A Quiet Piece of Longing – Three

Somewhere in Atlanta, Georgia. I had driven here from Vegas in three days. I wasn’t sure what to expect. More casinos, more bars, and perhaps even something a little different? After what had happened with Cassandra, I decided I needed a break from shallow dates. The plan was simple. I’d just be going barhopping.

I started at a place called The Grasshopper. It was on the outskirts and just some local dive bar. Considering it was only four P.M. not much was going on. A few people here and there, and a couple girls there too. But I kept my eyes focused on the drinks and the friends I might meet. And as I sat there with my scotch, I struck up a conversation with the bartender.

“So, what’s it like living here?”

“You’re not from around here, I suppose?” He asked. He had a scruffy beard but was shaved bald. Missing eyebrows too.

“Nah, I’m just passing by. You know, a world wanderer. A traveler.”

“Well, where are you from?”
I stared down into my scotch and debated answering. “Seattle.” I said. “Beautiful place, lots of rain, and lots to do.”

He smiled. “So what brings you here?”
“I dunno. Just traveling without a goal in mind—wherever the road takes me that’s the place I’ll lay down at night.”

“Sounds like fun. I did stuff like that back in my twenties. Ended up hitch-hiking up and down the West coast for a while.”

“Yeah, I’m twenty-two. I don’t see myself ever giving this life up. I see myself just continuing.”

“And what happens when you run out of money?”

“Then I’ll just find a way to make more. I’m resourceful like that.”

“Catch any trouble?”

I laughed and downed another glug. “Yeah, I met this girl. Named Cassie. And now, Cassie was just this crazy chick with a lot of cocaine in her purse—and we’d screw all night and gamble.”

“She sounds like trouble.”

“Right. And for some reason, I couldn’t say I loved her.”

“Ouch.”

“So she left me and with that, also left a bright red hand print on my face.”

That did it. The bartender was now laughing his ass off. He calmed down and set out a couple drinks for more people at the counter. A few more came in. “So she slapped you for that? Jesus Christ.”

I groaned. “Oh God, it was during sex too.”

“My God. You ever gonna apologize to her?”

“She’s crazy—no. I’m never gonna see her again.”

And then came the bright smile on his face just one more time. “I wouldn’t say that, you know. The road has a way of bringing unexpected experiences to you.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong but still, America’s so big. What’s the chance of two people splitting, that are both traveling, and meeting again?”

“I would count on it.”

“You’re being optimistic.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with looking on the bright side of things? Makes life better.”

And with that I finished the rest of my scotch and downed a shot of Jagermeister. This first adventure was concluded. I’d be moving on to the next bar somewhere in town. Maybe even play a bit of pool. In fact, I really wanted to play pool.

So I got out of there and began wandering the streets. I was slightly drunk. A nice medium-high buzz. Jagermeister will just sneak up on you, that’s why I only had one shot. You can keep drinking and keep drinking, and before you know it you’re blacked out dancing. I needed to pace myself for this night to work, I thought. But the more I walked and wandered, the less I believed that.

It was evening and the sun was low in the sky. The clouds were pink and at the horizon was a thin shade of red. Skyscrapers and hotels stood in the sky like lurching monoliths. Across the way, I could see people gathered at a fountain. I debated going over there but thought “to hell with it!” I needed to keep a fair distance.

Eventually I hailed a taxi cab and got inside. “Driver,” I said, “Take me to the nearest bar.”

“Alright. That’s a few miles away.”

“Better than walking.”

We drove through Atlanta. Down the busy roads, between motorcycles, and through thin alleyways. All while I kept silent in the back, staring out the window. People just lined the roads like some sort of infestation. Moms pushing strollers. Dads with bandannas. Children with headphones. All moving together like some heap of mass. Reality seemed blurry. The alcohol was doing the trick.

I arrived and the bar was smaller than I thought it’d be. It even looked abandoned. It was called one simple word. “Place.” What a shitty fucking place, I thought. But no worries. I wandered inside and noticed that two other people were at the counter, chattering. And that was the only two people inside. I ordered a vodka martini and got to drinking.

“Hey.” One of the guys said, tapping on my shoulder. He had blonde hair that was tied into a pony tail behind a head.

“Yeah?” I asked. Half my martini was already gone. I decided to say goodbye to the “pacing yourself” thing. I was just gonna get as fucked up as possible.

“We need a third guy for something.”

“For what?”

“Barhopping. Traveling. The name’s Micah and this here is Peter.”

“Arthur.” I said. “And I’m going barhopping too. Let’s say, drink here for a bit and then head to another place?” From behind him, Peter smiled. He reached over and we shook hands. “Or, there’s a park nearby with a lake. We could check that out.”

“Ah, sure.” Said Micah. “Why the hell not? We’d need a bottle to bring with us though.”

“Something like whiskey?”

“Maybe.”

“I like rum.” Said Peter.

“Or what about vodka? That gets you trashed.” I said.

“Rum’s good.”

“No, no, no vodka. Too harsh. I’m thinking gin.”

