Rejection

It was soothing, the way the glass tumbler scraped as it slid across the marble bar top. The ice rattled as he brought the aged whiskey to his lips. Warming his blood as he swallowed he lowered himself onto the metal barstool, placing the empty glass before him. Another dimly lit bar, another smokey whiskey, another lonely night, this had been his life since he left home. He stared without expression or emotion, watching the ice crack and melt.

“‘Nother whiskey for you, sir?” He squinted at the silver name tag that hung loosely on the bartenders wrinkled vest and nodded. “Thank you, Tom.” He forced a smile as the bartender generously poured another serving of poison into his glass.

The room was filled with people blending in with each other. Shades of brown and black mixed with creamy white dresses, moving in rhythm throughout the room. Their laughter whispering into his ear was muffled by the dull sound of music coming from an old piano in need of retirement. Just like the lullaby he used to fall asleep to, the piano and the sounds of the bar calmed him as the warmth of the whiskey flooded his veins.

The music, people and his thoughts mixed like cheap spirits added to a generic cocktail, splashing and crashing together as they spilled into a freshly washed glass, garnished with some sort of color to add flair. Everyone knew they were being cheated, one way or another. Cigarettes and sour beer burned his nose, filling his lungs with a deep breath, whiskey tainted the air as he exhaled. He didn’t belong here.

The outline of the stairs flickered in the light of a dying bulb hung from the ceiling. Open and empty, the top floor held a small scattering of tables, a low railing kept most patrons from venturing upward. He wouldn’t have noticed the second floor, but flowing emerald fabric and milky white skin caught his gaze.

His tired eyes followed her movement. Everyone watched with a mix of admiration and jealousy as she made her way up the stairs. She carried a deep confidence as she moved through the room, expecting others to step aside, clearing a path as she walked.

She paid no attention to her surroundings, her gaze steady and unmoving. Men glanced in her direction and immediately dropped their eyes to the floor as she passed. There was nothing special about her physical appearance, but her presence commanded attention and that intrigued him.

There was a pause in the usual commotion and as quickly as one draws a breath the rhythm of the bar was once again restored. It was that pause, that moment that shifted his focus and left him wondering if it was the music skipping or her presence that allowed his mind to wander.

He wasn't a shy man by any means, he had no reservations about speaking to women, especially in a small town like this. He would never hesitate to offer a beautiful woman a drink and had practiced an introduction so well he could recite it in his sleep. He was a ladies man, a Casanova of sorts, but her presence left him with a feeling of uncertainty.

“Tom,” he paused, “I’d like to buy that woman a drink.” The bartender scoffed at his request, shaking his head. “Sir, I’m gonna make this easy for you and ignore that drink request.” He poured another whiskey, shining the bottle before placing it back on the shelf. “This one’s on me.”

“Sylas. You can call me Sylas, and I’d like to take that chance. I have money, whatever she wants, it’s on me.” He stood up and straightened his neatly pressed shirt, the metal stool dragging across the dirty floor. Tom rested his hands on the bar, shoulders hunched he let out a sigh of defeat. “She ain’t…” Sylas gestured for Tom to move closer. “I wasn't asking."

The bartender turned his back and shined a bottle of gin, a shallow sigh echoing as he disappeared into the crowd. Sylas watched as he made his way up the stairs and turned his focus to the rows of alcohol lining the back wall of the bar as Tom approached the woman, he didn’t want to appear too eager. It was only a few minutes before Tom returned, pushing two drunk patrons aside as he slid behind the bar, his puzzled look and silence toyed with Sylas' patience.

"She'll join you in the hour before closing.” Tom replaced the empty glass with a freshly poured whiskey, “That’s two hours from now, I reckon you’ll need a few more of these. And you’ll want to wipe that look of concern off your face before she catches a glimpse of it, sir.” There was a hint of frustration in the bartender’s voice. “And don’t ask me any questions, I don’t have the answers you’re lookin’ for.”

Sylas turned, resting his back against the bar he watched as patrons danced, their movements twisting in his mind as the music slowed. Not long into his wait a tall, slender woman approached the bar. She stood nervously to the right of Sylas, blocking his view of the woman he had been waiting patiently to see.

"I'm Kate." She let out a shy smile. "I've not seen you here before, thought I'd come see what you're about, sitting here so handsome." She twirled a finger through her wispy black hair.

Sylas liked the attention. By the end of the hour he understood that Kate was the spoiled daughter of a wealthy family. When her pretty face and friendly personality didn't charm those she pursued she would turn to her brother and his muscles. Had it been another night at a different bar, Sylas might have taken her home to enjoy everything the night had to offer.

