Harp

“Well, at least you’ve got some health benefits now,” my dad said, putting his fist out for me to pound it. I never really figured my dad as the fist-pound type. But for years now, he put out his fist for folks to pound.

Where that started, I don’t know. But every single time he does it, I try to remember when he did start doing it. And every single time, I have no clue.

To me, it’s strange. It’s also fitting. He has intimacy issues. I think I was 35 before I heard him tell me he loved me. That’s probably an exaggeration, but not much of one. The year I turned 35 was just one so full of emotion and angst that I guess it seems to fit.

I pounded my dad’s fist. It’s always an awkward kind of affair. But I do it. Because despite all the shit between me and my pops, he is my pops. He has stuck his neck out for me many times. And I love him endlessly for the sacrifices he made.

But he makes it hard.

And I don’t tell him that, yes, I took a job. Which will be my first job in 14 months. But, no, I do not have benefits.

A friend at the bar listens to me tell this story. She looks at me and says “what if you get sick?”

“Well, I had the swine flu when I was unemployed. I just stayed in bed, drank orange juice and about a month later, I was fine. A few pounds lighter even!”

I take a swig of Harp and glance at the television. Local news is on.

“I guess,” she says.

I get distracted by the beer again. Harp has become my beer of choice when I go out. I don’t really like it, but when in an Irish Pub, it always seems to be my pick. It’s better than Yuengling. Which got me through the break up. And if it wasn’t for my buddy Andrew, I never would’ve drank it. It gives me heartburn now. Which I think is a sign.

Alison and I have been hanging out at this bar for most of my unemployment. It’s funny, we met up one day, just to shoot the shit. This was while I was still chasing after my folly of a relationship, part 2, with Crystal.

The ex and I were just starting to talk again, and at first, it was great. Just like everything with Crystal. But, the inevitable fall would come. Later.

But my first meet up with Alison should have been a bright flashlight in my face. An awakening of sorts from a stupor. Much like when you pass out in the car on a cold night of too much to drink and a cop raps on the window. You, figuring out your predicament, hope that the gum you chewed hours ago will still cover up the stench of beer on your breath as you roll down the window.

That first time the two of us hung out, it was interesting. I came away really thinking we’d hang out sometime again, but who knows?

So I wrote about it. And Crystal read about it.

She, of course, twisted the words to fit her version of what I was about. And this time, she was completely wrong.

And soon after, she stopped talking to me again. Just as abruptly as the first time, though not nearly as painful. It still sucked. It still hurt. But I kind of expected it this time. I still trusted her. Much to the chagrin of anyone that knew me and knew of her.

I still have that e-mail somewhere in my old hotmail account. The account that I keep for two reasons. Both being stupid. 1. Because it’s the e-mail address that Emily knows of. 2. I sent one of those in 5 years e-mails to myself and used that address. I figure it was sent in late 2005 or early 2006, because it was before I was single. And I want to see if that e-mail ever comes.

Glutton.

Sitting on that barstool, it hits me that I’m very lucky to have become friends “again” with Alison. We’ve got a lot in common. And I think more so that I even know.

We order another drink. Finish it and decide to go somewhere else. “Where something interesting might happen,” we agree upon.

Outside, it’s still chilly. I’m glad winter is almost over. And I guess that I’m going to be employed soon.