ORIGINAL TITLE: Double Damn
DESCRIPTION: Minerva falls down the hill outside Goodsprings Cemetery and has a short discussion with Easy Pete. 1,158 words.
Minerva didn't know how she managed to hie her sloppy drunken ass down the hill from the cemetery without fallin' down. She actually took a little pride in knowing that, while hammered off her ass so bad she could compare it to bark scorpion venom, she was able to slosh her way down a steep-as-shit hill and not fall down.
She preened a little, rubbin' her fingernails on the farm hand outfit she'd worn. It was a memory thing, that was. She liked the shoes, though. Made her feel taller.
As she was feelin' good about the trip down the hill, she managed to fling herself over that stupid motorcycle that was sittin' outside of the Goodsprings saloon and fly face-first into the dirt. Damn. Double damn, because the vodka in her pocket was now leakin' all over her legs―dammit!
"My booze!" she yelped, reachin' into the pocket of the skirt and then swearin' out loud. Okay yeah, she was way drunk. Like fall off the edge of the world drunk. Tip a Bighorner, drunk. Get knocked right the hell out because Bighorners don't like being tipped, thank you very much, drunk. She looked down at the whirlin' image of bloody hand in front of her. Man...
She poured herself into the saloon, looking for Trudy. Needed more booze, needed to forget―wait, no, that wasn't it. Needed to remember. 'Member that shit what happened up on that hill. To hell with Benny, he was dead, pathetic asshole that he was. She needed to 'member what had happened so she wouldn't forget.
It was one whole year now, wasn't it? She actually couldn't tell. Seemed like there had been so much goin' on at the time, and she'd put her fingers in all the pies and chuckled like a maniac before bein' chased off by those stupid Securitrons. She snorted and her stomach rose and fell like a wave of water.
Needed more booze. Trudy was gone, probably asleep. Dammit! There went that plan. Maybe she ought to roll her drunken behind out into the desert and let the coyotes have her. Only fittin' if she died, that she go out where she went out before.
She shook off sleep and wondered where that thought had come from. Wasn't like her to think like that. Her hand grabbed aimlessly at the doorknob for too long, tryin' to leave the saloon. ...Maybe a good thing she wasn't gettin' any more booze tonight.
Minerva pushed the door open to leave the saloon, and ended up flat on her face on the porch boards. Chucklin' and snortin' and being stupid drunk. Damn, this was a great night!
"Not looking so hot there," a voice said.
"Feels hot enough," she muttered, turning her head to the side. "Goddamn, does-does it ever."
"Think you had a bit much?"
"I know I did!" she said, cheerfully. "But hell, I-I-I made it down the hill. That's swell-swell!"
"Mmhmm." Minerva knew she was talkin' to Easy Pete―she 'membered the big white beard and hat and his terse way of sayin' things. She turned her head and tried to focus on the old man, makin' herself nauseous. Damn. She wasn't doin' so good.
"Hiya, Easy Pete," she murmured, smilin' in a pathetic way.
He looked down at her and leaned forward, his arms across his knees. "Mmhmm."
"Hey, Why do they call-call you Easy?" she slurred out. "Not-not for easy talkin', for sure." Her face was slowly becoming acquainted with the boards of the porch.
He grumbled out a chuckle. Minerva thought it was pretty funny too, hollered out a whoop and pried her face off of the porch before familiarity with the wood bred contempt. "Nah, man, for sure, why-why they call you Easy?"
"Wasn't always an old man," he said.
She sat herself up and felt the world spinnin' around her. "What-what does that, do with it?" she mumbled.
He was starin' at her, and a tiny smile crossed his beard. "Wasn't always old," he repeated, slowly, like she was dumb or somethin'. She grunted in disgust at him for that. "I had a reputation, when I was young."
Now, that―that was interestin' and Minerva wanted to hear all about it. "Tell-tell," she said, pullin' her knees up to her chest and starin' up at him. "Wanna hear."
Easy Pete's eyes dropped to the floor and the smile disappeared from his face. "You'll figure it out," he said. "Now... young lady, you are too drunk to be jawing with an old man in the middle of the night."
Minerva let her legs flop to the floor, wiped her face, and felt the sting of the glass bottle that broke in her skirt pocket. Crap, she must smell like booze―eww. "C'mon Pete," she slurred. "Tell."
He regarded her for a moment. "Been about a year, now, hasn't it?" he asked.
"Yeah," she answered. "But, c'mon man, don't change-change the subject. Gonna tell me one way or another," She tried to push herself upward. "I can be very per-persuasive,"
The moon was full and it illuminated the chair the older man was sittin' in. "I may," he replied, starin' out at the desert. "Strikes me you need to get some sleep, Minerva. It's awful late."
It was late, she knew that. She had been drinkin' in the cemetery for hours, drunkenly punched a bloatfly, drunkenly punched a few tombstones, and fell into the grave Benny had dug for her. She might have passed out inside the grave, she wasn't sure. By the time she managed to get herself down the hill the moon was over the high of the sky, which meant it was after midnight at least.
Minerva stifled a yawn. "I know," she mumbled. "Why are you 'wake so late-late?"
"Get to be my age, you sleep when your brain lets ya," he said, faintly.
"I feel that." Minerva tried to push herself up again. "Damn-damn," she said. "I'm stuck t'floor."
Easy Pete lifted himself out of the chair and wrapped two large calloused hands around her shoulders, haulin' her to an upright position. She stumbled and wobbled back and forth, and fell across him. "Sorry," she muttered.
"G'on, now," he said. "Go find a bed to fall into."
Everythin' kind of swam around her like she was covered in water. Aw man, now she was gonna dream about drownin' in water instead of suffocatin' in dirt―
She thought what she said was, "Would you be so kind as to escort my drunk ass to a bed somewhere?"
But it ended up her singin' "Take Me Home, Country Roads" and being obnoxious. She never did figure out if she made it home. Hell, she didn't even have a home in Goodsprings, just bunked down wherever she could get a bed. The world was enveloped in a sleepy blanket of black sky, stars threaded through the fabric.
"Good-good night!" she sang out, cheerfully, and promptly passed out.