How Did You Know? Ch. 02

To add insult to injury Beth goes from doe eyed, sorry I did that, to an escape artist.

“Dad, I really gotta go, Beck, you gotta sec?” Beth is tugging Becky’s arm as they head to the ladies room. Now I think Beth means she’s gotta go to the bathroom. Reality is she’s leaving the bar and me alone with Becky. ‘Course I don’t realize that right away, I’m concentrating on finishing this shot of whiskey, and trying to figure out if it’s number four or five.

A minute or so later Becky slips onto the stool Beth had been sitting on. I look at her and wonder why her face is out of focus, but say nothing. She’d probably be embarrassed if I brought it up.

“Phil, you doin’ okay?” Becky asks.

I shrug my shoulders, not trusting my voice; which seems to have lowered an octave and my tongue keeps tripping over itself. Lord, I’m not liking this a bit, so I turn around in the direction of the ladies room wondering where Beth is. Looking through the glass entrance door to the outside, I see Beth back away from the curb and pull onto the street. Well that’s weird, I thought we were in the middle of talking about something, and now I can’t remember what it was. Puzzled I turn back to Becky and smile. Well, I tried to smile, but it’s my twisted boy-am-I-fucked up smile, and Becky is now pretty much in tune with how tuned I am.

“Where’d she go?” I slur to Becky.

“She had an appointment for her hair, but she said you knew that.”

I shrug again; give her a half twisted smile, and throw the remains of the shot glass down my throat. I fumble in my shirt pocket for my cigarettes but I can’t find them. Funny, had ‘em a minute ago. Becky taps my shoulder and points to the bar. There lays the pack with the lighter on top.

“Ops,” is all I can manage to say.

Becky orders a beer and pulls a pack out of her purse, extracts one and using my lighter, lights us both. I nod my thanks and tap the shot glass on the bar. John saunters over to where we’re sitting and asks me if I’m sure. Well, hell no I’m not sure, but I nod anyway and he fills it up, puts it in front of me, and walks away shaking his head.

“Phil, you shouldn’t be doing that you know.” Becky says.

I look at her with evil in my eye and give her my best ‘mind-your-own-business’ glare and push the shot down my gullet in one swift move. Well I thought it was swift, but either the glass had a hole in it or my lip did ‘cause a whole bunch of it spilled down my chin and onto my shirt.

“That’s it, you’re going home.” Becky says, and gathers her purse, takes one last sip of beer, and hops off the bar stool. Then she takes me by the arm, stuffs my cigarettes into my shirt pocket, grabs my keys and marches me to the door and out into the parking lot.

I start heading in the direction of my truck and Becky pulls hard on my arm.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m driving you home.” She says, and steers me to her car, which in my opinion is too damn small, but I’m not arguing. I don’t like pissing women off, and this little stick of dynamite looks close to being pretty pissed so I’ll just be a good boy and go with her.

A moment later we’re headed down the street and before I can make sense out of where we’re going and why, we pull into my drive way. Beck helps me out of the car and while I’m fumbling in my pockets for the keys as we approach the door, she puts my key in the lock and opens it. Oh yeah I’m thinking, she took them at the bar and smile at my good memory.

I should be starting to sober up but I’m not, and going up the stairs into the house I’m struggling to keep my feet under me. I’m getting more snotted by the moment and instead of allowing me to sit at the kitchen table, Becky heads me down the hall and ends up setting me on the bed. The room’s closing in on me as she kneels to remove my boots. Looking down at her I notice her sweater hanging low and I’m staring at a real nice set of boobs. Now understand I like full breasted women, but these little twins are looking up at me and I’m fascinated by them. Unfortunately I no sooner had that thought than Becky looks up, sees where I’m looking and for one swift second I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or pleased I’m staring.

I decide she’s pleased as she resumes her position and goes about getting my socks off. She stands up then, and putting both hands on my shoulders, gives me a slight push. I’m flat on my back now and before I can struggle to sit up, Becky comes aboard the bed, knees straddling my hips, one hand on each side of my head, her face inches from mine.

“Phil, what the hell are you doing?” She asks. “It’s early Saturday afternoon, you’re so drunk you can’t walk, and Beth’s scared to death.”

I don’t reply. It isn’t that I don’t want to; I can’t. If I opened my mouth right now I’d start crying, I know that as surely as I know I’m lying in bed with this gorgeous creature hanging over my face, her eyes filled with concern and tenderness. As it turned out, I didn’t have to open my mouth, I started crying without a word coming across my lips.

Becky dropped onto my chest and held me. It wasn’t sexual; on the contrary, it was probably the nicest thing anyone had done for me since my wife died. She just held me, squeezed me tight in her arms, and nestled her face into my neck. She kept saying over and over “Its okay, it really is okay. You cry all you want.”

I’m lying there dying a thousand slow deaths. My misery from Polly’s dying, what had happened between Beth and I, my inability to get through any of it on my own, and way off in the distance this lovely woman keeps hugging me, telling me it’s going to be okay, and I’m wanting so desperately to believe her.

Well, at that point, with my sanity completely gone; I black out. Maybe I did other things, I don’t know, but it was the last conscious thought I had. I just wanted to believe her; I desperately wanted to know that everything would someday, be okay.

I should tell you something. It’s important for all I’ve said and for the rest I’m about to tell you: I’m not good at drinking whiskey, not a chance in hell. Beer I can take all day long, and while I get drunk, I remember everything. Whiskey knocks me on out as surely as Cassius Clay did Sonny Liston all those years ago before and long before he became Mohammed Ali. But the bad thing about my drinking whiskey is that I continue to function long before I pass out. I have blackouts about all of it, and so mostly I stay away from whiskey. I’m a beer guy plain and simple. What went on after Becky reassured me everything was going to be okay I have no recollection; it was the waking up part that blew me away.

How long I was out of it and sleeping, well, I have no idea, and as I drag myself out of that dark pit I’d fallen into I’m beginning to wonder where the hell I am. My head’s throbbing, my mouth tastes like I’ve been licking pool tables, and I’ve got my arms wrapped around warmth. Now that sensation snaps me to.

I loved being married, making love, cuddling, waking up with a warm body next to me, and all the things that went along with it. But I know as I’m snapped awake that this isn’t my wife. I’ve grown accustomed to her being gone and waking up right now I know this is someone else.

The hall light is on, and the bedroom is dimly lit, so I can see and as I start to focus I’m finding myself in an unusual position. I’m way down on the bed, my arms wrapped around someone’s legs, and she’s lying on her back. Whoever it is is sound asleep and oblivious to my being awake. She’s thrown her arm over her face so I can see a chin, but not a face. My eyes begin to focus and I’m within inches of her crotch. Now I’m startled, because as I look at her pubic hair I see something I can not believe. There, just below what would be her bikini line is a tattoo. It’s that damn rose I’d seen before, small and petite, curved toward the center of her and a brilliant red to boot. Oh my God, it’s happened again. I glance up toward her face again and I see nipple rings on her breasts. How in the fuck does anyone justify this? I can’t; I can’t even contemplate my confusion as my stomach makes a sudden maneuver to get sick. I leap out of bed and head to the bathroom thinking I’m not going to make the last five feet before my gut empties itself of god-knows-what.

Beth, how the hell you could do this is beyond me, I’m thinking as I open the toilet, fall to my knees, and eject everything my stomach had in it. Oh sweet Jesus, I’ve gone there one more time and now I’m a candidate for the rubber room. Take me away, lock me up, throw away the key, but just before you throw it away, neuter me, because I don’t ever want to be able to have sex again; no way, no how!

TO BE CONTINUED