Disconnection by Kenneth Clay

Leland Carter met his first, and only wife thus far, after returning home from fighting in the trenches of the first world war. Her name was Sarah, and to Leland, she was an angel. He always thought that love was something that happened at the right place and time, and he was never at that place, or that right time. It soon turned out that fate had plans for him.

Leland spent three years with Sarah. They would go on walks through the parks of New York city together, go to the theater, and drink wine while eating fancy dinners.

They continued their walks, their dinners, and their love, until Sarah had developed a cough. “It’s just a cold, my love. Don’t worry.” Leland said. However, Sarah’s worry was not alleviated. The next day she would randomly spur into coughing fits, and would have to wipe her nose incessantly. Then the vomiting started, and then the weakness in her body and soul began to take a hold of her. Leland’s optimism had betrayed him, for Sarah passed away in the night unexpectedly. Sarah’s death had ripped old Lee’s soul out him and tore it apart. Anything that was left of him had died, along with his wife.

Struck by grief, Leland decided he needed to get out of New York and go somewhere, anywhere. So he scraped together every single cent he had and bought a plane ticket to Germany. He bummed around Berlin and the surrounding area for a few months and then decided to hitch-hike to France. Money was not an issue to him, he had survived almost his entire life on nothing but himself and the clothes on his back. So if he could do that, he could make it to France.

* * *

“Leland?” Madelaine asked. There was no response. Leland was busy staring down into the abyss of his wine. His mouth hung open and his eyes were drawing a blank.

“Leland!” Madie called out. Leland immediately shot up and let out a gasp of air. Madie stared at her false lover with wide eyes full of worry.

“What is it, dear?” Leland asked without any inflection. The both of them had met at Marquelle’s, a cafe known for the some of the best wine in Paris. At first, Leland didn’t think much of Madie, though she swooned over him. But persistence is underrated: Madie kept coming back time and time again, and it wasn’t until she had called him, “Lee,” that he saw something in her. I have a suspicion that Sarah called Leland by that nickname, however sad that may be.

Madelaine leaned in to get a better look at Leland. She pursed her lips together and traced the rim her of wine-glass with her finger. Leland had not shaved in quite some time. His beard ran down the size of his face and to a scraggly point on the bottom of his chin. Unkempt hairs were starting to grow on his neck. Leland had average looks, I suppose that it was his confidence and apathy that made him attractive. This was more of a curse than anything as Leland kept everyone at arm’s length. Once you know how everything can fall apart at seemingly the snap of a finger, you don’t want to do it again.

“Do you know what they call you at the restaurant?” Madie asked after taking a sip of wine and setting it down on the table.

Leland dug into his steak tartare and chewed a bit of it in his mouth. “What do they call me, dear?”

Madelaine smiled but cupped her hand over her mouth. She brushed a strand of her dark-red hair out of the way and said, “Putaine,” Then giggled.

Leland nodded and said, “Whore, that’s interesting.” He grabbed the wine glass and brought it to his lips. He gulped down a healthy amount and then dropped it back onto the table with a clink.

Madelaine laughed and then took a seat back in her chair. Leland once told me that her laughs sounded, “like that of a duck being strangled between two wood beams.” As she continued laughing, Leland’s eyes drew back and became engulfed in flame.

“You’ve already slept with four of the women that work there!” Madie exclaimed whilst in a fit of giggles.

“Yes, but they’re not as good in bed as you are.” Said Leland as he went to grab his glass of wine.

Madie blushed and turned away, “Oh, don’t be crass Lee.”

Leland dropped the wine glass in midair and it shattered to the floor. He sniffled and wiped his nose. “What do you say about going to bed together?”
“Don’t you need to clean—“

“How about right now?”

“We haven’t even finished eating!”

“Come on, you and me, we’re going to bed and then you’re leaving my apartment.”

“Lee, this isn’t even your—“

Leland stood up and the chair that he was sitting in fell, “Now!”

He grabbed Madie by the hand and led her upstairs. They fell onto the bed after undressing and made love together. They had known each-other for four months and had a half-relationship. I use that word as it was an on-and-off-again type of fling. By this point, Leland wasn’t sure why he continued this fake love story, this play of sorts. Maybe he just enjoyed torturing himself. Or maybe he just never let himself get close to anyone. After all, when a man has lost everything he has once held true, he is reluctant to gain it ever again. The only thing he knew, is that whenever something started to nag at the back of his mind, all he had to do was go see Madelaine, and everything was alright again. Momentarily, that is.

