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.

anal

“You know what?” I said to the dude beside me at the bar, a scruffy looking ex-doctor who I’d become friends with simply because we were both doing the same thing with our lives now – nothing. “I had the strangest dream last night.”

“Fuck, man. Do you really think I want to sit here and listen to you talk about your dreams? It drives me nuts,” he replied, taking a sip of Guinness.

“Well, I don’t fucking like watching you lick that Guinness mustache off your face every time you take a sip, but I don’t say it out loud.”

“Damn, we’re turning into a married couple aren’t we?”

Laughs all around.

I decided not to bring up the whole dream thing. I rarely remember them, so when I do, I get a feeling that my brain is serious about getting me to think about something. Although this one may not be a fit to that theory.

In the dream, I was in a small apartment. There was a naked Asian woman. Porcelain skin. Just perfect. She was laying on her stomach, taut ass just sitting there. Somehow, a voice over was telling me how to have anal sex. And how and when you’ll know the signs of whether the woman wanted it or not. Kind of like one of those 1950s films they used to show in elementary school.

This lady was beautiful. I think in the dream, I wasn’t in love with her, but just completely taken by her.

My cock was hard. I tried to do what the voice told me to do. However, every time I did, she responded with what the voice said she may respond with. She smiled at me and urged me on, only to shoo me away every time.

Eventually, I gave up. Hard cock and all and just laid there next to her, staring into her dark black eyes. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Then turned over and spooned with me.

“That’s when I woke up.”

“Damn, that’s a fucked up dream,” my ex-doctor friend said.

“Told you.”

“Did you wake up and jerk off after?”

“Nah, I did have a giant boner though.”

“Sure you did. I would’ve rubbed one off.”

“Not surprised. Usually, I would have too. I guess what the lady was doing sort of rubbed off on me, so I didn’t.”

“That’s just stupid. Hell, I may go in the bathroom right now and rub one out.”

“Fuck, dude. That’s sick.”

“Like you’ve never done it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t advertise that I’m going to do it.”

Laughs again. Another round of drinks. The barkeep shakes his head at us. I hate it when Gus is here instead of Mandy. Mandy’s got better tits. Smaller than Gus’ but definitely better.

“Gus, where’s Mandy? It’s Wednesday. She should be there.”

“Called in sick. Something about a doctor’s appointment.”

Then it hit me. I was supposed to be there with Mandy. She’d asked me weeks ago to go with her to this appointment. Instead, here I was sitting on a barstool talking about jerking off in the men’s room and butt sex with an Asian girl. And I don’t even like Asian girls.

“Damn. I gotta go!” I yelled.

“Why?” Doc asked.

“I’m supposed to be with Mandy.”

“You guys dating now?”

“No. We’re just friends. She needed someone to be there and I fucked it up.”

“Get, getting on then my amigo.”

I paid my tab and pushed the front door open. The noontime sun hit my face and made me cringe. My diabetic eyes don’t like the sun much anymore. And I hate wearing sunglasses. Kind of like a vampire that wants a suntan my choices and likes and dislikes non-ability to mesh.

I got in my car, started her up and drove. Fast. It was about six miles to Mandy’s house. It was 12:12. Her appointment was for 12:30. I remember that much.

I pulled up to her apartment. A shitty, weather-faded wooden mess. I’m sure it looked great in 1978 when it was built. Now, it was a fire hazard.

She was standing in the parking lot, tapping her foot on the ground. Mad was not the word I’d use to describe her face. I pulled up next to her and waved.

She grabbed the door handle, pulled. Nothing. Rapping her fingers on the door a little harshly, I got the message. Door. Still. Locked.

I pushed the unlock button. She opened the door. Slammed it shut.

“You’re late, asshole,” she said.

“Yeah, and I’m drunk, too.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anything for my Mandy.”

“Quit talking like that. People might think you like me.”

“Only if you’ll let me put it in your butt.”

“What?”

“Bar story. I’ll tell you later.”

I put the car in drive. It was a 20 minute drive to the doctor’s office. She found a lump the other day. Had me feel it. I felt it. She cried. I held her. We agreed to go to the doctor together. Even though neither of us had insurance. I knew I’d be paying for it too. Didn’t care. It’s what friends do. At least, in my mind.

We pulled into the parking lot of the office. Tom Petty’s “Even the Losers” was ringing out of my blown out speakers. This song was kind of “our” song. We’d listen to it on a loop while watching trains go by my house on random Tuesday afternoons that turned into Wednesday mornings. I parked the car and turned the engine off. TP faded out.

“Well, time to pay the piper!” she said a little too fake.

“Let’s just go in and see what happens.”

“Ok, friend,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “Then we can go home and talk about this anal you so desperately want.”

“Sounds like a plan.”