Friday, November 30, 2012

The Spirit




It was hot today. His back was sore again and all he wanted was to waste time on his mattress at home and let the broken air conditioner try to cool him. But, like most days, his mind sent inherited electric signals telling him he wanted something else before he could go home, so he followed his craving towards the bar across the street from his loft. The Spirit is usually empty, save two or three lonely souls, and today was no exception. He recognized one of them, an older guy they called Toad. It wasn't his real name, but the way he crouched over his drink, slurping and coughing, earned him the name. He even more resembled his label at the end of the night when the alcohol hits him too hard and he turns a sickly green color as he's hunched over the bathroom's lone toilet. He drinks because his wife left him because he drinks because his wife hated him because he drank because his wife annoyed him. But nobody there knew that. Nobody knew anything about anyone at The Spirit. Rarely are words spoken there outside the drink order and that's why Tyler liked it.
The other patron was a women unknown to our protagonist. She sat at the bar, just one seat over from Toad, watching him with a cigarette in her mouth. She wasn't unattractive but she wasn't a girl you'd tell your friends about and Tyler began to wonder if she was a hooker. She was not. She did want to take Toad home, though. Do you have an extra cigarette? Her answer to that was lightly taking the lit cigarette from her mouth and gently placing it between Toad's lips. With a long inhale you can almost see his neck expand and she takes the cigarette back and smiles while she stares. Two streams of smoke slither out the nostrils of Toad like a clown pulling out two grey silk ribbons. The woman nibbled on the end of her thumbnail before taking one last drag and putting the cigarette out in her empty wine glass. She drinks to forget about her father, a man who drank to forget about his life. Tell me I'm pretty. And with a ribbit, Toad obliges and the fly moves in for a kiss.
Tyler looks away from this display of affection and sits at the bar seat furthest from the two of them, trying to keep his eye-line anywhere but there. The bartender makes his way over to Tyler and with a sigh asks him what he wants to drink. Whiskey neat. What the bartender looks like is not important, but you should know he inherited the bar from his father when he died from liver failure a few years ago. He doesn't want to be there anymore than Tyler does, but he, like Tyler, has no where else to go. When he hears a feminine laugh across the room, Tyler takes out his phone and pretends to be busy. He drinks because he lonely. He's lonely because he hates who he has become and shuts out everyone who cares too much about him. He drinks to fill the hole which should be filled by family, friends, and love. And as the alcoholic fluid can only fill that hole halfway he tries to fill the rest with women he doesn't really love but he shares his body with anyway. Then, when the rare occasion does present itself and he does find someone he could see himself caring about for more than one night, something always goes wrong and he finds himself back on this bar-stool thinking about whatever girl he can't get off his mind this month. He drinks because he is an artist and he hates his art. After this trip to the bar he's going to go home and sit on his couch staring at an unfinished painting that has been “nearly finished” for three years. He's going to hate what he sees and he's eventually going to paint the whole thing white and erase it like he sometimes wishes he can do with the rest of his listless life.
After a few drinks, Tyler has calmed down and can enjoy the cold that the bar has to offer. The only brightness comes from the single working wall-light and the orange accent lighting illuminating the bar and all of it's bottles. Toad and his fly are gone, replaced with another familiar face. She doesn't look twenty-one, but our bartender doesn't seem to care. He just wants to get her drunk enough to sleep with her one day, which still to this day has proved impossible for him. She looks kind, but she's not. She drinks to live. She usually patrons the bar down the street, The Dream, which is filled with people more likely to earn her a few extra dollars for this month's rent. It's only when she strikes out there that she'll make her way down to The Spirit. She has no real interest in sex or any relationship if it doesn't reward her with a financial benefit. Three shots of vodka, Kenny. Tyler knew all of this and hated her for it. Still, he was insistent on painting her, so whenever he had the opportunity to study Kayla, he would. Stressing his mind to remember every detail about her. The way her short black hair curled just below her ear revealing a small tattoo of a cross on the back of her neck or the way her blue eyes looked so calm in the glow of the orange light across from her. These moments of studious nature sometimes led to awkward eye contact, like it does tonight. But tonight, for the first time in the year that she has been coming here, she decides to talk to him. You have something to say to me?
Tyler doesn't answer; he just looks down at his phone again. Hey, so are we still on for dinner tomorrow? Tyler types. He doesn't expect a response until later tonight, and he won't get one then, either. But tomorrow morning she'll respond: Oh hey, I just checked my schedule, I have to work late again tonight. To which Tyler won't respond. I asked you a question, Tyler.
