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CHAPTER 1
1
I think my cat is sick of me. She doesn't even sit in the same room as I.
The first time I've been out of my apartment in almost 4 days. Have to return a form to my landlord. Finally, an excuse. The mailbox is on the corner. I get the same form every year: do you have kids under 6 years old, under 11 years old, and do you have peeling lead paint and window guards? I have bars on the windows, they were there when I moved in. Maybe some peeling paint, but I'm not interested in eating any of it, and I don't think my cat is either.
Whenever I look out my window at night, I see those bars. Sometimes I grab them. Prison bars. Gotta make a break. Gotta find life on the outside.
January is a dark time of year for me. It's my least favorite month. Cold, silent, the mounds of charcoal snow on the street corners and in front of the subway entrances are the worst. The harshness of metal on metal as I release the mailbox handle. The squeal of the braking F train arriving draws me down the stairs. Navigating the subway steps places my life in the hands of the gods of a frictionless universe.
A homeless guy on the downtown F train has two Food Emporium bags on his feet held on by two rubber bands over his shoes. Crazy, but his feet are probably drier than mine. Mine are wet and freezing. I climb up the stairs at the Second Avenue stop. Howling wind.
Hoping to find life, I see none in the dive bars lining the streets. At least not tonight. Muttering to myself as Tom Waits plays through my headphones. I take them off. Sometimes I just want to hear the sounds of the city streets.
Once again I sit in my apartment. Only the sound of a cabbie speeding up Sixth Avenue, running lights. Delivery men clanking chains on their bicycles, securing them to posts in the snow. The shades are open. The lamp is on. The reflecting light in the window makes the outside world invisible. I see only the bars through my reflection.
And my cat still sits in the other room.
CHAPTER 2
11
Best friend from San Francisco in town for the weekend. Let's drink beer!
We always drank, playing card games. Tradition.
"Get the deck."
Looked everywhere. Couldn't find one. No way!
What to do? If no cards, how were we gonna play a game to drink the beer?
The deli on 14th street was my go-to spot. Deli, dollar store, and Kmart all rolled into one.
"What beer do they have? Coors, Miller, Bud, Corona?" "They have everything, and I'm sure, playing cards."
"Get a 12 pack of Miller Lite."
"Hi, can I place an order for delivery?"
"Address?"
"334 East 14th street, apartment 5C."
"What can I get you?"
"Yeah, could I get two decks of playing cards?"
"Playing cards? No, we don't deliver that."
"Huh? Why not?"
"Look, we just don't. Quit wasting my time."
The line went dead. I stared at my phone. My friend laughed:
"Hey man, just call back and order the beer."
"Hi, can I place an order for delivery?"
"Address?"
"334 East 14th street, apartment 5C."
"What can I get you?"
"Can I get a 12 pack of Miller Lite?"
"Sure. Anything else?"
"And two decks of cards."
"Two decks of cards? You just called. I told you, I'm not delivering two decks of cards."
"Yeah, but you're gonna deliver the beer. Why can't you just slip the decks into the bag? It's not like I'm not going to pay for them."
My friend interrupted:
"Man, forget about the fucking cards. Just get the beer!"
"I'm not delivering the cards. I told you before, stop wasting my time!"
Click. The line went dead.
"Well? Are we getting the beer?"
"I dunno. How are we even gonna drink without the cards?"
CHAPTER 3
5
Did I hear that right?
Walking west on 11th with my friend. Just had some beers. Head over to 3rd Avenue to meet with a few others. Sunny Saturday afternoon.
Each of us in our own gray worlds, we pass two girls. We hear one of them say:
"You should probably just kill yourself."
We both laugh.
"Do you think she was talking about me?"
"I don't know, maybe she was talking to me!"
"Weird shit, man."
Back in my gray world. Who was she talking about? Me?
Considering the literal meaning makes me uneasy.
Make it to 3rd Avenue. Round ordered. My friend repeats the phrase to the others. They all laugh; I display an uneasy smile.
Mind starts to spin. Can't let this go.
Maybe I should do it.
Why not?
Why bother being alive?
Was she right?
Why should I live?
Is the choice mine?
What does she think?
Feel nausea. Terror. Arbitrary.
Fuck it! Where's my drink?
CHAPTER 4
7
We're just going to have a drink.
Hostess shows us to one of the many open tables.
Within a few moments the server comes over.
"What can I start you off with?"
I scan the menu. My girlfriend doesn't hesitate: "I'll have a gimlet."
I ask for a Stoli with soda and lime.
The server heads to the bar.
A busboy comes, places two glasses of water, napkins and silverware on our table. As I pick up my water, the uneven table wobbles, spilling my girlfriend's water. Gently, I place my foot on the table base to keep it stable.
The server returns, and as she sets our drinks down, she asks:
"Are you ready to order?"
"Oh, we're just having drinks."
"Sir, you can't sit at a table and only have drinks."
"We told the hostess we were only having drinks and she sat us here."
She immediately grabs the silverware and napkins and walks away.
Girlfriend picks up her gimlet and I feel the wobble again. I put my foot down harder on the base. She sees my irritation and mutters: "Just tell her to fix it."
