Drunk on a Monday night. The tv casted shadows that danced along the walls. Generic music filled the room with noise yet somehow it still wasn’t loud enough. My body sunk into the couch as I stared upward, pretending I could find the answers in the popcorn ceiling.
There must be a hole in me. I never seem to feel full of anything. Sadness, anger, joy. Instead, there is only a void. Just a constant falling inward, and I’ve long since gotten used to the idea I will never hit the ground. Freefalling end over end, I have no sense of direction anymore. I just wished there’s wasn’t any collateral damage. I don’t know how to warn people about me. Moments like this I wish I was brave enough to leave. It would be best for everyone. I trembled at the thought of being a bad memory for anyone, but in this lonely apartment where the only other voices are the ones from the other side of the wall, I wanted someone here. I wanted that damn phone to ring.
I haven’t seen CD in a few days, and I think I’ve ruined it all. Our friendship blossomed one secret at a time like the shy petals of Spring’s first flowers. We reached for the warmth. He told me what CD meant on accident, Carver Davis while mentioning his troubles with another man with the same name. I told him my mom named me Valerie after the movie my dad and her saw on their first date. He mentioned he moved here to work at the mill, but he loved music. He even provided his services for the instrumentals at a couple studios in town. I showed him my ’78 Ford Pinto, Old Olive, and how I planned to take a sabbatical and travel across the country. He described how life shifted after his then-girlfriend died. I gave him my number for emergencies. I tried not to evaluate it too much, sometimes it’s good to just be heard by someone else to know you still exist, and I think we both needed the reminder.
I should’ve realized it when he first offered to walk me home. It was an excuse to keep our conversation going that became a new part of our routine. It was on the first walk that he told me how he ended up homeless. How he lost his job at the mill while paying for his girlfriend’s medical expenses. He spent nights looking for work while spending his days with her. He had to sell everything, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She passed away in the middle of the night while he was bar-backing at Owl and Rabbit’s, a pub a few doors down from Shakey’s. Nothing much mattered after that. The only thing he has of the life from then is his guitar, a Gibson G-5 she’d given him for his birthday. We separated that night content to pretend that this was still somehow just random conversations in a back alley. But, I’ve always been pretty bad at lying to myself.
I had gotten used to the idea of him. I had even found myself cleaning my place as if I were expecting guests. As I put away the spare sweater and takeaway menus, it occurred to me why I was doing it. That feeling of excitement of a friend coming over. That we were people we could trust to seek comfort from. I pushed it away, thinking it absurd. But it was true. He was my friend. I should enjoy that for however long it lasts, and not make it more than it could never be.
I grabbed my favorite blanket and wrapped myself in its familiarity. I got drunk because it physicalized my feelings into a form that was conquerable. Tomorrow, while I’d be hungover, I’d be steady, feet solid on earth. I turned the tv off.
It all went to shit the night Greg had found us.
We were having a heated debate about the upcoming concert season when Greg swung open the door. We stopped and turned like two teenagers caught by their principal. I had gone past my break. Greg looked between us and a sly smile crept its way onto his face.
“So, you’re the mystery guy,’ he chuckled. “Well don’t be shy, Val, invite your boy in.”
My face warmed as I looked to CD and a sneaky smirk appeared on his face.
“You don’t have to, “I started, but he tutted.
“Don’t mind if I do,” He said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I turned to Greg. He seemed to be putting some puzzle pieces together and I loathed to think of what the image looked like. That is how we found ourselves in the bar being not so subtly interrogated by him and Jodie. Even Vick tossed a question here or there as he dropped food off at the window.
“Whatcha drinking tonight, honey,” Jodie asked as she gave him a coaster.
“Oh no, I’m not a drinker.”
“Oh, sorry. Alcoholic?”
“Jodie,” Greg chastised.
“What? I was wondering why he never came in the bar.” Greg rolled his eyes before plopping a fresh basket of peanuts in front of him as compensation.
“So, how’d you two meet,” he asked. Greg was the least inconspicuous man I’d ever met. To think he sincerely thought he was hiding his relationship with Jodie from us.
“She found me after a fight, was practically my knight in shining armor,” CD shelled a few peanuts as he started, “We also share the same vice, only I think I want to quit more than she does.”
I tried not to gag at the look Greg and Jodie shared. The romantics were jumping to conclusions. Closing time eventually came and magically we ended up in the back room, with cold sodas and classic rock playing in the background. I never paid that much attention to Greg’s office. He still had a photo of his former wife, Laura, and their son when they were younger. I knew from overhearing his conversations with Jodie that he’s had a hard time since she died. They’ve been taking their relationship slow to accommodate. I thought it was sweet.
I saw CD eye the guitar case tucked in the corner of the room and so did Greg.
“You play,” he asked.
“Yeah, sometimes.” He walked over to it and opened it. Grabbed it by the neck and brought it over to where we were sitting and presenting it to him.
“Martin D-28. I won it off a lead singer during a game of hold’em. Son of a bitch said he’d never play here again if he lost it, and I’ll be damn if he never set foot in here since. Go ‘on and show us something.”
CD laid it across his lap and soon it was just him and that instrument. The second his fingers moved across those strings, he was hers. He plucked a few chords as he tuned it then he started to play. Each new note pulled us in deeper into the world he created with only sound. Greg looked more than impressed and Jodie teared up a little. Once he finished, Greg and Jodie stood up and applauded and pulled him from the trance.
“Woo, Valerie, where have you been hiding him.” Jodie cheered.
“Yeah, the crowd would love to hear you,” Greg said.
“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t play here anyway, I had to pawn my guitar,” he said so nonchalantly. I turned to look at him, but he avoided me.
“Well, I let you play that there Stetson a couple of nights a week, and you’ll get that guitar back in no time.” CD just nodded, his smile as insincere as the one when we first met.
A few minutes later we burst through the back doors and started the walk to my place, pleasantly buzzed from the company. Our little routine. I tried not to think about that too much.
The sidewalk was empty and there was a comfortable silence. I saw a twinkle in his eyes. Still, I was curious.
“So, how much will it take to get your guitar back,” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it,” he responded.
I pressed more. “Greg’s right. A couple nights, plus whatever tips and she’s yours again. Isn’t there a time limit-“
“Val, seriously it’s okay.”
“Hey, I’ll even take you to pick it up, then you can-“
“Val, Christ, please drop it!”
We stopped in our steps. It happened. Reality set in. Dropped in so hard it would’ve cracked the sidewalk.
“I didn’t pawn my fucking guitar. It was stolen.” He paused to compose himself.
“That night we met. A couple of guys wanted it. I told them no.” He looked at me. Tears threatened at the corners of his yes.
“I did everything I could. Wasn’t enough.” He steadied himself and leaned against the wall. A solemn resolved washed over him. “By the end, all I could think about was getting away. I don’t even know how I ended up there.”
I couldn’t find any words. At that moment, right when something becomes real. Like clockwork, the visage falters, and I fail. I don’t have the parts that allow me to extend myself. People figure out that the light they’re reaching for is artificial.
I shrugged my shoulders not knowing what else to do.
He scoffed and I felt something crack inside me.
“You know, you have people in your that really care about you. You should focus on that instead of playing pretend with me. Night, Val.”
I didn’t sleep that night. Barely any night since. I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t find peace until I at least explain. I wanted to find the words. I needed him to know it wasn’t pretend.
Liquor-induced slumber dragged me under like an anchor. My throbbing head woke me up. I closed the wide-open blinds and started my coffee machine. As the dripped, I checked my phone. No missed calls.
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