembled
his label at the end of the night when the alcohol hits him too hard
and he turns a sickly green color as he's hunched over the bathroom's
lone toilet. He drinks because his wife left him because he drinks
because his wife hated him because he drank because his wife annoyed
him. But nobody there knew that. Nobody knew anything about
anyone at The Spirit. Rarely
are words spoken there outside the drink order and that's why Tyler
liked it.
The
other patron was a women unknown to our protagonist. She sat at the
bar, just one seat over from Toad, watching him with a cigarette in
her mouth. She wasn't unattractive but she wasn't a girl you'd tell
your friends about and Tyler began to wonder if she was a hooker. She
was not. She did want to take Toad home, though. Do you have an extra
cigarette? Her answer to that was lightly taking the lit cigarette
from her mouth and gently placing it between Toad's lips. With a long
inhale you can almost see his neck expand and she takes the cigarette
back and smiles while she stares. Two streams of smoke slither out
the nostrils of Toad like a clown pulling out two grey silk ribbons.
The woman nibbled on the end of her thumbnail before taking one last
drag and putting the cigarette out in her empty wine glass. She
drinks to forget about her father, a man who drank to forget about
his life. Tell me I'm pretty. And with a ribbit, Toad obliges and the
fly moves in for a kiss.
Tyler
looks away from this display of affection and sits at the bar seat
furthest from the two of them, trying to keep his eye-line anywhere
but there. The bartender makes his way over to Tyler and with a sigh
asks him what he wants to drink. Whiskey neat. What the bartender
looks like is not important, but you should know he inherited the bar
from his father when he died from liver failure a few years ago. He
doesn't want to be there anymore than Tyler does, but he, like Tyler,
has no where else to go. When he hears a feminine laugh across the
room, Tyler takes out his phone and pretends to be busy. He drinks
because he lonely. He's lonely because he hates who he has become and
shuts out everyone who cares too much about him. He drinks to fill
the hole which should be filled by family, friends, and love. And as
the alcoholic fluid can only fill that hole halfway he tries to fill
the rest with women he doesn't really love but he shares his body
with anyway. Then, when the rare occasion does present itself and he
does find someone he could see himself caring about for more than one
night, something always goes wrong and he finds himself back on this
bar-stool thinking about whatever girl he can't get off his mind this
month. He drinks because he is an artist and he hates his art. After
this trip to the bar he's going to go home and sit on his couch
staring at an unfinished painting that has been “nearly finished”
for three years. He's going to hate what he sees and he's eventually
going to paint the whole thing white and erase it like he sometimes
wishes he can do with the rest of his listless life.
After
a few drinks, Tyler has calmed down and can enjoy the cold that the
bar has to offer. The only brightness comes from the single working
wall-light and the orange accent lighting illuminating the bar and
all of it's bottles. Toad and his fly are gone, replaced with
another familiar face. She doesn't look twenty-one, but our bartender
doesn't seem to care. He just wants to get her drunk enough to sleep
with her one day, which still to this day has proved impossible for
him. She looks kind, but she's not. She drinks to live. She usually
patrons the bar down the street, The Dream,
which is filled with people more likely to earn her a few extra
dollars for this month's rent. It's only when she strikes out there
that she'll make her way down to The Spirit.
She has no real interest in sex or any relationship if it doesn't
reward her with a financial benefit. Three shots of vodka, Kenny.
Tyler knew all of this and hated her for it. Still, he was insistent
on painting her, so whenever he had the opportunity to study Kayla,
he would. Stressing his mind to remember every detail about her. The
way her short black hair curled just below her ear revealing a small
tattoo of a cross on the back of her neck or the way her blue eyes
looked so calm in the glow of the orange light across from her. These
moments of studious nature sometimes led to awkward eye contact,
like it does tonight. But tonight, for the first time in the year
that she has been coming here, she decides to talk to him. You have
something to say to me?
Tyler
doesn't answer; he just looks down at his phone again. Hey, so are we
still on for dinner tomorrow? Tyler types. He doesn't expect a
response until later tonight, and he won't get one then, either. But
tomorrow morning she'll respond: Oh hey, I just checked my schedule,
I have to work late again tonight. To which Tyler won't respond. I
asked you a question, Tyler.
How
do you know my name?
He
knows her name, though, so why does it surprise him that Kayla knows
his? Well, I just asked our friendly bartender here. I
t
still didn't make sense to Tyler because he doesn't remember ever
telling the bartender his name. Oh.
That's
it? Oh?