Kate's brown eyes glistened as she moved her face closer to his. "So tell me, Sylas, what brought you to the bar tonight?"

"We're all here for the same reason, young lady." He brought his whiskey to his lips, hiding his annoyance.

Kate giggled, "which is it, love, lust, or loneliness?" Her brown eyes glanced at his left hand, "I'm guessing it's the latter for you?" She questioned, flirtatiously leaning toward him.

Sylas smiled. "No ma'am, I'm here for the whiskey." He didn't want to leave himself open to another long conversation. "Love is often lost on the lonely, especially when lust drives you to the bar."

Kate's response was cut off as Tom intervened, "Hey there Kate, 'nother beer for you?" Tom's voice crept between the two. Kate looked longingly at Sylas. "Put her beer on my tab." Sylas rolled his eyes, hoping Tom would intervene. He knew this game too well. "I'll have another whiskey, please." The bartender pulled a fresh mug from the ice bin and laughed.

"Kate, go find your friends and leave my patrons alone. I won't settle for you causing trouble tonight. Besides, this gentleman has business to attend to." He glanced in the direction of the second floor balcony. She sneered in Tom's direction, placed her hand just above Sylas' knee and winked. "Wouldn't you prefer to have a bit of fun before attending to whatever business you have?" She pulled her lips into a pout as Sylas let out a nervous laugh.

"My dear, I walked into this bar alone and that's how I intend to leave." Returning a wink, he finished off his whiskey, "the kind of fun I'm looking for isn't something a woman like you could ever hope to offer me." Sylas brushed her hand from his leg and turned to face the bar.

Kate squinted at Sylas as she straightened her stance, "Tom," she called out, "Tom!" Her voice carried an impatient tone, "I'll pay for my own drink! You know as well as I, only a gentleman is allowed to buy this lady a drink." Her eyes met Sylas as she spoke, a rage starting to build. "Besides, Sir, I wasn't offering anything, I wouldn't bother with a man like you. I prefer to spend my time with those that know how to have fun!" She pulled away from the bar in haste, allowing a splash of beer to skip over the edge of her glass, landing directly in Sylas' lap.

Laughter floated from the balcony and Sylas knew the woman in green had been watching him. A shade of red colored his cheeks as he glanced upward in time to see her smiling down at him. The moment was interrupted as Tom placed a dry rag on the counter next to him. “She ain’t nothin’ but trouble, that Kate, always getting patrons scuffed up by her brother when she doesn’t get her way. You did good to tell her off like that, but she fancies you and I’m sure ‘fore the night is over you’ll get to meet Ben and his two friends.” The bartender held up his fists and nodded his head. “Don’t worry too much, it’s more show than anything. He ain’t got the guts to fight with her up there.”

Sylas stood to wipe the beer from his trousers just as two men made their way to the bar, each man standing on either side of him. “Speak of the devil,” Tom placed his hands on the bar behind Sylas, “Ben, get your sorry ass out o’ my bar. I’m not dealing with your temper tonight and you ain’t getting any more beer from me.”

Ben stood to the left of Sylas, he was a short man, stalky and muscular. His clean shaven face was met with long sideburns that melted into his thick black hair. “My sister is crying over there. I’m guessing you’re the sorry fool that caused that nonsense.” Ben looked over Sylas, sizing him up as one would when preparing for a fight. “I don’t see any reason for a man like you to leave a girl that sweet in tears. And now, I gotta tell my old man why his princess is coming home from her night out in tears, make-up all over her face…”

Sylas cleared his throat, “your sister is drunk, she made her way through a dozen men before me, her advances toward me weren’t welcome. I found it in poor taste, the way she approached me. I entertained her for nearly an hour, left no impression I was interested in anything more than conversation. If your father would like an explanation, I’d be more than happy to provide him one.”

Sylas waited for a response. He knew men like Ben weren’t used to civil conversations. “I’ve been here for hours, watching people come and go. You know why she’s here. I also know that ‘Miss Princess’ calls to you every time her feelings aren’t validated, and as a gentleman I wouldn’t pursue a drunk woman. I’m only here for a few nights and I’d never take advantage of a woman in her state.”

Silence fell over the bar as Sylas cleared his throat, as he opened his mouth to continue he was interrupted by a woman’s voice behind him, “Ben, it’s time for you and that sister of yours to leave. I suggest you move with haste, my patience has worn thin with your family. Get out of my bar.”

Remember to Forget

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watched the sun fall behind the snow covered mountains through his small bedroom window. The room was lit by a single candle on the night stand to his right, where a torn paper seemed to glow under the deep black ink of the words, “I love you, I always will.” A drop of whiskey from his glass had spilled, smudging the word ‘always’. 