* * *

Leland and Madelaine sat upright in bed, their bodies covered by the white blankets. Leland reached over to his night-stand and grabbed the pack of cigarettes, placed neatly on the wood. He pulled one out of the tinfoil wrapper and stuck it in his mouth. Using a match, he lit his cigarette and took a few puffs.

Madelaine tilted her head towards Leland and said, “Do you remember the first time we met?”

Leland exhaled smoke and said, “It was in April. I had just got to France and you handed me my food. It was a fruit tart and a glass of red wine. I said hi, and you said hello, then you went into the kitchen. Why do you ask?”

Madelaine smiled and said, “I was just checking.”

“Tell me, what was the first word that came to mind when you saw me at that table?”
“Why?”
“Mysterious, why?”

“I was just checking.”

Madelaine rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. “When will I see you again?” She muttered.

Leland gave a shrug. “I’ve always wanted to hike the Montmarte. Perhaps you could come with…”

“You know I don’t like hiking, Lee, it’s too dirty. Why don’t we go to Belgium?”

Leland gazed over at Madelaine and saw how the blankets covered her pale shoulders. He shook his head and turned to his side. Leland covered his head with the blankets and mumbled, “Nevermind, I don’t want to go hiking, or do anything for that matter.”

Madie frowned lightly and rolled over onto her side as well. “Okay… goodnight to you too.”

* * *

Leland awoke the next morning staring up blankly at the ceiling. There was not a single iota of life on his face.

Now, there is a certain thing that every man must do each morning when he wakes up. He must remember that he is alive, yet again, and act alive. He must do this, even if he, himself, does not feel alive. This narcissistic and macho mask is what fuels society at it’s core.

Leland lit a cigarette and clenched it in his mouth. He brought the match to it and inhaled. He looked over at Madelaine who laid on her side, snoring softly. He took all of her in: The orangey-red freckles across her shoulders, her reddish-brown hair that covered her pale ears, and the breath slowly escaping from her red lips.

Leland took one last drag of his cigarette and put it out against the wall. He tossed it into the ashtray and stood up out of bed. He put his jeans and shirt on, and started walking down-stairs. When he got outside he lit the last cigarette out of his pack and started walking with his hands tucked into his pockets.

The streets of Paris were never empty. Men dressed in blue suits rode bicycles with cigarettes tucked into their mouths, and women sat in cafes chattering about like schoolchildren. The only way Leland could get a moment to himself in the grand city of Paris, was in the apartment he stayed at. You see, Leland was naturally inclined to being alone. However, since he always drank, it brought out the extrovert in him. It was a sort of cognitive dissonance he faced. He loved people, yet hated them. He needed people, yet Leland felt he only needed himself.

As he walked, Leland felt that familiar grumble in his stomach and decided to go to Marquelle’s, the same bar Madelaine worked at. They were known around Paris for their own brand of red wine. The pungent flavors floated around Leland’s mouth as he walked the streets.

* * *

Leland walked through the door of Marquelle’s and up to the counter. He ordered a glass of whiskey and the bartender immediately poured it out. Leland grabbed the glass and tilted his head back, drinking all of it in one, giant, gulp. He ordered one more, and the bartender poured another one out with wide, and frightened, eyes.

As Leland sipped on the whiskey, a waitress dressed in a white skirt, and a black apron, waltzed out of the kitchen. Her black heels clattered against the hardwood flooring as she walked over to Leland. “Bonjour, Leland. How are you?”

Leland gulped his wine and looked over at the thin waitress. Her name was Gabrielle and she was the first woman Leland ever met in Paris. Leland always found her cute, but knew better than to get with her. He had heard the rumors about her fiery rage long before meeting her.

Leland shrugged, “Alright, I guess.” His face did not show that he was doing alright, by any means. He kept his eyes straight ahead of him, not bothering to look at Gabi.

Gabrielle flipped her hair and took a seat next to Leland. “That’s good to hear. Did you know that I just got back from Spain?” She said with a smile, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

“Oh? And how was that?” Leland brought his wine glass to his lips and downed the rest of it.

“Oh you know, the music was great.” Gabi tilted her head back and laughed. Her laugh was not nearly as bad as Madelaine’s. It made Leland have a fuzzy feeling in his chest, but he made sure to squash it down, deep into his subconscious.