How do you know my name?
He knows her name, though, so why does it surprise him that Kayla knows his? Well, I just asked our friendly bartender here. I
t still didn't make sense to Tyler because he doesn't remember ever telling the bartender his name. Oh.
That's it? Oh?
Kayla stands and if Tyler was looking he could have seen her entire body profile in that tight fitting black dress she was wearing, which ended just below her knees presenting her slim calves giving way to the fragile ankles wrapped in shiny black heels. With the grace of a ghost she makes her over to him and sits down. There's a silence but Kayla doesn't seem to mind Tyler's awkwardness. She takes this time to study his features. She liked his sharp nose and his tired eyes glazed with a layer of whiskey; she liked the wrinkles around his eyes from when he used to smile. Hey, she asked you a question, man.
The bartender is suddenly standing across from the two of them and Tyler looks up with a blank face. Hey, Kenny, did I ask you a question? Why don't you leave us alone.
With a shake of his head, Kenny picks up a wet towel and begins to wipe down the bar. Sorry about that, babe.
Tyler can smell the vodka on her breath and he closes his eyes letting memories flow through him. He likes the smell. It reminds him of his freshman year in college when he couldn't even meet a girl without that smell on her breath. It's fine.
The following silence grants him a moment to think about why she would bother talking to him. She never has before and she's definitely caught him looking at her before. So? What did you want to tell me?
I don't think I really had planned to say anything.
With a hand covering her mouth she laughs and flips her short hair. She must have had a tough month to be fishing in this bar for rent money. Come on, Tyler, I see you staring at me all the time and I know it's not because you're a creep. Your eyes are way too kind.
That's the first thing Kayla said out of the ordinary. It's just out of place for her routine to mention something so personal about a man, but at this point she was just trying to get him to talk to her. I'm pretty sure I'm not a creep. A smile forms on both of their faces. Listen, I'm sorry if I was bothering you. I do have a reason, which, I mean, won't make it any less weird.
For the first time, Tyler gets an up-close look at Kayla's eyes, and what he once thought were burning blue became a cold, empty grey and he wasn't sure if he liked it. I'm sure you have a great reason. Whatever it is, I don't mind. His teeth gently bite his bottom lip as he debates with himself if he should tell her or just make fabricate something else. And upon making his decision, he tells her about the painting. An unfamiliar warmth briefly washes over Kayla. She's taken back, flattered and intrigued. There's a confusion there, as this is the first time someone has made her feel valued. But these feelings of hers can be visually misconstrued as being offended. I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have told you.
The rest of his drink is gone with a gulp and he tries to get up but is stopped by Kayla's cold hands. She sees this as an opportunity. Can I see it?
So they sit, after a hesitant yes, on his thrift store couch, staring at a painting that sparks two very different thoughts between the two of them. While Tyler wonders what Kayla is thinking about, she tells him it's beautiful. I love it. Have you ever sold anything before?
Once, back when I first got out of college. This one has taken me a long time, though.
A smooth leg slides across his lap and Kayla now sits facing Tyler's broken face. Her hand passes over the stubble on his cheek to the back of his neck. An ecstasy washes over Tyler as her bitter lips touch his. It has been years since a woman this beautifully dangerous has showed an interest in him.
The window next to his mattress permits the twilight to highlight the curves and ripples on Kayla's smooth young body, the lean muscles twitching in the dusty moonlight. She controls the experience. Placing his hands where she pleases. After five minutes a look of surprise washes over her face as she experience an honest delight not normally felt during her job. She takes this unanticipated moment to indulge in some sexual pleasure that is far too rare among the rich men she usually takes home. She allows her self to be washed over in this feeling. As her toes curl, Tyler sees what has been missing in his painting and he begins to await the morning.
They fall asleep together with the warm night air howling through the hard-working air conditioner. The morning leaving Tyler, once again, by himself. Kayla has left a note that only reads, Thank you.
He smells the note and it smells like her skin. With thoughts of the night prior racing through his mind he puts a pair of faded blue jeans on and walks to the kitchen. He pauses before he can reach the refrigerator and looks at the empty easel where his painting once lived, before he met Kayla. All of the questions about last night become clear to Tyler and he calmly puts a blank canvas on the easel. He grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey next to the easel and as he drinks he reconstructs the painting in his mind. With a dark red, almost brown, paint he begins to create two horns protruding from the imagined forehead of the beautiful siren who wrote that note. There, it's finished.
 Laughing, he sits on his couch and finishes the rest of the bottle. He drinks to erase himself. 

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