"I'll see."
One small sip and she holds out her drink and eyes it suspiciously.
"This is awful. Did you try yours?"
I sip mine. "Yeah, this is pretty bad. Really weak."
"I'm going to say something. This is the worst gimlet I've ever had."
I squirm uncomfortably, but ensure my foot stays planted on the base of the table. She looks up toward the server and raises her hand: "Excuse me!"
I lean forward and lower my voice. "Can you please not say anything? Let's just finish these and get out of here."
She ignores me as the server comes over.
"These drinks are unacceptable. They don't have any alcohol, whatsoever."
I look down at the table, embarrassed. The server picks up each drink.
I look up: "What the hell? Why did you have to make such a fuss about it? It's really not that big a deal. Now we look ridiculous."
No response. A few silent minutes pass as she texts on her phone. I stare out the window.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Text: "Why are u being such an asshole"
I blurt out, "Asshole?" as the server arrives at the table. The server looks at me and puts the drinks down.
As my girlfriend picks up her fresh drink, I lift my foot off the table base. The table wobbles, spilling her drink on her hand ever so slightly.
The drinks are practically pure alcohol, and judging by the way they burn, it's the cheap stuff.
Fuck it. I just want to get the check and get out. My girlfriend protests. "I just got my drink!"
"I don't care, let's get out of this dump, now."
The server passes by our table and I motion for the check.
I smile. "Thanks for re-doing the drinks."
She brings over the printed check. $21.31! A little note says suggested gratuity is %20. At the bottom a handwritten note:
Thank you! * a.h.
CHAPTER 5
3
Flying stresses me.
Dragging the bag around. Check in. Security. Shoes off. Belt off. Jacket off. Shoes on. Belt on. Jacket on. Run to the gate. Same routine.
This time I had to get to Europe for a wedding.
All started in a cab to JFK. Pulled up to the terminal. Handed the driver a couple twenties. Typically I run late. On this one occasion I had given myself plenty of time.
Squeezed my bag through the revolving door. Huge mass of people. No lines. No directions. No organization. Loudspeaker blasts:
"URGENT NOTICE: LUFTHANSA STRIKE. ALL FLIGHTS CANCELED."
Overwhelmed, I panic. Texted my girl:
"I'm afraid I'm not going to make it. There's a fucking strike."
She texted back reassurance:
"Everything will be OK. You're going to make it."
Made it through the chaos. Rebooked a seat on a British Airways flight. Time to spare. Had a few drinks. So glad she was there for me. The next two weeks were looking better.
Flight back from Europe was uneventful.
Called her from the cab. Heard her loving voice. I missed her. And I knew she missed me.
As we embraced, I was finally home.
Drowsy after the dinner she made me, we both fell into bed. Within a few minutes she was peacefully asleep in my arms. Whereas, I couldn't sleep, I gently eased myself out of bed. Watched TV for about an hour, some PBS special on supernovas, until I felt I could go to sleep.
Getting into bed, I noticed her phone lit up in the palm of her hand. I gently removed the phone to place it on her bedside table.
The message on her phone read:
"Yeah sleepin witu on saturday nite was the best nite of my life."
What the FUCK! What prompted this message?
The one above read:
"feeling you inside me was so amazing. I cantwait to do it again."
Replaced the phone in her hand, eased myself out of bed and left the apartment.
CHAPTER 6
4
Check my phone, 7:44. Hoping to get here earlier. No accident that I made sure to be the first to arrive.
The night is cool. There's a calm breeze; but, I'm sweating a little and my body feels like it's on fire.
Fidget on the barstool. Half sitting, half standing, I desperately try to catch the eye of the bartender. Why the fuck doesn't this fucking asshole notice me? Seeing his annoying bowtie makes me swallow.
"Maker's on the rocks." A nod.
The Mark comes with a glass of water and a bowl of nuts. I take a drink; stings my tongue. I ignore the water and pick at the almonds.
The bartender nervously keeps a short-eye on me.
7:48. I have 12 minutes before the meeting. I push the ice around in the half-empty glass.
Is there enough time to have another Mark before she arrives? 7:52. The shaking has subsided a little bit, but my mind races, and I still feel beads of sweat on my forehead.
7:55. In front of me is the glass with half melted ice cubes. I nudge it away with the hope the bartender will notice my action. He doesn't. I see the door to the bar open. My heart skips a beat. I feel a wave of heat and dread go through my body from head to toe. Not her.
What is this bartender, this bowtied idiot doing? Why won't he respond to me? Maybe that bowtie is cutting off the blood supply to his brain. I feel like screaming.
Finally, I motion for another round. He takes his sweet time. Come on, come on, come on! I'm too frightened to check the time. Bowtie moves quicker, maybe sensing my agitation. He pours the Maker's. He picks up the empty glass and replaces it with the full one. I down it in one swallow.
The world seems serene. Wonder if I should have brought my light jacket with me. The evenings can be quite chilly.
The door opens. There she is, 8:00. Right on the mark. She gives me a hug. I'm unresponsive; I don't say a word. Without even ordering a drink, she begins complaining about work. I stare at my empty glass.
"I saw your phone last night."