His bed was perfectly made with crisp sheets and pillows strategically placed the way she liked, his suit jacket strewn on the floor and his shoes placed neatly next to him. He breathed in deeply, keeping his gaze toward the bedroom door. There was a slight buzz coming from the electronic clock on the wall and the atomizer on his dresser filled the room with a subtle hint of honey and jasmine.

He could see them in his peripheral vision, two pills sat next to each other in a small silver bowl near the candle. 

“Take one to forget, one to live through it all over again,” the words of the hooded man echoed in his mind, “but be careful, choosing to forget isn’t the same as letting go and those memories can still haunt you. However, re-living memories can do things to your mind, they can trap you, and that bliss you feel can distort into misery in the blink of an eye. You may find yourself lost there. Choose wisely, my friend.” His voice seemed cold and distant giving him the impression he was speaking from experience, painful experience.

Closing his eyes, he drew the jasmine tainted air deep into his lungs, releasing tension and fear in a sigh as he exhaled. He stared at the capsules for several minutes before gathering them in his hand. The pills were strange, bigger than he was expecting and felt as if they were made of glass. He made a loose fist around both pills shaking gently, focusing on the musical sound they made as they bumped into each other. “Shake to activate, you’ll want to take them before everything settles to get the full effect.” 

Releasing them back into the silver bowl he was mesmerized, the contents inside each pill seemed to twirl and dance inside their capsuled prisons. The darker pill was filled with shadow, black smoke that swirled in little curls and the other seemed to emanate some kind of faint light, as if a galaxy of tiny stars had been stirred from a deep slumber. He brought them to eye level, one in each hand. “I don’t want to let go,” he whispered and placed the dark pill back in the bowl. Trembling, he picked up his glass of whiskey, the stones rattling in the liquid. 

“I don’t want to forget, not yet.” He swallowed and It was done.

Removing the rest of his clothes he wondered how long until the pills would take effect, or if he had just spent most of his paycheck on some kind of sick practical joke. He shook his head at his foolish decision. He was so eager to have some part of her back that he hadn’t questioned the man or the drugs he was hesitantly sold. Too many questions were left unanswered with no way back. 

The sheets were cold against his bare skin. He lay on his side of the bed, hers remained untouched, he couldn’t bring himself to remove her pillow. It was sick, the way he loved how her scent still lingered there. It had been weeks, or maybe it was months since she had slept there, her skin warming his as they lay wrapped in each others embrace. The whiskey flooded his veins with warmth and clouded his memory, his eyelids grew heavy and soon he was asleep.

“I don’t want to forget.” Those words echoed through him, spreading like an electrical current surging through his body, reaching every part of him. He woke slowly, a change that offered relief from the usual nightmare driven panic that had become normal lately. Blinking his eyes he tried to release the grogginess the whiskey had plagued him with from the night before. Something felt off, he wasn’t quite sure if he was awake or still asleep. His vision started to lose clarity and soon he was left with nothing, a blank canvas as he lay there, dazed. 

Again he tried to blink, but his eyes remained frozen, leaving him unable to determine if they were open or closed. He did everything he could to move, his heart beating heavily in his chest, skin moistened with small beads of sweat. An attempt to scream was for nought as his body betrayed him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, he couldn’t feel anything. He was numb, entirely. The struggle to gain control left him exhausted and soon he succumbed to the moment. He was fighting the memory he had paid such a high price to re-live. It was time, whether he was ready or not.

Even before fully waking he could sense her, feel her presence. She was there with him, again. Eyes closed, he reached for her, fingertips landing gently on her smooth pale skin. He wept. The woman he had loved so deeply and hurt so terribly was no longer lost amongst the thousands of people living in the city, she was his for just this moment. 

He hadn’t fully realized how much he longed for her, craved her, missed her. It tortured him. His inability to understand how much he needed her in his life was made painfully clear. He still loved her, still wanted her. He had lost her in his waking reality, but right here and now she was there and he wasn’t going to let any detail go unnoticed. He was addicted and she was his drug. Deep in withdrawal, the pills were his fix. He pulled her into him, inhaling as much of her scent as his lungs would allow, an instant high.

The memory played out just like a living movie, his view was omniscient allowing him to hear and feel everything as if it were happening again. As quickly as it had begun, the memory faded before morning. Once again there was nothing, darkness. 

