I set down my empty coffee cup.
“AND?!?” Alicia looked offended. “What’s next??”
“What’s next?” I asked.
I looked down at the offending cup.
“I need a real drink,” I answered.
She turned her wrist and displayed an expensive looking watch.
“Already? It’s not even noon.” She looked at me somewhat perplexed.
“Yes.”
“Very well.” She got up and went to the mini bar.
“What would you like? There’s shooters of anything bottom shelf.”
I laughed.
“No, no. A real drink,” I responded.
“That bad?” She gave me a sympathetic look.
“I’m sure you’ve done your research. You should know.” I slumped back in the couch.
She shrugged in response.
“If I knew everything, I wouldn’t need you to tell me,” she stated.
“Come on, I know just the place.” She grabbed a coat and headed for the door.
Of course she did. I followed her out.
The air was just as cold today as it had been last night, but I reveled in it. It made me feel alive. The bite it offered reminded me I wasn’t invulnerable. Almost, but not quite. While I might not be able to get frostbite, I could at least sense the cold.
Retelling my story was bringing up all sorts of feelings I hadn’t been prepared for. This past life wasn’t so long ago, but the latest events had numbed my mind and body.
Talking through it all with Alicia made it feel real all over again. But in a different way, as if I was reliving someone else’s life. Like I was sharing the story of a book I’d read, or movie I’d watched, not my own. The feelings were all strong but disconnected. I could examine them separately from the circumstances that had created them. Pull them apart, see what made them, and put them back into their boxes. No longer little nightmares to be avoided at all costs, but exhibits in a museum.
Still, I needed a drink.
Alicia led the way, only this time she hailed a cab. Guess this place was farther than the last few.
We both got in, and she gave the driver an address. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pin it down. Had I heard of that street before?
Much to my surprise, our car ride brought us right back to where she had found me.
“Here we are,” she declared as she got out. “The best place I know to drink and wallow in misery!” She nudged me hard.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Touché, Alicia.
We entered, and thankfully it was a different bartender than from two nights ago. Otherwise I was sure the cops would be on their way the moment we stepped through the front door.
Alicia ordered a screwdriver, and I asked for two shots of bourbon and whiskey. The drinks were made good and strong, even if the glasses were a little sticky.
I took one of the shots, and Alicia took a sip of her drink and coughed.
“Good?” the bartender asked.
She answered with a thumbs up, her other hand covering her mouth. It appeared this bartender knew his audience; anyone showing up to a dive bar this early was looking for something strong.
Alicia reached for the second shot, but I snatched it up first and took it. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing. I ordered another three drinks, and we took the booth in the back I had occupied just a few nights ago.
“Mmm, day-drinking,” she said as she set down her glass. “Nothing quite like it.”
“Indeed.” I finished my fourth.
“Hopefully that’s enough to get you through,” she replied sardonically.
“It will have to do,” I sighed.
I pondered the half-full whiskey glass. I could feel the alcohol burning in my stomach, my limbs lightly numbing, and poor decisions dancing through my mind. Perfect.
I looked around the bar. There were only two other patrons. Both looked like regulars. A grizzled man at the end of the bar seemed to be several beers deep. He was staring into his half-empty mug and rocking slightly in the chair.
The other customer was in a booth by himself. A single drink and his smart phone sat on the table in front of him. Perhaps on a lunch break during a particularly stressful day. No threat, though. No one paid any attention to us.
I turned back to Alicia.
“Right. Where was I?” I continued my story.