for once

Tom Petty's “So You Wanna be a Rock'n'Roll Star?” is blasting out of the jukebox as he enters the bar. A cloud of smoke billows around his face as the wind from the open door hits the stagnant atmosphere of the place.

“It feels like home again,” he says to himself.

Three weeks ago, time had kind of stopped.

His dog died first. Ol’ Sidney was just 9 years old when he ran into the street one times too many. That hound had dodged many bullets in his life, but he wasn’t about to dodge one more on that lazy Thursday night.

Two days later, at exactly 6:27 a.m. his boss called to let him know that his job didn’t exist anymore. In reality, as a newspaper reporter, his job hadn’t existed for quite a while. Instead, he was a videographer/paginator/photographer/copy editor/multimedia tweeter-facebooker who every once in a long bit got to actually write something about what was going on in the world. He wondered aloud quite often in the office the last time his pen actually hit paper.

After a three-day bender with an old college buddy, Josh, which saw them aimlessly drive – West, then South – and end up in Sierra Blanca, Texas, he got a call saying his credit card was maxed out.

“Time to go,” he said with a shrug and a pat on Josh’s back.

“Why?” Josh asks as he popped open another Budweiser.

“Money’s gone.”

“Bummer, man. I got the next round.”

The next day, they headed back to Ol’ Virgin-ia. Hung over, but happier.

However, on the following Thursday, the last bomb dropped – Amber, his stripper-turned-accountant girlfriend had decided Randy was a bum and left him for a slide guitar player for one of his favorite bands.

“Can’t get much worse than that,” Randy’s sister had said to him the next day.

And she was right. Since then, nothing had gotten any worse. Not better either, but one takes what one is given. Learned that sitting at the dinner table with my father. You put the Brussel sprouts on the floor for the dog to eat, she ain’t gonna eat them either. Why? Because they’re nasty fucking little pieces of green awfulness.

Once the dog puked it back up with a loud “Ack, ack … Hawfffffff, the smack on the back of the head and then the belt coming off wouldn’t be too far away.

“God damn son! You know how much money I have to spend feeding you? And then you just give it to the dog!”

Always in the back of my mind the thought of “isn’t mom really buying all of this?, was always there, but I never dared utter them. Fear can do that to a person.

“Sooner or later I’ve got to stop thinking about Brussel sprouts and finding a job,” I said to Manny, the bartender here at my favorite watering hole.

“Yeah, but we know that ain’t going to happen for at least another month,” he replied, always rubbing a glass with that nasty old hand towel. “You’ve got what, six weeks of unemployment left? Plus, they gave you a two-month severance package. I know you haven’t blown through that yet, have you?”

He looked at Manny. Some looks are better than words, and this was certainly one of them.

“On the house, man. On the house,” Manny said handing him mostly full bottle of J&B.

“With more friends like you …” he said smiling and drinking.

“I’d be completely out of business …”

“Fair enough.”

Thirty three minutes late, the bottle was done, and so we he. A quick glance around the place told him that staying wouldn’t hurt, but leaving wouldn’t either.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Ramirez,” Randy said ducking out the door. A Nerf football buzzed just inches away from his face as the door slammed. The orange poofy thing sat on the sidewalk teetering back and forth as he walked away.

“Missed me by that much!” he thought to himself in his best “Get Smart” Agent 86 voice.

“That was a pretty bad impression,” he heard from a nearby coffee shop table.

He glanced at the source of the voice and was pleasantly surprised it came from Amber.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” he said.

“Neither did I,” she said. “But Josh called me. Told me what you and him have been up to. Well, you mostly now as he’s in India right now.

“Yeah, making more money this week than I’ll make in three years.”

“You chose this life.”

“Did I? It’s hard for me to remember what I chose and what chose me anymore.”

“Well, let’s get you home. You need a bath.”

“Sponge?”

“Dream on, fella. My sponge days are long behind me.”

“Seriously? Those words?”

“It’s all I know fella.”

