13. Pack up your troubles…
Walking slowly back to the café Ben felt dead inside. His self-conscious had warned him and he hadn’t taken the slightest bit of notice. Now he was the sorry wreck it had warned him he’d be. The humiliation he felt was beyond words, beyond emotion, beyond expression. At this moment he felt a bottle of scotch and a loaded gun would be the perfect end to his misery. Deep down though he knew he couldn’t do it, how could he leave Barney an orphan, left to wallow alone in dirty, unchanged water? The poor little fish would be heartbroken, wondering incessantly why his owner had just left him to die. He also owed it to his friends, Jose had warned him after all and finding him sitting rigidly on a chair with his skull blown away would kill him. Even if he meant nothing to women he meant a hell of a lot to this community and he’d be damned if he was going to give up his place just yet. The scotch still sounded good though. Dragging his feet behind him he eventually made it home, heading instantly for the backdoor, his mind screaming for silence. Crawling onto his bed he lay flat on his back determined not to cry, not to sleep, not to think. Crying would mean sadness, and sleeping would mean dreams – dreams of a girl he could not have. Thinking meant existing and that was the worst possible thing he could think of doing right now. Hoping to fall into meditation with his eyes closed he lay back, his determination pushing his darkly thoughts out of his mind. Inevitably as soon as his head hit the pillow he fell unconscious, drifting in and out of a dream like state, his dreams haunted by visions of his future.
The smell hit you first, so stale and musty it reminded you of a mixture between a museum and a back street alley. Unforgettable connotations of urine and body odour flooded your mind as you walked the length of a narrow hallway flanked by framed photos of cats. Unaware of just what you were going to find in the front room you pulled your white suit nearer, desperate for any bugs roaming in this flat to stay just where they were. The air felt cold, like the heating had been off for a very long time, longer then weeks, months even. Bracing yourself for the unknown you initiate the holy sign the Son of God died on, miming the path of a cross. If god couldn’t protect you here, no one could. Opening the door you step into a room of horrors. Flat on his back a morbidly obese old man lay on a soiled, bright yellow sofa, several holes clearly visible in the underside of the fabric. Beneath a sea of dirty belongings and mewing cats, lay a bare wood floor, stained from years of use as a litter tray for the animals. The room stunk, in the truest sense of the word; it was a smell that would remain with you for years to come, a mixture of death and excretions. Gagging on the bitter inhalations you walk towards the man see he is holding a notepad in his limp fist. He couldn’t have been dead long, a few days at the most but decomposition was already settling in, the skin on his face rigid and taut. Shuddering you pull the notebook out of his hand, glancing at the last entry on the page:
Dear salvation,
Life never really became what I wanted it to, in all my years I had wished for a family. I never got it… eventually the coffee shop became my family but in the end even that ceased to trade. Starbucks, the flash shop that could offer a customer everything, they stole my heart. It tore me up to see my shop gone like that, boarded and desolate, a bit like me really. Too bad Ben, there are losers in life and you’re one of them. Not once did I quit on life. Not once and still it came back and bit me on the bum! Women were my downfall… cats became my life…
Screaming Ben woke from his drunken haze. The room was dark, the furniture swarmed in a torrent of darkness that he feared his dream still lingered in. Blinking he struggled to focus, his vision was blurry, his heart still racing from his glimpse into an unimaginable future. It had seemed so real like he really was the dead guy in a seedy, downtown dung hole.
Feeling his stomach lurch Ben jumped to his feet, the alcohol had finally taken effect. Stumbling out of the bathroom he sat down reached for the bedside phone and dialled Jose’s number. Several rings occurred before José reached for the phone, his mind worrying who would want to call at this ungodly hour.
“Hello?” he said sleepily. “Joseeeee.” Ben slurred.
Jose blinked worriedly, it wasn’t often Ben was drunk as a skunk, what was up with him? “Ben, are you okay? What are you calling for?” José asked gently.
“Well to be perfectly honestst I am feeling a little bit out of sorrtss right now. I made a complete fool out of mashelf earlier, you were right yet again José. Mr I know evreything.” Ben said miserably.
“What did you do Ben, what happened?”
“Welslh she threw it in my face, everything, it didn’t mean a thing. Bashically she thinks I’m a fat piece of work, she didn’t even admit to it happening… gods am I really that bad!” he said sadly.
Jose felt anger rising inside of him.
“She denied it because of what you look like? Is that what you’re saying Ben?” Ben laughed.
“Yesh that is what’s I’m saying stoopid. I even bought her nice white roses, cosht a bomb they did and she wouldn’t even look at them… it hurt José, it really hurt. So soon after Fraschecia I get knocked down again.. I really thought it had meant something Joshe, it looked that way… but then I’m just fat aren’t I. That’s all I’ll ever be.”
Jose had feared this would happen but even so it wasn’t right, it was downright wrong. That Lola may be pretty but she definitely had no heart. To diminish such a heartfelt gesture with such despicable actions made him question the very existence of human nature. What right did she have?
“Ben I’m sorry. I really am, all I can say is I hope she sees what a mistake she’s made.” Jose muttered.
“Yesh, don’t we all, never minds Joshe, never minds, plenty more sharks in the sea. Haha! Anyways I best let you sleeppp goodnight joshe.”
“Night Ben.”
With that both receivers went down with a soft click.