Forgotten Memories

“Last call on drinks. Get your round and go home.” The bartender growled, murmuring something slightly inaudible under his breath. He was always sober, but he was as cranky as an old drunk. His temper wasn’t much better, either. I guess that comes with age.

He runs the bar alone with no one to go home to. It’s been that way as long as I’ve gone here. We don’t talk much, but the other guys here blab on and on. He just listens to them and makes snarky comments like it’s his job. I guess it kind of is. That’s what bartenders are good for; unloading your problems over a drink.

I took another sip of my nearly-emptied scotch glass, groaning as it clanked against the slightly sticky black bar counter. Sucking my teeth, I started to decide whether I should get another round or just leave. That’s my biggest concern these days. I just got fired, so I have no job to worry about and I don’t have a family to worry about because my wife walked out on me when I lost my paycheck and she took my daughter. She didn’t say a word about it. She took off the same day. But I guess that’s what I get for not believing everyone who said hood girls are always in it for the money.

I thought that I could have a movie life with her. I imagined us growing old together behind a white picket fence with 20 grandkids. I never thought she’d take off when money got tight. She made me believe she was different from all the other girls I dated. She convinced me she didn’t care about my money.

I guess the good fakers do that the best. They find the most gullible and make them think they’re in love so they never see it coming. Why would you? She was playing the part of the perfect lover so well then that nobody saw it. People started to apologize to me for saying she was a golddigger, which she was. Even on our wedding day, she had all of us fooled. I felt like an idiot when she left.

Now that I’m staring into a glass of some stupid drink that won’t ever take my problems away, I… I just want it all to stop. I don’t want the pain or the memories. I don’t even want to live anymore. She took everything from me. If I can’t have my daughter, my job or even a happy marriage, what do I have to hold onto? It all seems so pointless.

“Buddy, you gotta leave some time. I got a bed to get home to.” The bartender complained, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, I… Yeah, I’ll go.” I stammered, wobbling as I tried to stand. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get that last drink.

“Don’t get yourself killed. I need the business.” He croaked.

“Mm. Sure.” I sneered. How am I going to get home? As I stumbled out of the bar, I felt the warm, foul-tasting choke of bile rise up my throat. My stomach turned and my cheeks swelled with air. I bent over, retching as I felt myself getting closer and closer to vomiting. Finally, as I heard myself let out a wet cough muted by chunks of food, my dinner materialized in a pile at my feet. I wiped my mouth with the back of my shirt sleeve.

Looking up at the starry sky, I could feel the crisp air pass me. My breaths passed in short pants. I couldn’t understand why I only want for the polluted Chicago winds to bathe me. It felt peaceful standing pointlessly in front of a bar I’m sure I would drink myself to death in. I closed my eyes, picturing myself chasing Amelia, my little girl, all around the lot. I could see her light red curls waving in the wind, her brown eyes lit up with laughter. I smiled.

She had her mother’s features, but she had my hair and eyes. So much so that nobody would think we were anything but related. Her mom had dark brown hair and ice blue eyes. No one would take a glance at them and think they’re mother and daughter, but when you get a good look at them it’s obvious they are.

“Hey man. You okay?” A deep, husky voice asked me. I opened my eyes to see a tallish man around my height standing about 2 feet from me. His broad shoulders, strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones matched the strength of his chest. His peach-pink lips were somewhere between thin and full. They were slightly chapped with a tiny gap barely hiding his off-white teeth. He had green-grey eyes that tried to seem kinder than the rest of his overtly intimidating looks. The fading moonlight outlining him made him seem even more rugged. A silvery glow hung over his dark hair and black plaid overshirt. His white shirt stuck out but fit perfectly at the same time. I couldn’t bring myself to look away from his face, but I was sure he had blue jeans and a six-pack. This was the type of bad boy girls swoon over and every guy secretly envies.

I cleared my throat, trying to seem like less of an idiot “Yeah. ’Tsit ta you?” I taunted, glaring in a drunkenly vicious manner as I tripped over my own feet.

He scoffed, brushing a hair back in its place among his thin, Elvis cut. “You’re adorable. Let me drive you home.” He offered.

“I’m fi- I’m f- I’m fuu…” I stuttered, still staggering.

“Come on, tough guy. Where’s your car?” He asked.

“Why should I tell you, Mom?” “Because if you don’t, you’ll end up dead.”

I held back a burp as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders to keep me steady “So? What’s there for me here anyway?”

“A life to build. People to meet. Choices to make.”

“Seems like that all went to shit. What else ya got?” We got closer to my car and I led him over to it instinctively.

He opened the door to the backseat and I crawled in, laying down as flat as I could. “It’s not anything you want to hear when you’re plastered.”

“Yeah? And how would you know that?” He took the keys from my waistband and climbed in the front.

“I just know.” He started the car. “Where am I going?”

“I’m not stupid enough to tell a random guy where I live.”

“But clearly you’re drunk enough not to realize you’d be going to a random guy’s house. I could be a serial killer.”

“Only if you eat cereal.”

“Jeez. You are drunk.” He peels off and heads for his place. I slowly doze off. Not long after we left the parking lot, I was consumed by the blackness of my eyelids.