The Costume of Grief

When he wakes up to the blinding light shining through his shade, he notices the throbbing pulse in his temples. Now the feeling sensation of the cotton-dry mouth makes him feel dehydrated.

As he stands up from his bed, he scans the room and shocked to see the battlefield of empty bottles spread throughout the living room, along with an upside-down pizza box lying on the floor.

This was a common theme in his life now and he hit his low point and just doesn’t care.

Feeling disorientated he glares upon the walls, squinting his eyes and struggling to get a clear vision of the posters, which were of him. You see, this is Arlo Jackson.

He was once a great musician and was doing pretty good for a while, until he had an unfortunate traumatic experience that set his career back.

Now it is harder than ever for him to get back into singing and performing concerts again. It has been some time that he sang or booked a show. Not even his booking agent, publicist or business managers has been in touch with Arlo.

He burned his bridges one too many times and lost everything.

Arlo slowly deteriorated ever since he lost Maddie. He lost his gumption, his will to live, to fight for something or anything at all.

The memory of his wife, his muse, and how his entire world ended four years ago when the ocean took her. The only thing that took his pain away was drowning himself in alcohol.

There were times he drank so much liquor that he would wake up face-down on his floor at 5:00 AM, or earlier. Moments like those, he hardly could remember what happened the previous day.

This was just a way to numb himself from his suffering. His wife was everything to him. Life seemed meaningless. Thoughts of her scent when she entered a room, just one smile from her brightened his day.

She was the salt to his ocean. The way she caressed his hair, kiss his cheek, and embrace in a hug comforted him in a way that pushed all negative vibes from his life.

Maddie was his muse, she gave him inspiration to write the lyrics that captivated large audiences. The emotional connection they had, was always a beautiful love poem to his fans and they felt that energy.

Arlo questioned everything, and by doing that, he pushed every family member and friend away.

The only friend left who always comes back no matter what happens was his dear pal, Nick Davis. This was more than a friend; he was a brother to him, and they both worked in the music industry.

Nick did not want to see Arlo wither away, even though he understood his heartbreak. He did not care what Arlo did; he loved him so much he felt like Arlo could do anything because of the significant loss he had experienced.

As Arlo attempts to move to the bathroom he stumbles over all his bottles and trash. He trips over something, looks down and it’s a Batman costume.

“Hmmm, ok, um… that’s different.” He mumbles to himself.

Then a quick flashback comes to him and he sees a costume party.

“Halloween, yea that’s right it was yesterday.” He talks to himself in an attempt to piece the puzzle together.

When he finally gets to the bathroom and switches the lights on, he did a jump scare. Things looked fuzzy at first, but then he looked closer in the mirror.

Tracing his fingers to the cuts and bruises on his face, he then felt the pain on the side of his stomach.

He lifts his shirt up and notices the bruises there too.

“What the fu$! happened?” He glares at his olive-toned face, with his salt and pepper hair color and peach fuzz on his chin. After all these years, he’s still handsome.

Arlo was very confused. Did he get into some kind of bar fight? It was horrible he could remember nothing last night.

Thinking that a shower would jog his memory, but all he felt was the stinging from the water on his open wounds.

Everything was a blur from last night. He shakes his head, grabs his coat and sunglasses, and heads to the corner store.

When he gets to the store, people pushed by him with their elbows brushing against his arms. No one notices who he really is and he was perfectly fine with that.

For an alcoholic, on the outside his physical shape still looks good, but on the inside he’s mush. Knowing that he should find some breakfast, nutritional meal, he ends up grabbing a soda.

The depression in his life is so deep, that he just didn’t give a damn anymore. It was like as if he wanted to race to his death.

He roams around picking up various items then putting them back down, he is indecisive and just wants the soda.

As he walks over to the register and places his drink down on the conveyor belt, he found a small bag of chips in the aisle that satisfied his hunger and added that to the belt as well.

“Is that all, sir?”

The cashier asks.

“Yep.”

As soon as he spoke, a silence fell upon him and he observes that the items are not getting scanned.

He slowly looks up, and notices the cashier staring at him and her mouth wide open, speechless for a second.

Both of their eyes lock in as they glared at each other. Then she stutters,

“It it it it’s you. It’s you!”