Waking with a desperate fixation, he spent the day looking for anything that brought back memories of their time together. He needed another fix, he had to feel her again. Anything of value was sold, every penny held in his savings was cashed out and a meeting with the seller was set for mid-afternoon. He could afford 47 pills, 47 memories. 47 laughter filled days and nights of passionate love. 47.

The seller looked different in the grey winter light. He was taller than he remembered with a thick gray beard that seemed to curl in all directions. He wore a heavy leather jacket that smelled of beer and cigars. He had aged in a way that left his skin withered and harsh, but there was a softness to him despite his grungy appearance. It was the mans eyes, the way they looked through you and never at you, the way they pulled at your thoughts as if he could read them as easily as karaoke words on a dark screen in a dimly lit bar. He knew what was wanted before there was a chance to ask. 

They were gone and getting more would take a week, the deposit would be half of the price, the rest due during the exchange. The deal was made and 5 days were to pass before their next meeting. 

“Don’t forget to forget, son. That black pill is there for a reason. If you change your mind I’ll get your deposit back to you.” He couldn’t focus on his words. “LISTEN! Don’t forget to forget, you have to forget. You can’t hold her forever, you have to let go. Please don’t forget to forget.”

He had entered into a living hell. Driven to feel her again, his mind was completely off-course. He could’t focus on work, he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. It didn’t affect him, that first night he spent awake. The 4th night was the first time he had picked up the black pill. “Don’t forget to forget.” He felt himself breaking under sleep deprivation, mental exhaustion and hunger. He wanted his physical suffering to end, this madness he had found in searching for her was destroying him, but he wanted her, too. Sleep finally took him, darkness. 

Day 5 moved at a pace too slow for him and he found himself biting his nails, a habit lost with maturity. The seller stood with his back pressed against the same lamppost that lit the parking lot that first night, two identical briefcases stood on either side of him. The man explained that the pills were to be taken 24 hours apart, one to remember, one to forget. As he turned to leave, the seller grasped him firmly on the arm, pulling him closer. “Don’t forget to take the black pill, don’t get lost in your memories of her, they will destroy you. You’ll live in an eternal hell if you don’t let go.” Shaking from his grasp he laughed and walked off.

The cycle remained consistent for the first week. Wake up and take the black pill, before bed take the other. Sleep and remember, wake and forget. Remember to forget, over and over again. Life seemed to pick up where it had left off before his breakdown, work was great, he felt better than he ever had. Shortly he noticed the drugs weren’t working as well, they weren’t as strong and each night he was forced to end the memory before he was ready. Passing out from alcohol wasn’t enough and in a drunken stupor on day 8 he took two pills at once. 

His fantasy was restored and lasted nearly twice as long. He woke mid-day only to repeat the night before, skipping the black pill. He wasn’t ready to leave yet, he wasn’t ready to let go. His refusal of the black pill continued until that wasn’t enough. He figured each pill lasted roughly 8 hours, 8 hours of bliss, 8 hours of her. He had 30 pills left, it wasn’t enough, but it was all he had. And then they were gone, swallowed willingly with more than enough whiskey to put him back into her arms quickly.

An anonymous caller led them to him. Lifeless and cold, his body lay there, eyes open, holding the expression one gets when they’re searching for an answer to a heavy philosophical question. Screams of amazement echoed through his apartment as vitals were routinely checked, he was still alive. 

He still sleeps, they call it a coma, but some sense it’s deeper than that. His eyes open on occasion, that same look on his face. Some say they can see him in there, through his eyes. They say he’s not ready to wake up yet, they say he’s still holding on to whatever it was that hurt him. They say he just needs to remember. 

They say he’s losing time, and sometimes the nurses whisper to him, begging him to hold on, to pull through. They whisper words of encouragement, promises of a wonderful life. He’s still there, sleeping, stuck in his memories, slowly dying.

He needs to live to forget.

Changing Seasons

It’s that time of the year, when adventure starts to feel tired. Fall tickles the edges of the bright green leaves, leaving rust colored kisses that spread through the branches as never-ending days of summer give way to long star-filled nights. It’s about 7:00 on Saturday when I start think about you. It always starts with that laughter of yours and the way your forehead scrunches when you tease me. You were happy with me at one time, I knew by the way the little cracks settled at the corners of your eyes when you’d call me ‘baby’. I was all yours back then. Then I realize it’s way the heater smells after summer when you turn it on for the first time that steals my focus. I miss us.