Kayla
stands and if Tyler was looking he could have seen her entire body
profile in that tight fitting black dress she was wearing, which
ended just below her knees presenting her slim calves giving way to
the fragile ankles wrapped in shiny black heels. With the grace of a
ghost she makes her over to him and sits down. There's a silence but
Kayla doesn't seem to mind Tyler's awkwardness. She takes this time
to study his features. She liked his sharp nose and his tired eyes
glazed with a layer of whiskey; she liked the wrinkles around his
eyes from when he used to smile. Hey, she asked you a question, man.
The
bartender is suddenly standing across from the two of them and Tyler
looks up with a blank face. Hey, Kenny, did I ask you
a question? Why don't you leave us alone.
With
a shake of his head, Kenny picks up a wet towel and begins to wipe
down the bar. Sorry about that, babe.
Tyler
can smell the vodka on her breath and he closes his eyes letting
memories flow through him. He likes the smell. It reminds him of his
freshman year in college when he couldn't even meet a girl without
that smell on her breath. It's fine.
The
following silence grants him a moment to think about why she would
bother talking to him. She never has before and she's definitely
caught him looking at her before. So? What did you want to tell me?
I
don't think I really had planned to say anything.
With
a hand covering her mouth she laughs and flips her short hair. She
must have had a tough month to be fishing in this bar for rent money.
Come on, Tyler, I see you staring at me all the time and I know it's
not because you're a creep. Your eyes are way too kind.
That's
the first thing Kayla said out of the ordinary. It's just out of
place for her routine to mention something so personal about a man,
but at this point she was just trying to get him to talk to her. I'm
pretty sure I'm not a creep. A smile forms on both of their faces.
Listen, I'm sorry if I was bothering you. I do have a reason, which,
I mean, won't make it any less weird.
For
the first time, Tyler gets an up-close look at Kayla's eyes, and what
he once thought were burning blue became a cold, empty grey and he
wasn't sure if he liked it. I'm sure you have a great reason.
Whatever it is, I don't mind. His teeth gently bite his bottom lip as
he debates with himself if he should tell her or just make fabricate
something else. And upon making his decision, he tells her about the
painting. An unfamiliar warmth briefly washes over Kayla. She's taken
back, flattered and intrigued. There's a confusion there, as this is
the first time someone has made her feel valued. But these feelings
of hers can be visually misconstrued as being offended. I'm sorry, I
knew I shouldn't have told you.
The
rest of his drink is gone with a gulp and he tries to get up but is
stopped by Kayla's cold hands. She sees this as an opportunity. Can I
see it?
So
they sit, after a hesitant yes, on his thrift store couch, staring at
a painting that sparks two very different thoughts between the two of
them. While Tyler wonders what Kayla is thinking about, she tells him
it's beautiful. I love it. Have you ever sold anything before?
Once,
back when I first got out of college. This one has taken me a long
time, though.
A
smooth leg slides across his lap and Kayla now sits facing Tyler's
broken face. Her hand passes over the stubble on his cheek to the
back of his neck. An ecstasy washes over Tyler as her bitter lips
touch his. It has been years since a woman this beautifully dangerous
has showed an interest in him.
The
window next to his mattress permits the twilight to highlight the
curves and ripples on Kayla's smooth young body, the lean muscles
twitching in the dusty moonlight. She controls the experience.
Placing his hands where she pleases. After five minutes a look of
surprise washes over her face as she experience an honest delight not
normally felt during her job. She takes this unanticipated moment to
indulge in some sexual pleasure that is far too rare among the rich
men she usually takes home. She allows her self to be washed over in
this feeling. As her toes curl, Tyler sees what has been missing in
his painting and he begins to await the morning.
They
fall asleep together with the warm night air howling through the
hard-working air conditioner. The morning leaving Tyler, once again,
by himself. Kayla has left a note that only reads, Thank you.
He
smells the note and it smells like her skin. With thoughts of the night
prior racing through his mind he puts a pair of faded blue jeans on
and walks to the kitchen. He pauses before he can reach the
refrigerator and looks at the empty easel where his painting once
lived, before he met Kayla. All of the questions about last night become clear to Tyler
and he calmly puts a blank canvas on the easel. He grabs the
half-empty bottle of whiskey next to the easel and as he drinks he
reconstructs the painting in his mind. With a dark red, almost brown,
paint he begins to create two horns protruding from the imagined
forehead of the beautiful siren who wrote that note. There, it's finished.
Laughing, he sits on his
couch and finishes the rest of the bottle. He drinks to erase
himself.
