You have forgotten, havn't you?
Forgotten what?
Who you were.
Wait. What? Who I...
Don't worry. When you see it, it'll all make sense.
"John? Hey, John? You awake? Earth to John!"
He blinked his eyes. The dizzy blur of reality came flashing back to him, only not comfortably. Hands over his eyes, he shook his head, recovering from the shock.
"What the Hell happened to you?" There was a hand on his shoulder, sympathetic, concerned. "You suddenly just started babbling for a few minutes, and stared into space."
"Stared into space, yeah..." John looked down into his drink, the ice melting in his whiskey, hoping as if the myrid water that melted off the cubes started telling him what just happened. He murmured under his breath- yeah, sure, I'll find divine answers within a hard drink at a bar, that's smart- and sighed. Pushing his drink forward, he gazed at his hands, answerless.
What was he doing anyway? Sitting at a bar, drinking beverages in glasses Lord knows has what floating around in them. Do they even use a dishwasher here, or is it like one of those old time bars that the tender just spits and polishes them...
"John! Hey, buddy, man..." There was another pat on his back, and another sigh. Obviously concerned, his eyes wandered around, figuring out what was best, another drink being the best excuse he could think of. "Sheela? Another whiskey-" Not that alcohol was going to fix this problem, but it was all he knew.
Clueless. That about summed it up. Totally clueless. With no idea why he even showed up tonight- oh, now he remembered, Zeke told him to get out of the house and get some new air, how funny, a smokehouse of a bar being his valid definition for getting this air of his- and once more he stared into the drink.
It had been six months on his part. Long and grueling months of shredding through the crevices of his mind, finding answers to whatever life seemed to be throwing at him. A horrid breakup that in all reality wasn't that horrid;,a family that didn't listen all too much, work that was enjoyable yet not where he wanted to be. It didn't matter to him; all John wanted was to just forget the night and at least hope he can find a reason to have a good night.Probably for the best.
"Ezekiel?" questioned John, still gazing into the spirits.
"Yeah, bro?"
"Why the hell did you bring me here anyway?" Somehow, with a smile, he was able to tear his eyes from the shotglass as he spoke.
Zeke laughed, pulling his own mug closer to his arm, peeling the cheap napkin from the bottom of it, and took a sip. "You seemed bored. You have been lately."
Bored. That about summed it up. "Why to a bar though?" Hands gripped the sweating glass as he spoke, raising it towards the four walls around them- "Why to this beast of a joint? Couldn't you have dropped me off at The Side Door or something?"
John waited for an answer, glass in air, but only got a cheesy grin out of Ezekiel. "Figured you'd be an ass, as always."
"Only cause you half-asked. Half assed on the ask; wasn't that what she said Monday?"
"How did you know that? You weren't there." Second seat from the back. Third column. He was there, only John forgot. The whiskey was getting to him, and he knew better. Eyes rolled, face forward. There now was one man staring at another in slight disbeilef, and another staring into his drink in minor frustration.
"You know you shouldn't be drinking."
"And who the Hell are you to say what I can and cannot do?" John's eyes still clung to Zeke's face.
He left his drink on the bar after nursing it for a second, then met John's eyes. With two seconds pause, he raised his head, looking skyward, then looked down, shaking his head. "You're right. I'm nobody, go back to your drink."
That common lull that always happens when two friends argue, it hung heavier than cigar smoke in that bar. Two men, draining their seconds into their drinks, their eyes solemnly gazing into the alcoholic waters, well-wishing for either an apology, or a silent sign to forget the problem. Shame they both were horrible at that, letting things go.
"Was I talking earlier?" John tried to break the silence, knowing his question may be answered with a possible wise remark.
"Duh."
"No, not what I meant." An obvious answer, but he had to say it anyway. "I meant, when I blanked out."
Another one of those lulls. "Yeah. Not that I had any idea what you were saying. Hockey game was on." Turning his head, he apologized, "Sorry. You know how I am with hockey."