Gabrielle moved closer to Leland, so close that they were practically cuddling, and put her hand on his shoulder. Leland took a quick look at Gabi and met her empty and neurotic eyes. He stood up and said, “I’m with Madelaine, not you.” He grabbed his jacket and walked outside.

* * *

Leland walked back to his apartment in silence, lost deep in thought. He kept his eyes focused and locked on the ground as a cigarette dangled from his mouth.

He made it back to the apartment and opened the door. He walked upstairs and to the typewriter. He poured out a glass of whiskey, lit a cigarette, and started typing. It was only ten minutes until he was in the flow of things. Soon he felt like he was outside his body, concentrated on the act of writing, and nothing else. It was as if he was the writing.

During this state of flow, Leland wrote out three poems:

May You Find Your Worth

Down by the ol’ forgotten bell tower,
With vines creepin’ up to grab me,
An old toad sang to me,

May you find your worth,
In this ever-changing world.

May you find your worth,
In this ever-changing world.

May you find your worth,
In this ever-changing world.

Iron Bars

A cricket’s tune for a mate,
Is so easily ignored,
With iron bars around its heart.

Everything in It’s Right Place

Everything is in its right place.
Everything is perfect for you.

I know on dark nights,
It’s hard to remember this.

With your head a spin,
And your heart aflame,

Remember that everything,
Is made for you,

And is perfect…
For you.

Little Dirt Ball

The God you worship,
High above in the sky,
Does not listen.
He does not moan,
And he does not crow.

Don’t you realize,
That the very God you worship,
Is here,
On this little dirt ball?

Once Leland was out of flow he spent the rest of the day in bed, with his nose buried deep in the pages of a book. His favorite authors were Ernest Hemingway, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Mark Twain. If he could, he’d probably spend the rest of his life just writing and reading.

As he lay in bed, there was a sudden and sharp knock at the door. With a great sigh, Leland lifted himself out of bed and made his way to the door. He opened it and saw Madelaine standing there in a red dress. Leland’s nose recoiled as it smelled the stink of alcohol all over her.

“Where have you been?” Leland asked. He shook his head and stepped out of the way, allowing Madie to walk in. “Actually, never mind.” He said. “I don’t know why I asked; I don’t really care.”

Madelaine collapsed onto the couch. “Leland!” She shouted. “Why don’t we ever do anything together?” Her words were slurred and broken. “We always just sit here in Jean’s apartment and—“

“You’re drunk right now.” Leland said, taking a seat next to Madelaine and pouring himself a glass of wine. He tilted his head back and took a gulp.

“This is the best day of my life!” Madie shouted, lifting her arms up and almost falling forwards. “I’ve never felt so good.”

Leland took another gulp and said, “Please, be quiet. The neighbors can hear you.”

Madie snickered and turned towards Leland. “Since when do you care about that? The neighbors! They can hear EVERYTHING! Even when we have—“

“Please. Shut up.”

Madelainne sat up and threw her arms around Leland. She poked and prodded at his fleshy neck, then moved her arms around his chest. Her breath felt warm on Leland’s body.

“Oh… Lee…” Madie whispered softly.

“Alright! That’s it.” Leland jumped out of his seat and grabbed Madelainne by the shoulders. He pushed her out of his apartment and looked her straight in the eye. “I hate you.” He said, and slammed the door.

He walked away from the door and climbed upstairs, then poured himself a drink.

* * *

The next morning, Leland woke up forgetting where he was. He felt as if his soul was disconnected from his mind, and like his body was moving on auto-pilot. As he stared up at the ceiling from his bed, counting the paint marks, it suddenly seemed further away than it was before. Soon, a feeling of panic began to take form in his chest. The ceiling became even further away. His body felt numb, and his vision became fogged.

As the panic grew louder and louder, til he could not ignore it any longer, Leland leapt out of bed and flung open the drawers of his dresser. He sniped the bottle of whiskey from the drawer and tilted his head back. He gulped down on the whiskey until his throat could take the burning no more. Then, he rushed to the bathroom to vomit.

After Leland exited the bathroom, he made the decision to spend the day writing. He also knew that he needed to take a break from the alcohol, the amount of abuse he had put his body through was becoming too much to bare. He would not remain sober though. He brought a glass of wine to his desk and set it beside the typewriter. He sat down in his chair, and stared at the blank page. The blank page then stared back at him, emanating with malice. No words could come to Leland’s mind that weren’t plagued with insecurity. With a great sigh, Leland lifted himself out of his chair and away from the desk. Writing was too much of a pain at that moment.

