whiskey talk

I woke up this morning and my teeth and gums were throbbing.

I brushed them and they felt better. So I grabbed my bottle of Jameson, a small glass and a bucket of ice and headed to the porch. It was raining outside, just like it had been raining when I went to bed 11 hours ago. Pouring the whiskey into the glass, I admired the color. I didn’t bother with the ice, this time, as I just finished it off quickly. The day was starting off better than the one before.

A beautiful girl strolled by on her way to the beach. Yellow bikini on, towel draped across her shoulders. She couldn’t be more than 22 years old. I smiled my broken teeth grin as she moseyed on by. She awkwardly looked away when she saw me. Not at all a surprising reaction. As she continued her saunter to the beach, I continued to admire her. Not so much leering at her as appreciating her beauty. I knew I’d never see her again, so I had to remember the moment. Her black flip flops made a soothing sound that quickly was drowned out by the ocean waves.

I poured another glass of whiskey, this time plopping two ice cubes in. The fall heat wasn’t nearly as oppressive as the summer version, but the humidity was wicked today. A tropical wave was stuck on the coast and delivering constant rain and constant pain to my sinuses. Which helped the teeth to hurt a little bit more as well.

The best advice I ever got from a movie was from Wyatt Earp. Of course, it’s advice I never listened to. “Take care of them, they cannot be replaced.”

A chuckle comes up from my gullet and I let it come out, audibly. A pair of tourists are unloading their car across the street. They look at me, then quickly grab their bags and assorted beach wear. A full laugh comes out right before they hit the “beep, beep” of their car alarm.

Off in the distance a giant thundercloud is building. It’s going to be a short day at the beach for these folks today.

A short swig fills my throat with a nice burn. I look at my toes. They’re small and perfectly symmetrical. I was told that by the last girl who saw them. She admired them for that. Her feet weren’t anything special. An ant craws across my left foot. I stare at it. Hoping it will just continue on. But, it bites, so I squish it between my fingers. Another piece of God’s grand plan destroyed by man. The more I think about it, the more I think we’re not built in His image. Instead, it’s the squirrels or the birds. They just watch us with disdain. And laugh at us believing we are them.

Another swig of whiskey and glass No. 2 is done. I pour the third. One piece of ice will suffice. I put my finger in the glass and then dab it on my gums. I’m like a mother treating her baby. I laugh again.

My notepad is sitting on a milk crate beside me. I pick it up and try to write down some words:

“Agony isn’t ecstasy.”

“The girl with the yellow bikini. She walks so nicely. It makes me wonder what it would be like to be 22 again. Then I remember how my 22nd year was spent. In a one-room studio apartment. No car. Making $4.25 an hour as a cashier. Chasing after a lesbian who took pity on me and talked anyway. Meeting the first girl whose heart I would break. Starting to build my mountain of debt. Yeah, those were the days.”

“Slipping into drunk at noon. It’s not madness. It’s not greatness. It’s just drunkenness.”

“I won the lottery once. A three-dollar prize. I don’t play the lottery much anymore.”

“When you eat cheese, you poop cheese later.”

“Lost in all of this madness is the thought of one day being happy.”

“Scream for me Long Beach! Scream for me Long Beach!”

“Do you know why we love to play California? Do you know why? Because you people, you really know how to party!”

I know it’s time to stop when I’m just writing down the in between song banter of heavy metal singers. While those albums are vital pieces of my adolescence and teen years and beyond, the importance of writing them down is simply non-existent.

Don’t try. Try. Don’t give up. Give up. Sleep. Wake. Eat. Starve.

I finish off drink No. 3 and look at the bottle. It’s half full. Ha! There I go, being an optimist today. Must be the whiskey talking.