John took another sip of the whiskey in his hand, the sharp bitterness rolling over his tongue. He shivered, closing his eyes for a brief second, then set the fluid down, looking down into it, only to realize how little he's drank. Alcohol, he never really liked it. Too bitter. They always told him, "get a mixed drink, you barely can taste the alcohol." Wasn't that the point to liquor though, to taste it and know you're getting drunk? He didn't know, he hardly drank.
"Second time in life I've ever drank," said John. There was a bit of a smile to his face, one that barely showed, but a smile regardless. It was one of those, "Here I am trying to smile, though things seem kind of fickle at the moment" smiles.
Ezekiel chuckled, raising his glass to his friend. "Probably a good thing. Drinking never fixed any of my problems." A pause, then a floor look, then a look to the eyes, with sadness that bit John to his bones. "I"d have to say, I only drink because I'm lonely." Not that it made any sense to John, you're at a bar, tons of people around nursing their drinks.
Perhaps it was just a social, drown your sorrows together thing. He shrugged his shoulders at the thought.
Looking around, some of his soberness still with him, he took in the scene and tried to find sense within everyone here. The collective soul of the building, the understanding of putting down cash to sit in a miserable environment, filling your lungs with soilds and your stomachs with poisonous fluids. What was the reason?
Flash.
They don't know any better. This is what they know.
Why do they not know any better?
Because they havn't truly been told any better.
"Sugar? Hey, you okay?" The white faded from the world, colors flowing back into place.
"Huh. Yeah, I'm alright."
The woman, bartender rather, met John's sluggish look forward, and put on her best "I'm sorry, I don't know what to do" look. There was a sudden pain in his fingertips, drawing his attention downward.
The mass of whiskey had spread itself across the counter, shards of glass in his hand. Blood oozed out slightly from the pierced shards, gently dripping and mingling with the spirits on the counter, adding to the mess there.
"You were scaring the daylights out of me," she stated, running a nervous hand in order to push her hair behind her left ear. Her southern accent slurred her words, only making her sound even more frightened. "Face turned white, you spoke in something I couldn't understand, and the glass just..." Here's where she lost her words, unable to describe what happened. "...cracked."
He tried flexing his hand slightly, but the glass tingled in the open cuts. Curiously, John gently pried out one of the shards, gasping in slight pain, and set it down beside the congruent mixture of blood and alcohol.
"What did I say?" Fingertips rotated the shard as he spoke, slightly bewildered by the current state of events.
She reached under the counter, pulling her eyes from the mess before her, and moistened a cloth under running water. "I couldn't understand. It sounded German or something. European." Thin hands wrung out the rag, and she handed it to him, her eyes saying he should pull the glass out and clean the fragments in his hand.
"Ah! You've got to be kidding me!" Fists hit the counter, jarring the glass of alcohol Ezekiel left sitting there. "Fourth quarter and they finally got a shot in! Anahiem better... holy shit. John, dude."
John glared at Zeke. "You're not helping," he murmured, wincing as he pulled out another shard and set it on the countertop.
"I knew it. I knew taking you out would be a bad idea." With a close of his eyes, Zeke took the glass to his lips, and took a long swig, gasping once the drink was topped off.
"Dry cup," whispered John. Nothing quite close to his. The bartender caught him staring down at his own glass, or what was left of it, and started cleaning it up after reaching for another rag under the counter. A slight smile, a slight sigh. "Sorry about the mess."
She didn't hear him as she wiped up the liquids on the counter. John could almost swear he heard her sniffle slightly, catching a tear falling on the sheen of the surface.
"You know, you and your new-age crap is really starting to piss me off. Hippy be-kind-to-others, and you're silent all the damn time. I thought I'd take you out and maybe let you relax some..."
His ears rang deaf to him while he reached for his wallet, searching through his crisp bills. Twenty, fourty, that sounded about right. Money for the drink, money for the-
"Do you want me to call for a cab?" Red-cornered eyes were staring dead into John's, then back down at the counter. She looked back down immediately though, her eyes at her hands.
"No miss, its alright. I think I'll walk."