I want to tell you I’m not crazy, but I can’t. I was crazy for you, I did everything you said even if it didn’t make any sense. I was your puppet, your toy, your good girl. The truth is I knew you and I would end like this. I knew from the beginning that forever wasn’t real to you. I knew you couldn’t love me for very long, and it was hope that maybe I wasn’t right about a man, maybe this time someone would break my losing streak. It was a selfish game of Russian roulette. I knew which gun had the bullet and I handed it to you knowing it would break me. I set us up for failure; I saw it and played the game anyway. I had too much passion, too much love and wanted what wasn’t real and you broke under the pressure of it all. I broke both of us that way.

It’s such a cruel and cold night and all I can think about is warming my fingers against your soft skin, and the way you smell like home. I’ve almost forgotten that smell even though it’s only been a few days. Soon it will be warm and the scent of new grass and fresh pine will calm my soul and the warm spring air will dry my tears. Summer will come with her warm hugs and the promise of new love, but Fall will be the time my heart will settle and I’ll be able to find strength in the memory that haunts me today.

It doesn't have to feel this way

I never thought it would feel this way, not like this. I thought being in love was supposed to be warm and soft, beautiful and strong with bits of passion and laughter. I thought it would be smiles that last for days and warm kisses on the cheek on cold nights when the snow seemed endless as the chilled air bit at the delicate edges of my ears. I thought it would be open arms and comforting words during times of self-doubt, encouragement when I didn’t feel I was enough. Maybe I’m too much of a romantic or maybe I dreamt a bit too big. I know it shouldn’t feel this way.

The truth is, reality is not kind or soft. Reality is not forgiving or understanding, there’s no promise of patience or hope.  Reality screams at us, “What you see is what you get!” That statement rings through the corridors of my mind, bouncing off empty walls and closed doors and settles here at my feet. I guess, I didn’t look close enough, or my vision wasn’t clear enough, or I didn’t take enough time to understand the full picture. Maybe, the full picture was never real and I filled in the empty spaces with hopes and dreams, locked inside the mind of a woman who never figured out how to stop feeling like a little girl. I’m not supposed to feel like this.

That was my first mistake, I held onto innocence I never had to begin with. The second mistake was holding onto pain because I was too afraid to feel anything outside of that, or maybe it was fear and that twisted comfort that comes from feeling the sting of salty tears burn raw skin. My thoughts try to calm me with words that feel plastic. Social media calls to me, offering its mind numbing medicine to keep that fake smile spread across my face. We’ve all painted this picture of lies. We’ve all fed the scam of what “real love” should be. We all secretly know, it’s not supposed to happen like this.

This morning I woke with a clarity I’ve never felt before. I sat in front of the water-stained mirror, focusing on small spots of shaving cream and toothpaste that escaped during your morning routine; the one that created your habit of pointing out all the reasons why I'm inadequate, the same routine that left me broken so many mornings that I lost the strength to look at my own reflection. But there she was, the person I covered up for you. There she was, smiling back at me with that same hope in her eyes, the innocence I used to carry. Right then and there, I found her in the midst of all the chaos; she held out her hand to me, beckoning with love in her eyes and promise in her sweet smile. And as quickly as she appeared she was gone, lost in the dozens of notifications buzzing from all of the social media apps calling for my attention. Devices that let society mold the reality that had allowed me to become so broken. It shouldn’t be this way.

I don’t blame anyone for the abuse, I don’t blame myself for allowing it. Society lied to me, to all of us about true love, about real struggle, about the raw and unforgiving nature of life. Society poisoned us and then willingly gave us the “cure”.  Society told us to expect, to assume, to grow up with a sense of entitlement, and then it scolded us for doing just that. It gave us the handbook on love filled with pages and pages of fables, painted in the colors of truth. Distorted representations of what life should look like were fed to us; when no one could live up to the unattainable standards set within the hundreds of rules that seemed to contradict each other, we started pretending. “Fake it ’til you make it.” So I did and I was great at acting. We all did, we all lied to ourselves and some of us were too naive to see the truth for what it was.

So I’m saying goodbye, and it’s not because I don’t love you or because I feel you’ve failed me in any way. I’m saying goodbye because I can’t pretend I’m fine, I can’t pretend to want the empty promises that toxic book offers, the same promises you’ve regurgitated time and time again. You know as well as I do, you can’t give me any of those things, because those "promises" weren't mean to be real. You don’t understand why you feel hollow all the time, but I do. You want your own version of love, one that’s written by you, one that is truly you. You’ll find yourself in my place one day, or maybe you won’t and that’s okay. I’m too smart to continue to fall for the cheap version of love we so readily accept, I’m worth more than that and so are you. I’m leaving this false world of fake love and I’m asking you to follow, when you’re ready. 

There are no rules to life and love shouldn’t feel like possession. Love should be free of conditions, that is how it’s supposed to be. 

Follow me and I promise to love you.