"Can I get
another round?"
"I imagine that if I said you had enough, it
wouldn't matter to you. Am I right?"
"Dead on," I answered,
my tone flat.
I wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation, but
if the guy was going to be feeding me whiskey for as long as I
wanted, I figured I'd at least be civil. He poured another round of
Jack Daniels into my glass with a look on his face that I couldn't
distinguish as pity or frustration. Without putting much thought into
it, I grabbed my drink and slapped a five dollar bill onto the bar.
The bartender seemed to want to talk to me some more, for whatever
reason, I couldn't even imagine, but I didn't give him the chance.
Instead, I left the bar and sat in a corner booth. No matter how hard
I tried, I couldn't stop envisioning how pathetic I must appear. It
had been nearly an hour now and all I had been doing was drinking
straight booze in a nearly empty bar, only to become that staple
figure that so many see when they walk into a bar. I was the creepy
guy that doesn't talk and sits in the corner with only his drink to
keep him company. What an image. It was completely unacceptable for
me to be drinking at this point and I knew that, but there wasn't
anyone around to bitch about it, so I was beginning to lose myself in
alcohol. The part of me that had always been unstable was starting to
spread and I need to drown it out somehow. Besides, my current
situation wasn't exactly helping matters. After all the years spent
with him, my father had inexplicably vanished, while on a hunt no
less. Although he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, it
had been longer than usual and I had heard nothing from him. Checking
the cell phone three times a minute in worry was growing old,
especially since nothing had come from it. That was where the second
part of my sorrows kicked in. I considered myself to be skilled in
the matters of hunting and tracking, but finding Dad was becoming
impossible. There was only one other person in the world that not
only knew how to hunt as well as us, but he was also the only other
person I trusted besides Dad. The only problem was that dragging my
little brother out of his seemingly normal life was something I never
wanted to do. Saying never was really not emphasizing it enough.
While I was really becoming nothing but a reflection of my father, he
was leading the life we all deserved. From last I had heard, he was
in college on his way to becoming a lawyer and happy with his life.
Taking him out of that for even a moment was something I dreaded and
had contemplated doing repeatedly over the past few days. As much as
I hated that he hadn't stayed with the family, I also loved and
envied the fact that he had gotten out. At least one of us had. I
touched the necklace that I never took off, thinking about him. My
constant reminder that I still had a brother in the world hung around
my neck in the form of a small gift he had given me one lonely
Christmas. Sam. I hadn't seen him in a long time. I wondered how
bizarre the encounter would truly be. To top all of it, it was
nearing the anniversary of our mother's death. Why people called the
dates of others' deaths 'anniversaries', I will never know. It sounds
celebratory, which is not what I feel when I think of my mother
suspended on a ceiling surrounded by flames. It had been twenty two
years and I still felt like I was standing in that front yard of our
old house with Sam held tightly in my arms, watching it burn and
hoping against all hope that both of my parents would emerge safely.
"I said, 'back off'!"
I looked up from my drink, being
snapped back into reality by the shriek of a girl at the bar. It was
too bad she was in such a bad predicament because I couldn't
appreciate how attractive she truly was. Perfectly shaped, leggy,
blond, with lightly tanned skin; what was it with the women in
California? Even the fact that she was dressed in jeans and a college
sweatshirt couldn't disguise how striking she was. For a moment, I
was relieved. Someone in the bar was actually drunker than I was. It
was a short lived moment however because the guy was all over a girl
that obviously wanted nothing to do with him. From my short distance,
I could tell he wasn't about to let up anytime soon either. I wasn't
able to hear what he said to her, but whatever it was made her slap
him across the face. He was stunned momentarily, but then backhanded
her hard, knocking her into a table behind her, and then to the
floor.
"Shit..."
Knowing this had the potential to end
even worse than it already was, I jumped to my feet and reached them
before the bartender could even get to their side of the bar.
Initially, I wanted to grab the girl off the floor, but I had seen
too many of these brawls to know that I had to get the guy out of
there as fast as possible. I had him by the collar of his fading
leather jacket when he finally realized someone was stepping in to
try and fix what had happened.
"Hey man, hands off!"
"You're
leaving. Now."
Red faced and angry, he struggled to get out of
my grasp. He was a couple inches shorter than me and all his extra
weight was certainly not muscle, so it wasn't too hard to keep a
handle on him. I could smell a strong odor of tequila on him, which
accounted for his sloppy movements. Drunks don't make for the best
fighters, no matter what anyone says. I was surprised I was holding
up as well as I was, but then again, physical confrontation was
practically commonplace with me. "That little bitch hit me first! I
was just defending myself," he slurred, his dark eyebrows narrowed
in fury. I rolled my eyes, looking from him to the blond pulling
herself off the floor.
"She's a hundred pounds lighter than
you. Get out."
I dropped my hands, hoping he would leave, but
for some reason, it can never be that easy. The moment I let him go,
he went back to her, but didn't get far. I hit him hard in the face,
knocking him to the floor. There was blood gushing from his nose and
he glared at me.
"You broke my nose, you son of a bitch!"
At
least that's what I thought he said. It was all a bit muffled behind
his hand which was clutching his nose in pain.
"Get out."
Drunk, pained, and defeated, he grasped at a chair to stand up
and pointed at me before stumbling out the door.
"Fuck you,
man. That goes same for you, sweetheart."
It was easy to tell
that the blond wanted to knock his teeth out of his mouth, but she
held back. There was anger in her eyes that I recognized all too
well. I was grateful for that, not wanting this to go any further. We
watched him leave and then I turned to her. The adrenaline that had
been obviously keeping her stable was running thin because I could
tell her resolve was about to break. She was shaking. Clutched in her
hand was a small white towel that the bartender must have given to
her in case she had started bleeding, but that wasn't the case. I
grabbed the towel from her and tossed it back at the bartender,
annoyed. We both knew he wasn't going to do anything but go back to
his work. Rather than dwell on it, I checked to see if she was doing
any better.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. But I've
never been bashed in the face before, so, who knows?"
The once
shrill voice was now quiet and broken.
"Hold still."
I
held onto her chin, turning her face slightly, examining for any
obvious injuries. Standing that close to her, I was able to pick up
on a faint aroma of vanilla. Girls and their perfume; it was such a
wonderful thing. It made up for the other smells in that place.
Besides probably having some bruising, she was fine. The entire time
I was inspecting her face, she was avoiding eye contact. I knew it
was only a matter of time before she began to cry and I wasn't
looking forward to seeing that.
"Nothing's broken, you'll be
okay. You may have some bruises in a day or so, but that depends."
"On what?"
"How easy you bruise. Ever been in a fight
before?"
"No, you?"
"A couple," I said, not wanting
to elaborate.
"Well, thanks. Can I get you a drink or
something?"
"I think I should buy you one from the looks of
things. You look like you're going to cry."
That did it; I
really shouldn't have said that. She clamed up and bit down on her
lip.
"Shit, don't cry. There's no reason for that, it's over.
He was an asshole and he's gone now."
She nodded, still biting
on her lip.
"Drink?" I asked, with a smile, hoping to cheer
her up a bit. She smiled a perfectly white smile back and it was the
first time I felt happy in quite a long time.
