The few stars in the sky glittered like diamonds as I walked home. I could have called a cab, but it was a warm summer evening, and I needed to blow off some steam. Besides, the moon hung high and full in the sky, casting an ethereal glow around me; at least, it was when the occasional street lamp at the intersections didn't spoil it.
I knew roughly where I was when I stumbled across a seedy looking twenty-four-hour liquor store, it's neon sign and lit facade glowed like a torch in the night, casting eerie shadows onto empty darkened buildings and cars silently rusting on the curb. I suppose I could have passed without looking in, but there was a certain undeniable charm about the place, I suppose, that drew me closer. It wasn't like I had anywhere to be soon, anyway, and I was curious.
I passed through the formidable security barrier and smiled at the small woman behind the counter reading a book on Chinese astrology. I was rather surprised; it wasn't as seedy inside as I thought it would be. There were the racks upon racks of wine bottles, and surrounding them were the shelves filled with proper liquor and spirits. The background music was soft jazz, and I wandered around the place, looking at the bottles, chuckling at the prices here and there. I confess, I wasn't an alcohol snob in anyway; my preferences ran more towards cheap, plentiful, and alcoholic enough to do the job without killing me outright.
I suppose that an alcoholic had a similar outlook as I did, and while I might have been accused of borderline alcoholism on occasion, I tried to limit my indulgences to once a year things. Usually for my birthday, but as I wandered around the shop I started to feel the craving, and my birthday was months away. Which is why I found myself cradling a jug of cheap vodka in it's massive plastic bottle like a newborn as I approached the counter.
The cashier looked at me once, her eyes flicking over me before she hammered something into the cash register keypad, sending it into a whirring, clacking fit. "Ten dollars even, yojimbo." The woman asked over the noise of the machine, her voice a warm soprano with a slight Boston accent.
"Wanna check my ID?"
"Nah. You're old enough, and you're Libra trending towards Scorpio. You're an artist of some kind, I suspect non-tactile, and you're of a lower income bracket, you're going home, and are fascinated by other cultures. Did you know that Emperor Himiji outlawed the carrying of swords by the samurai?"
"Um, no." I said, looking around, "But how did you figure all that out?"
"Oh you're very easy to read. First, you walked around the room looking at bottles like you were in a museum, but didn't touch them; you're buying a bottle of cheap vodka when there were better, but more expensive ones around it; you're alone and from the way you're costume's rumpled, I'd suspect you were coming from some party; and the costume's a good replica of Toshiro Mifume's character in Seven Samurai, which is esoteric enough to only be seen and liked by someone who's either a film major, or someone's who's fascinated by other cultures."
"That's... wow. What about the Libra?"
"My tarot reading said I'd meet a Libra and Scorpio today and help them with their problem; those wounds on your arm don't look self-inflicted, or defensive, so you were in a fight of some kind. Ten dollars, and what's your problem?"
"I, uh... you know this is excessively odd, don't you?"
She smiled, "Of course it is, but my therapist said to embrace the oddness of life, to ride the wave like a surfer. Did you know that there's a surfing Olympics every year?"
"Er, no?"
"Not a talkative person are we? Well, it makes sense; the cards said you're recovering from a bad relationship. Did you know that chemically, lust is just like being stoned?"
"I could see that. Er, I hate to talk and run, but I have to go."
"Of course. Here, take my card." She said handing me a rather professional looking business card. "I looked you up; the cards told me the next few days will involve chaos and life intertwined. Be careful, the specter of danger haunts you, you didn't turn a smile to it, so it's really angry now."
"Right." I said, handing the ten-spot over. What was it with full moons that never failed to bring out the crazy in people? I wondered as the woman bagged the bottle and handed it back to me.
"If you ever need me, that number's the way to reach me. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." She said, pointing at the card in my hand, "Oh, congratulations on your windfall, even if you don't want it."
Unsure how to respond, I smiled warmly and fled.
And with that, I thought surely, the rest of my night would be rather peaceful. After all, I had just had the weirdest experience of my life. But then the police accosted me twice on my way home for, I am only to guess, looking the way I did and carrying a paper bag at night. Which I took in stride, after all, it was right in line with the rest of the night so far.
But, despite the interruptions, and crazy liquor lady whom the alcohol fumes have obviously pickled her brain, the walk was good for me. By the time I arrived on my doorstep, I was more or less calm, and I was more or less over what had happened... or perhaps I was in denial. One thing I knew was that I didn't think Owen was going to be happy about this development, and that I wasn't going to get that free meal and money. I'm not sure which was worse, the loss of free food, or the loss of money. But I have to say that in all honesty, I stopped caring the second that dick showed up at the party with friends to 'talk' to me.
