It's five o'clock in the afternoon but that really doesn't matter. Once I'm out of the shed, I feel like I can breathe again. I know the relief is fleeting. If I don't get to the corner as quickly as I can I will lose my breath, the rug will be pulled from under me and I'll free fall, deep and fast.
I am the youngest thing here this evening by decades, but that doesn't matter. I can breathe deeply and soon with abandon. I sit next to blonde Rita, who is always happy to see me, and tell myself that I should wait ten minutes before ordering. I will wait ten minutes before ordering.
Four days out of five, the regulars are the AA crowd; just trying to get sober. I see them some nights outside of local churches, smoking yellowed cigarettes together when their meetings end. I give them a quick wave and they just nod back. I don't want to talk to them so close to God. They know that they don't want to talk to me either. I would just remind them that they are still practising alcoholics.
This summer that O'Malley's has become a place of worship for me, too. There is no prayer though, only confession.
My relationship with these people was a kind of ultimate closeness coupled with an infinite distance. And it's that distance that allows us to be so close. They know things about me my best friend would never know, because there's no mask I have to wear here.
But we don't spend time together sober. There are no shared interests or people, there is no history between us. What would we talk about? I've come to realize that there's little difference between a young drunk and an old drunk.
As a young drunk, I'm so honest around them because I'm not constantly afraid I'm going to disappoint them. As old drunks, they are so honest around me because I'm one of the few people they haven't disappointed.
Sober, we don't really know each other, we just know things about each other. Drunk, we're best friends, because we know each other's secrets.
They're at those real churches though, four days out of five. Walking away from them I always marvel at the kind of courage it must take to go back to those meetings hung over. I wonder what kind of faith they must have in themselves to really believe that they can quit, one last time and for good. I don't think I could ever face my demons so naked four days out of five.
"How was your day Gracey?" Rita asks me.
"It was good Rita. It was good."
I smile at her, and she smiles back at me. She has a kindness in her eyes.
Rita is the type of woman who is so decent that she has always been good to people. Too good and to the wrong people, and I believe it destroyed her ultimately. I don't know how it would feel to have your defining characteristic as a person be what ruined you. It's a complicated kindness, I guess. I'm not able to be so good to people and maybe that's just fine.
"What do you want tonight Grace?" Tom yells at me from behind the bar.
"My usual." I holler back.
"It's been eight minutes." my keeper says.
"Make that a double."
I sit back in my chair. It'll be a few hours before my friends get here but that's fine. I like being here, alone, with these people.
There is no one watching.
"How's your summer been so far?" Dylan asks me.
"It's great." I smile at him. He's sitting close to me. His hand is on my leg, and it's moving up my thigh, which is strange because we don't talk in real life. His hand feels warm. I don't want him to move it.
"Ar-are you still at school?" I ask him.
I know the answer to that question, he isn't still at school. But it's late, and the room is spinning, and I'm not able to remember conversations I've already had. I try to force myself to think about times I've talked to Dylan before but I can't. My thoughts are shallow right now, and if I try to wade backwards through them I'll just hit a glass wall that hides the past, and bounce off of it, pushing me back into the forefront of my mind. All I'm able to think about is right now, this minute, this second.
The music is loud. I can feel that restlessness in my legs, and I want to move.
"I love this song Dylan, you should dance with me."
"I don't dance Grace."
"Oh really?"
I can tell I'm still smiling at him, and I shift my body closer to his, filling what little space was left between us.
"Do you want another drink?" he asks me.
"I can't."
His body feels hard pressed next to mine. Seconds slip past us and I don't know what is supposed to happen next. He doesn't know either.
"Do you want to get out of here?" I whisper.
In my room looks bigger than he was just moments ago at the bar.
Things are very quiet between us. I don't know why they are so quiet and so quickly. Maybe there are no words that I should say and maybe there are no words he should say either.
The silence between us is ripe.
Soon there is no pretense anymore, and we aren't polite. He kisses me, and I kiss him back, harder. I want this. I really want this.
He pushes me into a corner, and the surrounding darkness follows. I can't see in front of me, I can just feel him against me. He touches me, without premeditation. Without permission. Without thought.
"You never used to be this beautiful." he tells me.
I don't know what to say back.
"If you really should be doing this, you'd probably know what to say back" my keeper tells me.
I pretend I didn't hear her, but I still don't have anything to say back.
Time is fragmented and lapses very quickly. I'm bare and he's bare and suddenly there is nothing actual between us.
It hurts at first, but I like the fullness inside me.
When we're finished, he holds me. In the darkness, he doesn't feel different than the one I was used to. His arms are wrapped around my waist just the same, we are sleeping close together just the same, our breathing is in sync; it's almost all just the same. I fall asleep believing it's the one I'm used to next to me. I'm too drunk to remind myself to notice the differences that separate the two.
I wake up hung over, alone, and next to the familiar ghost.
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