It has been a year. A entire year. It had dragged on, and I can't help but remember that year where time seemed to fly. 1989 had been the best year of my life. And the worst, in a way.
1990 had been just as bad. Mimi died just before Christmas. Not long after, Roger attempted suicide. Joanne moved away. I had been arrested. Somehow, they figured out I had rigged the ATM at the Food Emporium.
All of this happened so fast, and yet, for me, the days dragged on. I was still reeling from the new, persistent emptiness I felt. The emptiness I've come to accept will always be with me.
But, it's a new year. January 3rd, 1991. And this bar, near the university campus, isn't so bad. Good vodka, anyway.
It's almost six o'clock, and the bar is starting to fill up.
There are so many people, and they're all so... young.
I'm not young anymore. I feel like I've lived for an eternity. It's almost as if God pressed the fast-forward button on my life and it all happened too quickly. I feel like my life is done.
Sometimes I wish it were.
But I'll never do that. How can I put more pain on the few friends I have left?
I remember watching Mark cry as the doctors told us there weren't sure if Roger would make it through the night last December. It was one of the hardest moments of my life. It occurred to me then that I had never seen Mark cry before.
People move around me, talking and laughing, and I realize that they don't know.
They don't know what I've been through, or how much I've suffered.
How much I suffer.
I can't expect them to know, but, for some reason, I resent them for it.
A man sits down on the stool next to me. Out of habit, or maybe curiosity, I glance over at him.
I'm ashamed that the first thing I notice is how good looking he is. No, not ashamed... guilty.
He's Asian, with short, black hair, and he was wearing a black t-shirt and brown jacket.
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. "Gotta light?"
I try shrink into nothing, to disappear. But I can't. "No," I say, simply. "Sorry."
The man shrugs. "That's fine. The name's Kim."
I look over at him. He's smiling. It's scary how close it is...
Kim notices the way I'm looking at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," I say, quickly. "Your smile reminded me..."
Kim smiled again. "Oh, I always remind people of someone. Who is it?"
"She died. Her name was Angel."
I see Kim lean over, as if he wants to talk. But how could I talk about Angel? With this stranger?
I throw some money onto the bar and stand up.
Kim shakes his head, pulling out his wallet. "Oh, don't worry about it," he says, "I'll cover you."
I leave my money, pulling on my coat.
Like hell you will.