Yes, indeed, it was time and past time for a moment of reflection, after all, it had been years since my last bender, and I think after all that's happened this week, I was due for one again. I had some spare money and a week of free time; it seemed like a message from God himself to get my drink on and get busy pickling my liver. No more Ivy, no more Owen, just some peace and quiet spent in somber contemplation. I smiled at the thought as I opened the door.
As soon as the door closed, right on queue the phone started ringing. I didn't even bother to check the caller ID; I just unplugged the phone from the wall, charger cradle and all, and threw it hard across the room into the bed cushions. With a clatter of plastic, phone bounced off my pillow and skittered into a pile of stacked blankets, which made me feel a little better.
I stood, looking at the brown paper bag with the red plastic cap of the vodka bottle poking out of the wrinkled top for a minute before I sighed walked into the kitchen. I pulled my water filtered carafe out of the fridge, dumped the cold water into the sink, and poured the vodka in to be filtered, tossed the empty bottle in the trash, and put the carafe back in the refrigerator. "I hate my life." I muttered, closing the refrigerator door, and I was surprised to find that I meant it.
Physically, my legs ached from the walking, and I was tired, and I wanted a bath, and to change clothes, but emotionally, I just felt bad about today. After all, this night could have gone a just a
teensy
bit better. I had my reservations about going, but I did it anyway, and here I am. This should be object lesson about not paying attention to what you're guts telling you, I would think.
I sighed, just feeling bad. I opened the fridge to get some cold water, but remembered belatedly that I'd dumped it out just a second ago and replaced it with vodka, and that wouldn't be ready until tonight. Still, I wanted something cold and preferably alcoholic to drink, and the neat rows of beer and lager bottles lined up on the bottom shelf caught my eye. Ivy had probably lined them up carefully yesterday when she was cleaning, and that rather annoyed me for some inexplicable reason.
But the attraction of comfortable numbness was not to be denied, so I found myself roughly opening the crisper drawer and dumping the head of lettuce and tomatoes on the counter before filling it with as many bottles as I could cram in. The drawer, now heavy with bottles, cut into my fingers as I held it carefully, closing the fridge door with my foot, and staggering to the dining room table and carefully setting the thing in the middle with a clink of shifting bottles. I turned the chair so I could lean against the wall, and sat down. I felt like I was on top of the first hill of the roller coaster. I snorted cynically,
no time like the present...
Blindly grabbing a bottle with one hand, and the bottle opener in the other, trained muscle reflexes kicked in and the top came off with a satisfying pop. I flicked it in the in the general direction of the trashcan, but I heard it tink off the floor. I stared at the nodachi leaning against the wall, feeling like it
meant
something in some odd shape or form. Some piece of a larger puzzle barely glimpsed at. I toyed with the top of the bottle with my finger as I stared, my finger was wet, the rim was smooth, clammy, and cold.
Shit,
I thought remorsefully,
maybe I just needed to move on.
I didn't even check to see what I was drinking, I didn't really care by this point, I just brought it to my lips and drank greedily. The next three were inhaled the same way, the bottle hand simply handed the empty to the bottle opener hand, which put it on the ground as the bottle hand fumbled for another chilled bottle out of the drawer.
Personally, I don't know why I felt bad. Maybe it was residual adrenaline. Maybe it was simple guilt. Maybe I felt bad about getting into a fight, certainly master Chun wouldn't approve. Either way, I just wanted to be numb, and I wanted the day to just be
over
with as quickly as possible. I developed a good rhythm, but I started having problems hitting the bottle top midair with the bottle opener, and I had to start putting it on the table to keep it stable, which helped a for a while until that became a damn chore. Which annoyed me even more -- I just wanted to open a damn bottle, for heaven's sake, not perform open-heart surgery on a convulsing epileptic!
A little time passed, all too soon I found myself groping in an empty drawer, which exasperated me, because I'd only drunk a few bottles. I pushed aside the empty bottles around my feet and stood, unsteadily. And that's where it gets fuzzy. I remember opening the fridge door and pulling out a bottle, and I remember being irritated at leaving the bottle opener on the table, and somewhere between the fridge and the table, the floor came up and hit me in the face and everything went silent for a while.
The pounding of the door awoke me. I pressed my forehead against the cool floor, hiccupped, and giggled inanely; the sunlight streaming in through the windows felt like stabbing daggers in my eyes. I clapped a hand over my eyes and I moaned liked a damned soul. A very damned hungover soul.