"What?"
"I fucking saw everything! You and me, we're finished."
CHAPTER 7
19
The wedding was the first event I had been to since it happened.
Months had passed. It was hard finding out my fiancée had been having an affair. She walked out on me. We had been together for so long.
Moved into a new building right after it happened. A new life. My neighbor, Kelly, was a sweet girl who had helped me get acquainted with the neighborhood. I figured, what the hell, I'd ask Kelly to accompany me to the wedding. She happily obliged.
My ex and I had a lot of mutual friends. They were all there.
As an EMT, my friends were always interested on how my shifts went.
They asked me about my previous night. Some college kid smoked a bunch of pot. He heard sirens outside his apartment, freaked, and called 911. We got the call: a man, drugs, thought he was dying.
"Well, was he dying?"
"No, he was totally fine." I laughed.
I went through proper protocols. Did his basic evaluation. Baseline vitals. Medical history. Contact information. I asked who I should call.
He wanted his girlfriend. No family. I called her and informed her we would be at St. George's.
ER was busy. Long wait. As time went by this kid's high went down. He realized he wasn't dying, and got agitated. He wanted to go home, but I told him that we had already started the paperwork, so he couldn't leave. He got belligerent and cursed at me. Now I was pissed. This asshole had smoked too much weed, took up my time, and now wanted to bitch about it. By now my friends were laughing.
When the intake nurse finally called us, I handed her the paperwork. Suddenly my patient cheered up. His girlfriend walked in. She came and hugged him and took his hand. It annoyed me. I told the nurse what the complaint was:
"This douche bag idiot smoked too much weed and thought he was about to die. Moron."
Kelly looked at me.
"You actually said that?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I said."
My friends laughed even louder.
The patient looked down when I said that. So did his girlfriend. When we put him in the corner bed in the ER, he turned and faced the wall. The girlfriend asked me:
"Is he OK?"
I barely looked at her.
"Yeah, fine."
After a few moments, Kelly politely excused herself to use the bathroom. One of my friends turned to me:
"Hey man, it's great to see you out again, with a new girl."
"Kelly is just my neighbor."
"Even so. You know we saw your ex last weekend."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, she just showed up to Vanessa's birthday party with some guy. We were all surprised to see her. I couldn't believe she had the nerve to show up with a guy after what she did to you. She tried to include herself in our conversation, but we all turned away, she ran out of the bar in tears, obviously humiliated."
I nodded. Went to get a new drink.
As I stood at the bar, I imagined my ex in tears running out of that party.
Then I thought about my patient, facing the wall, with his girlfriend holding his hand.
How did this all begin?
CHAPTER 8
17
But it's going to be there forever.
"How will you feel tomorrow? The day after that? Years from now? It will always be a mark on you. Even in your mind."
No. I'm going to love it. It'll be great. I'm going there tonight. As soon as I finish with this exam.
I'm a sophomore in college. I can do what I want. I can get a tattoo. I'll just do it. Tonight. But now I gotta take this quiz in my Roman antiquities class. Pompeii. Shit, back then I would've had a whole family at my age. A wife. Kids. My mom can't tell me what to do anymore. They can't control me. I do what I want. I can make my own rules.
Would my life be so dramatically altered in a single act? Forever?
I scribbled my name on the top of the quiz, and got right to the first question:
A photo of heavily dust covered bodies, petrified. In contorted positions. Obviously the result of some kind of disaster.
1.) In what year did Mt. Vesuvius erupt, collapsing buildings, and killing roughly 2,000 people?
A.) 55 B.C.
B.) 323 B.C.
C.) 79 A.D.
D.) 13150 B.C.
Clearly "C." I breezed through the rest.
Handed in my exam. "Everything all good professor?" After a glance: "Yup, looks fine. Just write down the date."
"Oops sorry."
I scribbled down the date.
Monday, September 10, 2001.
CHAPTER 9
10
Anthony Marek, from my wildlife law class, got arrested last night for soliciting sex from a child.
Oh shit! Gotta print out my outline for that class. First final exam of second year law. Hafta get through this day.
I'm already late. Okay, wildlife cases that'll be on the test. Start the car. Birds, mammals, anything else? Radio.
"Two people were shot early this morning in McKees Rocks. Police are currently invest ..." Get off! What appellate court was the Migratory Bird Treaty Act involved in? 8th? 9th?
Did I lock the car? Stupid first class: International Business Transactions.
"Ok everyone, Hilton v. Guyot. Let's start with the background. This was the last case involving foreign ..."
Marine Mammal Protection Act. That's going to be on the test. Damn. Manatees in Florida, yeah. Have to know this. Gotta get an A on the exam.
"... and don't forget to study US taxation of overseas operations for the final. I'll see you all on Monday." Shit! Do I have time for lunch?
"Yeah I'll, have a turkey on rye, lettuce, tomato, mustard." I love this deli. Need to flip through the outline again. "No, no, mustard, not mayo."
I'm sure there's something about fish in Tennessee. Why is my phone buzzing? Text: "Don't forget to wish dad happy birthday."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Pink Loon"
by .
Copyright © 2019 A. E. Howard.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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