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Justin D Smith 3/24/2013 Dr.Willey Creative Writing

Shit happens. Pour me a shot of my tears, Muttered Chris as he stared morosely out the bar-front window of La Luna. The sheets of rain splashing against the glass made it easy to lose focus, the lights of passing cars and the flickering neon signs proposing closed were simple abstract blurs keeping his eyes distracted while his mind wrestled with the words. Pour me a shot of my tears, wait two shots? he lifted his pen to scribble words down the line on his napkin, trying not to tear the moist remnants of the crescent moon logo with his untidy scroll. Chris was on his second drink, and growing moodier by the glass as he continued to chew on his thoughts like the last chunks of ice from a drained cocktail All he came up with were sour notes though, recoiling in distaste and frustration as he let the pen drop from his fingers. It was time for another drink, his liver wasnt as important as his muse. Raising his hand, Chris waved to the cocktail waters, who was carefully tucking a few dollar bills into her starched apron. A shiny name badge reading April flashed in the subdued black lights illuminating the bar nearby. The same light lit up her short, boyishly cut hair, the bleached highlights glowing a toxic shade of indigo as she looked over at Chris, and shook her head disapprovingly. Rolling his eyes, Chris sat up and braced himself for the usual lecture. Shouldnt you be at home? You have a class tomorrow, and I know its an important one.

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Aprils stiletto tapped impatiently on the varnished wood floor. Chriss eyes made the the slow trek from the table up to April, lingering just long enough to take note of the heart shaped tattoo peaking out where her the uniform ended and the cleavage began. The uniform was bright white to take compliment from the black light, low cut and quite sexy. The heart was old, and faded. There was a story there, but Chris could never bring himself to ask about it. Im twenty three, not twelve. I dont need to be told what to do. Anyways, its an afternoon class, and I wanted to get out of the house. And I suppose the drinking part is just an excuse? Brilliant .You should be the one writing my essays, not me. Now shut up and bring me another gin and tonic. April gave a disgusted noise, but smiled all the same. This had always been the usual banter between them for the last two years. April would scold Chris for his slow, self-destructive habits, he would curse her for being a busy body, and the night would cycle through until he finally staggered out of the bar, or at the very least, passed out amidst a crowd of empty glasses. He tipped well, so she could afford to put up with his curmudgy-wudyness as she cloyingly termed it just to get under his skin. You hear about that bomber? Asked April as she took a seat across from him. It was her break, and despite the annoyed act, she often liked to talk to Chris. It wasnt that Chris was unlikeable, or perpetually grumpy. He was simply reserved, and the stress of his lifestyle often made him dry as he put it whenever he tried to explain himself to an offended stranger. Who hasnt? All over the news. Kind of getting sick of hearing about it. He muttered as he drummed his fingers on the table

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Well fine, if you dont want to talk about that, maybe you could tell me again why you always come in to sulk and complain about your problems, rather than actually doing something with your life? I dont complain. What are you going on about? Chris eyed April reproachfully. This was a new angle. April was a psych major, and wasnt above offering advice, wanted or not. But shed never approached Chris directly. Look, I say this as a friend. Youre wasting the best years of our lives. Youre in a dead end major when what you should really be doing is teaching. You could run circles around half the faculty. Why are you settling for less? Aprils eyes were so damned honest. She seemed to think she could save anyone just by talking enough. Still, Chris didnt withdraw his hand as she reached out to grasp it in an affectionate way. Sweet, caring, stupid, foolish April. Look, not tonight April. Maybe youve got a point, but I really dont want to think about it now, okay? This time Chris voice was softer, almost passively begging for April to stop nudging the sore nerves that had been bothering him for quite a while now. For a moment April looked like she wanted to say more, and Chris knew that whatever it was, it would be both true, and painful. But then she seemed to think about it. Right. Gin and Tonic. Coming up. Slouching once more as April strolled away to get his customary drink, Chris stared down at two Collins glasses infront of him. The first was merely a splash of water at the bottom. The other still had ice, the fragrance of juniper and cheap vermouth rising off the edges. Pour me two shots from my aching soul. He mused as he traced a finger around the frosted rim of the second glass. A chunk of ice twitched and crackled. Melodramatic bullshit. Chris muttered, turning to look out the window again.This time Chris focused on his own reflection. Dark hair cut like a mop, hanging infront of eyes that had

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spent far too long staring into the dim glow of a computer screen. It was relief to get away from his studio, where the looming deadline of dissertation and editorial demands shadowed him like a plague. Whatever had possessed him to decide to take up a pay-per-paper blog writing job ontop of pursuing his major early clearly did not have his best interests in mind. Certainly not his sanity anyways, which seemed to be ebbing away day by day. It seemed like Chris lived to destroy himself on some level or other. Failed relationships, deadlines he couldnt meet insomnia, heavy drinking, and a course load that could have crashed the nasa space station computers. Fuck, I look 40 years old. He muttered as he rubbed at his stubbled face. It had been weeks since hed shaved, though it was all still sandpaper at this point. Keep drinking like that, and you wont live to see that age, bud. The cushioned seat across from Chris wheezed as Reggie sat down across from him, a beer in hand, a cigarette already lit and dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth. What is it with you writers and drinking? He asked as he set his drink down and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them and recrossed them the other way. Reggie was a wirey, fidgety figure, with hair like burnt straw and a slightly manic disposition about him. What is it with you doctors and smoking? I thought you were supposed to be against stuff that causes cancer. Said Chris, turning to face his old friend Do as we say, not as we do. Anyways, Im not a doctor yet. I dont get to start cut people up for another two and a half years. Believe me, if you had my load, youd smoke too I already take your load. Its all bullshit. Cheers. Reggie raised his beer, and Chris met it with his own empty one with an ironic brow. The foamy sloshing a little down the side as Reggie took a gulp. So, whats the dead poet working? he asked, setting his glass down and looking fixedly at his friend in that way he

