"Look Miss, I'm going to have to cut you off soon."
I looked up at the man with the voice and nodded my head in understanding. I knew he was right, so I didn't argue. Realistically he should have cut me off a long time ago. Perhaps the moment I sat down he should have looked at me and said. . . "No way, lady you are already too far gone." But he didn't. After all, when I walked in I wasn't drunk, I was sober. I wasn't shaking, or staggering, or even muttering words incoherently. With the exception of the red eyes, puffy nose, and tear stained cheeks, I looked like a woman who had her senses in tact. I didn't though. My senses were on the edge of devastation.
He poured another shot of something into my glass. I say something because I told him I wanted to be numb when I left, told him to call me a cab when it was time to leave and told him to serve me the strongest thing he had and then walk away. This man didn't know me. No one in this city knew me. I was there alone. I shouldn't have come here alone. I shouldn't have told myself. . . "You can do this by yourself. No matter what the doctor says, you can do this alone." I was wrong.
Another swallow of burning amber slipped down my throat and then it happened, the bliss was there. If you have been in this situation you know the feeling. . . the feeling where nothing exists. I reached it. I was numb. "Thank you Jesus," I muttered quietly.
"I don't think he's listening," a voice whispered in my ear.
I had my eyes closed and I thought to myself, "No shit Sherlock." But I didn't say it. I opened my eyes and turned to the left to stare at the man beside me. "Can I help you?" I asked, unafraid to show my hostility to the stranger. How dare he interrupt my conversation with myself.
"No, but I think I can help you?" he told me.
I chuckled. It felt foreign, this laugh I gave him as I watched his eyes move across my face. I turned away and finished another drink. I waved the bartender over and he sighed. "Ma'am I. . ."
"Give her one more Doug, it'll be her last one tonight. I'm off duty, but my cab is outside and I'll take her home," the voice beside me said.
"Good idea," the bartender muttered and poured me another. "She's fucked up, but I don't know why."
"Yeah, I've been watching," the voice said back.
I sat there listening to them talk about me as if I was so far gone my hearing was impaired. No, it wasn't. I could hear everything. I could still hear the sound of the man who'd ruined my life in my head, even now that I was numb.
"Missus Croft, I wish you had brought someone with you. It isn't my policy to give this kind of news alone."
I took a drink.
"She's maybe got six months."
A hot tear welled up and another swallow went down.
"At her age, this type of thing just. . . well. . . it just moves so fast through her system. If we'd caught it earlier than maybe. . . But she's young and her body just isn't able to fight this."
I see the bottom of the glass.
"I'm sorry. . .Let me call someone for you."
One last swallow empties the glass cylinder and destroys my life.
"Lady, it's time to go," the voice beside me said with great authority.
I turned and looked at him. "You drive a cab?" I asked.
"Yeah, I have for thirty-five years."
"That sucks," I told him.
"It has its days. Come on. I'll take you home," he answered.
"He's got my keys, though," I pointed to the bartender.
"No, Doug gave them to me already," the voice said and then he grabbed my arm.