He loved the way she called him fella. She knew that. I guess she really was trying to make me feel better. For once.

the kid

Bob Marley’s “Talkin’ Blues” was playing on the jukebox when I entered Manny’s bar on Conti. Over the years, usually when I got to Conti, it was after a night alone in a hotel room wondering about the past. A curse that has stuck with me since grade school.

I looked around the place. It was dark, dirty and full of smoke. Another rarity in these days was a bar full of smokers. I’m not a smoker, never was. But I found something comforting about being in a dive with the hovering cloud of those that did.

“Hey Kid,” Manny said as I sat down at the bar. Funny, I’m 43 years old, he’s maybe 45. Yet from the first time I stepped foot in his bar, he called me “Kid.” Reminded me of that Jeff Nichols’ movie “Shotgun Stories” where all three main characters were named “Kid” “Boy and “Son”. When that movie came out, life for me was pretty shitty. Now? It’s up and down and all over the place.

I ordered an Abita amber. Always did for the first beer when I was at Manny’s. He didn’t put it out for me before I ordered it. He knew that I’d rather not feel like that much of a regular. Even though I asked him to put The Replacements in the juke one day. Just so I could hear “Here Comes a Regular” whenever I wanted.
First sip taken, I sighed a long, low sigh.

“Long day there, Randy?” Manny asked.

“Nah, just the normal. Diapers, words and more diapers.”

“that kid hasn’t learned to shit in a toilet yet?”

“Nah, he’s stubborn. Sometimes, he’ll look at me and say with his eyes “I’m going for the toilet’ and then shit in the floor. I think it’s game at this time. I’m not too worried. Hell, I shit in my pants til I was 10 probably. Not because I couldn’t, but because I hated to do it in public restrooms. So, I’d hold it in and hold it in. Eventually, you lose that battle.”

“Amen to that, Kid.”

“How’s business, Manny? Haven’t seen a lot of folks around this week?”

“Yeah, seems like the cold weather is forcing folks to stay away. Never a good thing. I hate the cold weather. Reminds me of 2012.”

He regretted saying it as soon as those digits came out of his mouth. He looked away, then down at his feet. Trying everything he could not to make eye contact.

“Don’t worry Manny,” I said. “She’s been gone almost two years now. If there’s one thing life taught me, it’s to not count on someone being around for the long haul. Whether it’s death or life, something’s going to convince them it’s time to go.”

“You saying shit like that? That’s like Paula Deen cooking without butter.”

“What can I say? Eventually, you move on. Even from the worst things.

“Time will take hold,” I finished off with, then commenced to finishing off my beer.

“Guess you’re right. Guess you’re right,” Manny said as he poured a double shot of Jameson. Tapping the bar, he walked away.

I stared at the shot glass for a good five minutes, Bob wailing away about shooting a sheriff and all, before I noticed that it was raining outside.

“The world’ll be cleaner in a minute,” I thought, taking the shot and downing it.

“See you in a few, Manny,” I said as I got up. He was talking to some blonde-haired floozy that had taken to hanging out the last couple of weeks. Manny really liked her. And I hoped she liked him too, not just the free drinks.

“Where you going, Kid? Ya just got here.”

“Got to do some writing. It’s been too damn long.”

“You a writer?” the blonde said, perking up a little too much for Manny’s liking.

“Nah, I just dabble in it,” I replied. “They pay me to sit behind a piece of bullet-proof glass and hand out cigarettes now.”

“But you said you had to do some writing?” she asked again, this time causing Manny to turn and flip a new CD in the player. Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak”. He knew that album caused me pain, so it was a message.

“Just because someone can write, doesn’t make them a writer,” I said with a tip of my cap.

“Manny, stay cool, I’m out of here,” I finished and pushed open the doors. It was pouring outside. I was going to get wet, very wet, on the walk home.

In the distance, a lightning bolt lit up the sky. I stood in the middle of the street admiring it for a moment. One that didn’t last. They never do, especially when you want them to.