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always did when he wanted to annoy Chris. Unwilling to be bated, Chris instead choose to turn his attention back to April, who had just come by with his order. Here you go Chris, one gin and tonic. Hi there Reggie. Hows doctor schooling? She said as she smile knowingly at Reggie. Taking up his glass, Chris watched as Reggie sat up a little straighter in his seat as he greeted the waitress with his usual energetic charm. Chris had suspected for a while that there might have been something going on between them for a while now; The coy looks, the familiar closeness when they talked alone in the corner of the bar during her breaks. Neither were spilling the beans though. It wasnt his business anyways. Though the puppy-dog look on Reggies face was rather pathetic. Maybe he should nudge him about this. At the very least it would be better than frustrating himself with bad poetry. As April walked away, Chris leaned forward and flicked a bit of dew from his fingertips into Reggies face. Cmon, why dont you just ask her out already? You know she likes you, even if you are a freaky headcase. Chris hissed in a soft whisper before knocking back a measure of his drink, wincing at the dry, herbal sting. Reggie, startled, had to fumble his beer to keep it from pouring into his lap. Wh-what? No I dont! Reggie protested, waving his hands in front of him, nearly elbowing a trench coated man staggering his way towards the bathroom, briefcase swinging clumsily. Sure, whatever. Chris smiled slightly behind his glass, before leaning forward conspiratorially. Yknow she likes you too? Cmon, she doesnt talk to anyone else as much as you. You really mean to tell me you havent tried asking her out yet? The glass settled on a napkin with a muted clink as Chris looked up at Reggie expectantly. Reggie was a poor liar, and it was mildly amusing to watch him make up excuses. Still, Chris felt a little bad about it. Look, I really mean it. Ive seen the way she looks at you. He turned to glance at April, who was

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pointing the man with the briefcase towards the mens room on the left. For a moment Chris felt a slight shudder of something unpleasant, but dismissed it. Probably the gin finally having its way with his digestive track. Youre crazy, man. April flirts with everyone. Shes a psych major, and could totally play anyone. That kind of girls dangerous. Reggie said dismissively, trying to steer the topic into safer waters. Reggie was always an avoider, while Chris was the blunt realist. No, whats dangerous is ending up like me, too caught up my own damned problems to really go for anything. Go on, take one for the team. Ask her out. Whats the worst that could happen? Chris felt maybe the gin really was having his way with him now. He wasnt usually given towards motivational speaking, especially when drunk. The two sat quietly talking for some time after. As per usual it wasnt anything of merit. The topic of the bomber was brought up briefly. It was all over the news, with three different random locations having been targeted. Fifteen injured, twenty four dead. The city was buzzing about it, especially considering that there wasnt a single lead yet. Chris had briefly considered writing about it, but dismissed the idea as being sensationalistic. He would rather write something that stood on its own two legs. Reggie agreed, and went on to talk about further random media news as Chris allowed the warm glow of alcohol to finally envelope him. The hazy sense of approaching oblivion was always welcomed at the end of the night. Yknow what? Im gonna do it! Hiccuped Reggie suddenly, nudging Chris out of a brief reverie in which the two had lapsed into somber silence. A hodgepodge of glasses sat like an entrenched army between them, each drained and accounted for on the tab sitting half forgotten at one corner of the table. Do what? Chris asked, suppressing a burp.

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Im gonna go ask her! Youre right. What really is the worst that can happen? Carp pah dayamn man! By now Reggies voice was an obvious slurr, and as he stood up, it looked questionable as to whether he would actually be able to stand up right on his own. It was probably going to be a monumental disaster, Chris thought, imagining that Reggie would humiliate himself by violently vomiting mid-proposal, or possibly passing out face first in her waiting, ample cleavage. Chriss booze-soaked mind relished the amusement such stories would bring later, providing either of them could remember this night the next morning. Sitting back in the booth, Chris turned to look out the window. Seize the day, he murmured as his eyes slowly began to shut. For a moment, one loud, confusing moment, Chris became vaguely aware of pain, and noise, and then nothing. It was the feeling of being jostled as the paramedics lifted him into the ambulance that stirred Chris from the darkness that had enveloped him. Everything hurt, or felt like it should hurt. The sound of the sirens was piercing over the din of people dashing back and forth. The side of his face felt blazing hot, and was covered by bandages. Through his other eye, almost puffed shut, Chris caught a glimpse of the La Luna lounge through the gap of the ambulance door. Or at least, what was left of it. A great mass of smoke and fire, fire fighters desperately trying to put out the blaze with fire hoses. The ambulance door shut, and darkness consumed Chris once more. It was weeks before Chris could get out of the hospital. The explosion had come from a homemade bomb planted in the bathroom. Chris remembered the blank feeling of incomprehension as the doctors explained what had happened. Apparently being unconscious had spared his life, making him as relaxed as possible. The explosion had blown out the display window, and Chris had been ejected well out of range of the blaze. His left leg would never work properly again, nor his left eye, which had been gouged out by an airborn shard of glass. But at

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least youre alive. The doctor added as he patted Chris consolingly on the shoulder. Seize the day. Was all Chris said before turning to look out the hospital window, losing himself in thought.