Leland decided that if he couldn’t write, he should spend some time at Marquelle’s. This would also give him the chance to apologize to Madie, given that she was there. And even if she wasn’t, he would still eat good food.

He downed a gulp of wine, lit a cigarette, then walked out the door. Along the way, Leland saw many women that looked like his wife, Marie. Each time he would come across these similarities, he felt as if he would pass out right then and there. Yet, he still held strength, and forced his way through it.

Leland kept his eyes focused on the ground as he walked. When he reached the restaurant, he nearly walked straight into the door. He paused and looked up at the “OPEN” sign. As he reached to open the door, it was flung open and Gabrielle stepped outside.

She took a step back and gazed at Leland. “Bonjour, Lee!” This was when Leland finally noticed something about her, a long lost similarity, an angel.

It was as if a switch was flipped inside his head, and he knew what he had to do. “Say, Gabi, what do you think about getting out of here? And going to my place?”

Gabrielle fluttered her eyes as a warm smile crossed over her face. “Sure…” She said softly, in a flowery voice.

It was a quick affair. Gabrielle had to get back to work in an hour so it lasted no more than thirty-minutes. Leland laid in bed with the blanket wrapped around him. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his cigarette slowly burn. Gabi sat at the edge of the bed, slowly putting on her clothes.

“Lee, I got a question.” Gabi said, putting on her leggings.

Leland blinked, trying to remember who was speaking to him for a second. “What is it?” He asked after taking a long drag of his cigarette.

Gabi turned around and looked at Lee without her top on. “Why do you want so many girls?”

Leland shrugged. “I don’t really know. A distraction, maybe? A boost?”

Gabi shook her head and grimaced. She put her shirt on and glared at Lee. “Is that all I am to you?”

Leland nodded. “Yeah.”
Gabi stood up and grabbed the glass of whiskey sitting on the dresser. She splashed it at Lee. “Fuck you.” She said, then walked out the door.

* * *

The following night Leland paced around his house, drinking and chain-smoking. It was as if his head finally came loose. Every buried emotion and feeling came spewing out of a him like that of a waterfall. There was nothing he could do but drink glass after glass of whiskey. When he finally felt good again, (though that was just the alcohol) he stood outside on his porch, looking out over the city. The hills and trees glimmered under the moonlight. Everything stood still, untouched. He knew what he had to do.

Leland grabbed his bottle of wine and took to the streets of Paris, stumbling around. He found Madelainne’s apartment and stood outside, yelling up to the window. “Maaaaadie!” He called out. There was no response, so he yelled again. “MAAAAADIE!”

The window slid open and Madie stuck her head out, “Lee?” She gasped. “Is that you?”

Leland took a swig of wine and burped. “Yes.. I-It’s me…” He sniffed and rubbed his nose, teetering side to side.

“You’re piss drunk!” Madie shouted. “Come inside, I’ll open the door.” Madie rushed downstairs and opened the door for Leland. She set him down on the couch and scolded him, “You drink way too much, don’t you know that?”

Leland hiccuped and stood up. He took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth, and said, “I-I have something… I need to tell you.”

“What is it? Lee, are you okay?”

“…”

“Lee?!”

“I’m with… Gabi now. She takes good care of me.”

Tears formed in Madelainne’s eyes and her face turned a bright red as she clenched her fists. She grabbed Leland by the shoulders and pulled him over to the door. “Get out. Now.” She growled.

“What? Madie… don’t, don’t do this!”

She began kicked Leland in the shins, “Get out! Get!” She shoved Leland to the ground and he fell. Madie towered over him, glaring with the fury of a thousand suns. “You’re broken, and you’ll never be fixed!”

* * *

Leland stumbled around Paris for hours and hours. The scene of Madie shoving him and slamming the door replayed in his head over and over, like a broken record. He punched tree-trunks, kicked over dumpsters, and ripped his hair out. Finally, at dusk, he reached a park bench and took a seat. Leland brought the bottle of wine to his lips and finished it completely. He hung his head down in his lap and began to sob, wails of a broken man.

And just when he felt at his absolute lowest, a voice called out to him. “Move on from me, Lee. Move on.”

It was his wife, Sarah.