Late Night at Lucky's iv

This if the final of a series. Click here for the 1st.

Distractions were everywhere. Abigail was up at the bar. I couldn’t believe it. Start with how smashed she was when I last saw her, add the pint, the shot, and how ever many more pints and shots she had conned out of men in the meantime, and I figured she’d be home face-planted in bed. “You’re still here?” I asked in disbelief.
“Why? Do you not want me to be here?”
“Quite the opposite,” I said, “Actually I think you’re really cute.” A moment passed. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t know. I walked away.

Kevin was still up at the bar. He told me about some girl who’s number he got. “And she knows I’m only in town for a couple days,” he said.
“Awesome.” I replied, “Then she knows the score. I’m going to have a smoke, but I’ll have a beer with you when I come back.”

Laura and Eric were sitting on the sidewalk with their backs against the brick wall. So, I sat myself on the concrete and proceeded to enjoy the night. We didn't talk much.
"What was your name again? Erin?"
"Eric."
"Right. Eric."
Mostly we sat in silence enjoying the act of smoking – cigarette to mouth, breathe in, hold it, exhale. Do it again and again and again. Relax.

Then Kevin came out and announced the bar wasn’t serving anymore. Bummer, but we all knew that was coming. “Let’s all go get some beer, head back to my motel room, and keep on partying,” he suggested. I knew that wasn’t going to fly. Nobody really responded.
“I’m going to get a beer,” he said.
“If you wait till I’m done with my cigarette, I’ll go with you,” I replied.
He couldn’t wait. He was up and pacing. “How about I go get us four beers from that bar over there and bring them back.”
“I doubt they’ll let you leave with four beers. But if you can get away with it, go for it.” He stayed.

Soon enough it was time to go. Eric, Laura, and I got up and I gave them both a hug. I turned around, and as I walked away Laura said, “See you around John.” “Probably,” I replied and hoped and walked on with Kevin in search of more beer and hoped some more. We roamed the streets like hungry dogs, but it was too late. “The party’s over,” I finally conceded and we said our good-byes. “I come to Eugene all the time,” Kevin said as he took my number.
“Cool. Give me a call next time you’re in town and we’ll party.”

There was still a group of people in front of Lucky’s. I walked right through them. Onward ho.

A block away, out of a well lit alley came Abigail, stumbling about, lost, bombed out of her mind. She came at me with a smile on her face and I couldn’t believe my luck. “Oh,” she said putting her hand on my chest, “I thought you were my friend,” and started to walk on.
“I could be your friend,” I replied.
She stopped, turned around, and faced me, contemplating what had just been proposed. A moment passed, and I knew I had a chance. Then I heard someone shout "Abigail" from the direction of the late night Lucky’s group. Damn. “That must be your friend,” I said conceding my loss and she was gone like a vision in the night.

I stumbled home alone amazed how my mind could be as sharp as a tack, but my body couldn’t even walk a straight line. When I got in, I kicked off my shoes without bothering to untie them, I stripped off my clothes leaving a line of debris from the door to my bed, and plopped down on the beaten mattress.

The next morning I awoke feeling like my head was an ashtray overflowing with beer and cigarette butts. “Why do I do this to myself,” I asked. But I know the reasons why. I also know as soon as I get a chance, I’ll do it all over again.

Late Night at Lucky's iii

This is the 3rd part of an ongoing series. Click here for the 1st.

“Where have you been?” Kevin asked rather loudly. “I’ve been saving your seat. I had to fight people off like dogs.” He seemed to be making a bigger deal out of it than necessary, so I had a seat beside him to soothe his troubled soul.

He was talking to some guy about Iraq. Not good. Politics and drinking don’t mix. Politics and anything don’t mix – except maybe corruption. And I don’t like either. I knew Laura and Eric were just biding their time, waiting for their drinks, and once they had them, they were going to bolt. And that’s exactly what they did. Whatever. If I saw them again, I saw them. If not, oh well. Sometimes you have to leave things to fate.

Damn, I had to go to the bathroom again. That’s how it is when I’m drinking. Once I go, I’m going for the rest of the night. It’s like the floodgates burst open, and as soon as a beer goes in one end, it’s ready to come out the other.

I saw Eric and Laura sitting at a table surrounded by plush couches. When I came out, I got my beer and joined them. My ass sank all the way into the cushion and I propped my boots up on the table. Laura and Eric looked at each other, looked at their feet, and put them up on the table too, like it was the best idea ever and they were surprised they hadn’t thought of it sooner.

The conversation wandered here and there and everywhere. Then somehow we got onto the subject of writing. “What kind of stuff do you write?” asked Eric. “Oh, I write about my life, adventures, you know, drinking and stuff.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it too well. As many times as I’ve answered this question, you think I would’ve mastered a response by now. Finally in frustration I said, “Have you ever read Bukowski?” They both laughed, “Funny you should say that. We were just talking about him today.” So we went on talking Bukowski. “If he was alive today,” Laura said, “I’d be having his babies.”
“Even though he’s a big chauvinist?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” she answered.
Cool. I love girls that can look past all the crap and fall in love with what’s at the heart of a man. Then she started reciting his poems right out of her head. I can’t even remember one line out of a poem and here she was reciting the whole thing. It was too much.

I’m not too good at listening to poetry though – my mind wanders. And all the beer, wine, and cigarette smoke sloshing around in my head wasn’t helping. So I just sat there watching her beautiful mouth form those words and fell more and more in love with each utterance.

Eric went to the bathroom. A good time for honesty I figured. “How old are you Laura?”
“21.”
I didn’t care. I looked into her eyes and said, “You’re beautiful,” with all the confidence and sincerity that it deserved. She kind of flinched. I guess I caught her off guard, but she quickly recomposed herself. “You’re fruitful,” she replied. What the hell did that mean??? I hoped it was a compliment, but I didn’t really care. I wasn’t expecting any kind of response. There are things that build-up inside and if you don’t get them out, they get all twisted and deformed, and then when they finally do come out, and they always come out eventually, they no longer resemble the thing of beauty they once were.

Eric returned. “Let’s have a smoke,” he said. “OK, let’s have a smoke,” she said. “Come on John. Let’s have a smoke.” I followed.


Click here for the 4th and final part.