“Rum.”

“Okay, how about this…” I said. “We get a bottle of gin and whiskey. That’ll cost like forty bucks and we can pool our cash together. Then we just go down to the lake and have a nice time.”

“Sounds good.” Micah said, slapping me on the back. He almost looked like a sort of cowboy. Plaid shirt, torn jeans, and miliary boots. Meanwhile, Peter just looked plain. He didn’t seem like much.

We sat there drinking for a good hour or two. We traded road stories, talked about women, and even complained about our dreaded lives. Micah was thirty-six and had just left a marriage, trying to get custody of a three year old. The mother was apparently a chain-smoking meth addict. But he said the best he’d be able to do was weekends. He told me the courts always favored the mother. Fathers often got screwed over.

Peter was just a twenty-seven-year-old IT guy at an office firm. Apparently the two had just met at this bar, just like me. They immediately struck it off with the thought that reality was just a simulation. And if I was being honest, I also thought reality was just a simulation. Felt like it. Looked like it. Even smelled like it.

“It’s like that one scene in the Matrix.” Peter said. “The spoon bending. That can be applied to something like ‘my blue is not your blue.’ A.K.A, color-blindness. Everyone’s perception of reality is always just a bit skewed from everyone else—sometimes more than others. And if it’s all just different then what is truth?”

“I actually agree with that.” I said, raising my glass of scotch up.

“Bullshit. It’s just brains being formed different. Happens in the womb.”

“Right,” said Peter, “You’d think that but even people who’ve gone through organ donations report sudden changes to things like their personalities.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like their favorite foods, drinks, or even just personality changes to emotion.”

Micah slammed his drink on the counter and almost fell backwards. “Is that serious?”

“It’s truth.”

“But how the hell can organs affect that?”

“It’s simple. DNA.”

“So the DNA mixes… or what?”

“Well, I guess I don’t know.”

I finished my second martini and grabbed the gin and whiskey. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

They followed and we left the bar. The lake was just down the street and we were relatively drunk, stumbling through the streets. It was now night, and the moon was a crescent. People had filed themselves away and gone inside their apartments. Cars and trucks and buses lined the streets and lit up the city with their neon lights. Signs created light as well, reflecting off mirrors. Everything was just this hazy dream I found myself in. Nothing felt real.

We made our way to the lake and sat down by the water. It was night but it wasn’t too cold. It was just very humid. Mosquitoes swarmed the water along with gnats. Peter rolled up his legs and walked across the water. Meanwhile, Micah and I sat by the lake drinking.

“This gin rocks, man!” He said. “Hey, you want some weed? I grow it.”

“What strain?”

“Purple Haze. My favorite. This is fresh too, I just got done drying it.”

He rolled a joint and we smoked it. It mixed with the alcohol nicely and gave me the spins. Peter came back from the water and smoked a cigarette. We sat by the beach, trading smokes and passing the bottle around.

These were strangers I had just met but nonetheless they were good people. At least, that’s what I thought. But it was kind of boring. While Peter and Micah talked, I couldn’t help but feel that same blackness. I drank more and eventually just wandered back into town.

Stumbling through the streets at night, I passed by many people and swerved through the cars. I had no mission. No objective. I was just drifting through the streets. Eventually, I came to this rather tall building and wandered inside. It was a casino. I didn’t want to gamble as I knew, in the state I was in, that I’d just piss the money away. Instead, I wandered to the bar.

There was a girl there. She had black hair that was cut short at her ears. Piercings, and neck tattoos. I tried striking up a conversation but she ignored me. Oh well, I thought. I didn’t need constant women in my life. In fact, I found that after Cassandra Two I needed a break from the histrionic woman. Not that all women were like that, just Cassandra Two. Perhaps I had diagnosed her wrong.

So I just sat at the bar alone, drinking scotch and fucking my mind sideways. I watched the television playing football and smoked a cigarette. But then I became too drunk, apparently, and the bartender cut me off. So I was just back to wandering.

And as I walked down the streets, I found that it was midnight. And then the memories came back. The flashbacks. Dreadful things.

I was at elementary school and this sixth grader (my school was kindergarten through sixth grade) had challenged me to a fight. We were on the playground and he kicked me and then I just started slamming him with punches. He fell to the dirt and started crying for his mom. The teachers caught us and I was sent to the principal and I had detention for the next two weeks.

“So, you beat him up. For what?”

I didn’t have a good answer. Basically, the fight had started because I was going after his girl. But I didn’t want to say that. Though he kind of pried it out of me by asking again. “Okay,” I whined, “It was cause I asked his girl out. And then he challenged me to the fight. And I won.”

“You won? He has a black eye now. You’re getting suspended for a week, and you’ll be in detention for two. Now get out of here and don’t fight again.”

“Okay…”

And when I got home and explained it to my parents, my father got rather mad and slapped me across the face. He sent me upstairs without dinner and I read my superhero comics all night. I managed to pass out at midnight.

And now, here I was, wandering Atlanta. Alone again. But I didn’t really mind.