When the sun sets and everything slows down, I have to seek solace from the quiet nights. A dramatic sting highlighted a new clue about a missing woman on the show I’ve been watching. Most nights are easier to get through because of my shift at Shakey’s, a well-known, yet lowkey bar only a 15-minute walk from my downtown apartment. The raucous crowd and loud music leave a ringing in my ears that dulls into a low buzzing by the time I get home from my shift, and as I get into bed, the buzzing sound acts as a calming hymn that guides me to an eventless sleep. But I don’t work every night, and this is a particularly bad day. As I settle onto my couch for another night, I finally admit to myself that I have been having a lot of bad days lately.
I spent most of my day running errands in hopes of tiring myself out. Two and a half hours at the gym, went across town just to get groceries, visited the laundromat, and did my laundry on the longest settings. I even took the longest routes to each destination to waste more time. Every possible option to leave me completely exhausted by the end of the day. And it worked. I thought so at least.
By the time I made it home, the sun was casting its last longing glance over the city before retreating for the night. I took the stairs each trip as I carried everything from my car. I set my phone to charge in the kitchen as I put my groceries away and took my time folding my clothes and making my bed with freshly laundered sheets. Afterward, I soothed my tense muscles with a long warm shower and ate leftover pasta primavera with a glass of cheap white wine. I finished the bottle with a leisurely smoke on my balcony as I watched to city switch in preparation for the nightlife.
By ten o’clock, I collapsed into my bed and snuggled into the pillow ready to drift off to sleep. For a few moments I existed in the in-between state of consciousness and unconsciousness, and it was bliss. Then as if they deemed the coast was clear, the thoughts came. They trickled in like the first solitary raindrops of a storm, and the more anxious I grew the more restless I became. My skin tightened in the wake of the impending downpour. Stubbornly, I stayed in bed hoping to fend them off, but despite the positive affirmations and self-soothing, I could not stop them. Admitting defeat, I rose and skulked to my living room and found the channel that would be my company for the night. I debated opening another bottle of wine but quickly decided against it. Hungover on top of exhausted was not how I wanted to spend the following morning.
I thought I was getting better. I’d gotten a job and did more things for myself. I carefully navigated myself to be a part of people’s lives just enough. As I watched the grieving mother recall the moment she learned of the disappearance of a daughter, I can’t help but think how lucky she is. I push down the disgust into a dark corner of my mind to marvel at the never-ending hope of her daughter returning. Such a privilege to be that cared for. Something desperate within me reached out for her. How pitiful a voice remarked.
What do other people do on nights like this? I glanced in the direction of the kitchen where my phone has laid silent since I have gotten home. No messages and no missed calls. A glorified clock. A slight chill fell over me, must be radiator again I surmised. I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and focused on the soothing tenor of the monotone narrator. He described the follow-up interview with the truck driver who found the missing woman’s car. The poor man saw nothing. No hint of anything. It was as if she simply been plucked from the Earth. I could do it, I thought, startling myself.
No body left to rot in an empty apartment, only to be discovered weeks later once the smell becomes unbearable. No weeping mother on the news. No friends describing how much a pillar of the community I am. Just a bartender who was there one day and wasn’t the next. I could do it, I thought. I could fall off the face of the Earth. I could get in my car and drive until I’m too tired to drive. Then walk until I’m too tired to walk. Then whatever comes after.
All I want at the end is some peace.
It is only when I was too tired to fight, do I torment myself with the truth, that I am succumbing to the loneliness of my own making. The incoming dawn taunted me from the gaps between my curtains when exhaustion finally began to settle in. The tv illuminated the room in a smoky blue hue. I heard the occasional passing car and soft footsteps of my neighbor above me. I sunk into my plush couch and absently watched another detective detail the gruesome details of some case. Sleep came like the tragedies that bring me comfort. Without warning.
—
Months passed and it has only gotten worse. The only thing that offered anything sort of relief was that passing thought, and the more time that passed the more tempting it became. Since that night, that idea has become my failsafe for when it all caves in. I seek it on nights like tonight. My boss Greg tapped me on the shoulder as the band returned for the second half of the set.
“Take twenty, Val,” he said. His eyes did a terrible job of hiding the absolute glee he had at having a full house. I nodded thankfully and passed by Jodie who was busily filling a tray with a pitcher and several glasses. I make my way to the back and push open the heavy metal door into the back-alley way where I could escape the madness.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and rested my head on the brick wall. My head vibrated from the expensive amps and speakers. My skin welcomed the spring night’s cool air. Tonight was a good night. Some local talent drew in a large crowd, a three-man band by the name of Aurora Paradox, so tips were looking good for the night. No one fought and no one got orders wrong, and on top of that, the songs were not half bad despite being covers. After the last straggler would be ushered into their ride-share, Greg would be looking to celebrate after closing. He would lock the doors and crack open a few beers with the band. I could imagine the quirk in his mouth as he tried to come up with a way to convince me to stay. Even worse the disappointed look in his eyes as I found another excuse to leave.
No matter how well things were, I was never a part of it. It was seeing everyone sing along to the slightly intoxicated singer yet being the only one who didn’t know the lyrics. I was the cog that never fit in the grand machine. Over time I found peace with it, but the longer I was around the more obvious it became, and it was becoming unbearable.
Which is why I’ve decided to do it. Get into my Pinto and finally find the end of a road.
Instead of taking the only twenty minutes I’d have to myself to recharge and rest my aching feet, I walked down the alley. The music is muffled through the thick brick wall. I can make out the song they’re singing, so I hummed along between drags. I think I’ll miss moments like this. When the synergy is there and the vibes are good. We flow around each other like expert dancers perfecting choreography. But I cannot pretend anymore. There was something artificial about the whole thing, and it’s me. No one in that building knows me. In fact, I hardly think anyone would realize if I never come back from my break.
I spied an odd shape slouched in the shadows against the wall. My heart dropped. My hands began to tremble and every fiber in my body screamed to run back and tell Greg. I stepped forward. As I got closer, the shape took the form of an unconscious man. His legs were stretched out in from of him and his head slumped forward almost touching his lap. I detected no movement. No, breathing or noise. Nothing reminiscent of life was evident.
“Hello,” I asked as I step closer, the sound of the rocks crackling under my boots the only noise that came after.
“Hey, you okay,” I shouted. No response. My eyes watered as the reality of the situation crashed around me. I had just found a dead body.
I couldn’t imagine being found like this. Bloody and beaten and left like trash. Did somebody miss him? Who will he be remembered by? Why was he forgotten?
The ugliest groan erupted from him, and I stifled a scream. He lifted his head as if it weighed a million pounds and looked up at me. I got a good look at his face. He was filthy, long dark hair was hidden under a ratty cap. His right eye was swollen shut and nose twisted. Blood dried into the mustache of his patchy beard. His brow winced in pain, but somehow despite whatever the hell he went through, he smiled at me. It was more grimace than a smile, but it was there. I knew right then and there it was a beacon to the underlying kindness about him. We stared at each other for only a moment. Then with what I guessed was all his strength, he spoke.
“Hey, can I have one of those?”
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