I was always one for being advised and informed. Before and during every major move, good or bad or indifferent, I made in life, I got advice. It may have been well thought out or given hastily, but it was advice indeed. Now that I had calmed down to some tangible degree, I sought advice. I know, I know that what Franklin was giving me was advice, but it didn't quite click. I suppose it was the anger, of having just had that fight with her, still being fresh and foremost in my mind. The thoughts of what each of us said when we were angry were still on fire when I talked to Franklin. Now that the fire had burnt itself out, I was left with haunting thoughts, and those were more like smoldering embers, or hot coals under my feet. Those thoughts were bad enough but, I don't know why the thought of talking to Trevor came into my head. It's an even bigger wonder that the thought of even discussing anything so personal with the maniac turned into action. There I was sitting in a seedy bar not too far from the Alamo Sea drinking, sipping really, on something dark brown, waiting for him to walk through, run through or kick down that rusty metal door. He always had to make some big entrance into my life. I was hoping that this would be the exception to the rule. It wasn't.
"Pants down. Dick out!" That is what I heard the Canadian voice scream from the door, which was thankfully left intact, to a degree, as Trevor walked into the Yellow Jack Inn. He approached me as I turned around to look him in the eye. The bar had not become silent, from the outburst. He must have been a regular, or he must have regularly popped in just to say or scream it.
"Jesus, Trevor, do you always have to say something gross to get my attention?" I asked mortified.
"Sugartits, I'll always make a scene when I need to. It's in my DNA. It's in yours too; you just refuse to acknowledge it. I don't know why you could be a whole lot more if you did." This was the second such time he had defined me, the last time being right before he put it together about Brad.
"Well, that's not what I'm here for," I said trying my best to transition the conversation. He, at least, did not hamper that effort.
"Then why the fuck did you call me here? I have better shit to do that to talk with you all night."
"Fine, it's about Amanda." By the look on his face, I could tell that he didn't want to talk about this.
"Mikey, I though that I made it quite clear that I don't give a shit."
"Well I'm thinking about divorcing her," I blurted out. That brown liquor was starting to mess with my inhibitions. I, normally, would have never said anything like that so abruptly.
"This is only the hundredth t-"
"I fucking mean it this time. Me and her ass is done. Got that prick," I put my finger in his face, "Done."
"Alright looks like someone, got started without me." He was ready to get wasted. "Janet." The lady bartender came to Trevor, "Get me a glass of whatever my friend's drinking."
"You're still banned Trevor."
"Look, I saved your husband." I had no clue what the hell they were talking about. I can't tell you that I care either.
"I haven't seen him in weeks," she screamed, though not as upset as I would have thought.
"Well, I ain't had nothing to do with it, now pour me a goddamn drink," he said with that pseudo-soothing, faux-calm voice he used when telling an outright lie.
"Fine, but if I find out that it's the opposite, I will not serve you."
"Anyway, Sugartits, what's so special this time?" He asked as his first drink was placed in front of him.
"I think that I can move on and divorce her ass without turning around and feeling guilty about it."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, if you really thought that you'd be in able to just leave her, you'd have done it by now." He swallowed his drink in one gulp and motioned for another.
"What?" I did need him to elaborate.
"I," he started as he received his second drink, "think that you're fucking lying to yourself. Have been since Brad died. Or maybe since Mandy pushed out those two kids, one of whom, the girl, looks just like Brad Snider."
"Wh-" What the fuck was he talking about in that last sentence.
"I would never use the word 'indecisive'," he moved on, "to describe you Michael. But now you want to pussyfoot around like a little bitch!" He downed his second drink and I finished the one I was sipping.
"Hey, you don't have to be so harsh," I said. "Why am I even asking you about any of this stuff?"
"Harsh, Michael, I think the fake tits and… everything down in L.S. has caused some major brain damage, changed your personality. You didn't use to take any shit from anyone. Now you didn't just mellow out, Michael Townley died. The Townley I knew who did not take bullshit from anyone, not the law, not his wife, no one is gone. Townley fucking died, and De Santa the man who replaced him, De Santa's a fucking bitch. Where the fuck did Townley go." His second drink was gone.
"No, you don't fucking tell me who's the bitch." I was slurring my words, but I didn't give a shit. "You're a little fucking bitch, Trevor. You are the one who brings up shit from ten years ago. Fucking grow a spine and stop giving grief like some bitch I didn't call."
"I am some bitch you didn't call!"
I could even tell through my grayish haze of drunkenness, or as I like to put it 'evident dearth of sobriety' that the bar got silent. It was the awkward kind of silence in which no one could subsist. The silence itself could not subsist. Someone would have to break it. The creator of the quiet was the destroyer. "What the fuck is so interesting?!" He got up quickly, immediately from his stool and walked into the middle of the empty space that was this tavern. "Huh, tell me," he said walking, almost jogging back to the stools grabbing some redneck, by the worn and frayed collar of his heavily oil-soaked navy blue coveralls, or grown-up onesies.
"I don't know, Tr… Trevor," the dirty blond haired mechanic with the mullet said, trembling violently.
"I didn't fucking think that you did Joe," he said releasing the now beet red man, and retaking his seat.
"Trevor, you didn't have to-"
"Yes I did. I made a decision. That means that I have a pair of hair balls. Why can't you do the same thing? It's easy to decide something like this Townley. There's no need to talk to me. Just divorce her if that's what you want to do."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"Then fuckin' flip a damn coin."
Thank you C.J for your reviews. I'm glad that your on the edge of your seat. Just don't fall off, because I won't be liable for your injury (jk lol). Anyway, to answer your question "He Missed" will have multiple chapters, the second chapter is still in the works (about 40%-ish done), but I've been sorta sluggish with it lately, and for that I apologize. If you have any ideas they are most certainly appreciated and will receive credit at the beginning and end of the chapter. You weren't completely wrong calling "The Big Quake", the Big One, as it was... for me anyway a big deal. It was exciting to write, trust me. Finally, in regards to using dialogue, I simply have to agree. GTA V is a gold mine of ideas, and while I have no problem with people going in their own direction(s), (I'm sure you don't either), but I think that rich stories can be gleaned from what characters have said.
-Wherenwhy
