Small Things

 "What in the blue fuck are you doing here?' she asked. (I know it's either passive voice or shit gammar, but fuck you nazis). I peered across the booth at its newest occupant. "Trying to die of drink rather than thirst, why do you ask?" She snorted a laugh "Sully told me that he threw you out hours ago. He also told me that you come to this shit hole when you are slumming it, but he doesn't want you to know that he knows that." I let out  a small sigh, "And here I thought I could keep this place my dirty little secret. I guess you have no secrets from your bartenders. If you can't trust the person who gets you drunk on a regular basis, who can you trust?"

I shook my head in a vain attempt to clear it, if she was here things were a lot worse than I thought. Which, upon reflection, was not good. I was pretty sure that things were already a big, stinking pile of camel shit, and if it was worse than that, well brother I am fucked. I focused, it paid to focus around her, she was the type that didn't fuck around. The one (well the main one) that I never tried to coax into my bed because, truth be told, I was convinced I would somehow 'disappoint' her. The idea of her looking down at me, and saying "that's it, that all?", put the fear of a whole lot of gods into me.  

I had  never told her all of that, or if I had told her I was too drunk to remember, which amounts to the same thing in my book. "You've not been sober for 3 months, don't you think it is time you came up for some air? When was the last time you ate?" I pondered for a second, "what today is it?" She replied "it's Thursday." "If it is Thursday, then I would hazard a guess to say that I ate sometime after noon on Tuesday." She looked at me, "I figured as much, here." She pushed a bag across the table at me. The smell of actual food made my mouth water and sick at the same time. 

"I'll sit here till you eat at least half of it, so you might as well tuck in slim." she said with a smile. I had seen that smile before, it was the one she saved for the moments she was trying to convince a group of people that she was right. I tucked in like a good boy, and said "this might make me throw up you know?" She nodded "it might, but I am counting on your stomach being made of sterner stuff." I started to eat reluctantly, "fair play to you, but if I am here I don't expect to see anyone I 'know'." She smirked at me,"don't you think I know that you stupid son of a bitch? I am not here to drag you out of the stews. I know you'll either do that on your own, or I'll be the chief mourner at your funeral. I am here to let you know, that in spite of your best attempts to alienate all of us, you still have at least 3 people on this planet that want you to stick around."

She had once threatened to cut my head off, and send it home to me mother in a box,  so I knew that she didn't do a lot of mincing of words. I waved over the waitress, and ordered another pint of the slop they served here, after a certain amount of beer it all began to taste the same.  I got my new pint, held it up and toasted her, "here's to poor life choices." She clinked my glass with hers "oh, your latest poor life choice is right over there." She pointed to a booth in the back, "I was just the scout of the battalions of troubles that were coming your way tonight sweetheart." I followed her hand despite my over served state, I could see the person she was pointing to, it was a vague outline but a distant glance was all I needed to see who she was pointing to. "You can't be serious, her? here? that is just cruel." 

She nodded "sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. you'll recognize the quote won't you Shakespeare?" I sighed, I knew when I was beat. "Yeah, you bitch I do, go tell my next playmate I am ready for her to eviscerate me." She stood up "I wish you luck Shakespeare, I really do." 

ave atque vale lupus

 To again steal, this time the correct line from Camus, "Mama died today." Of course, there are two small problems with that statement. One, she died last Thursday, and two I didn't find out till two days later. Also, I guess problem three would be this post is about a week late for the quote, much like her, I am not perfect.

I am also not Camus' Stranger, I am not going to wander off, stare a lot at the sea, and eventually kill an Arab. I don't really go in for murder as a general rule, and I don't have anything in particular against Arabs. Either way, my mother, otherwise known as "The Wolf that Raised Me" is dead. I was told afterwards by her brother that she didn't want me to know she was dying. Not to save my tender feelings, she knew me well enough to know that I don't possess tender feelings, but as perhaps one last act of a mother's guilt. She said that if I couldn't visit her while she was alive, what difference did it make if she was dead. Truth be told, I was 'read' out of the family a long, long time ago, and I didn't go see her. I spent 25 mostly awful years in the shithole county that the Wolf called home, and I felt I had done my time. I could have actually murdered an Arab, or anyone else for that matter, and done about that much time in prison, and that county was a prison, at least for me. 

I took her univite of me to her funeral as a personal affront, and went anyway. I had never 'crashed' a funeral before, and figured it would be a long time (hopefully) before I had the chance to do it again. I didn't bother to tell my surviving relations of this plan because quite frankly, fuck them. I kept a respectable distance, and watched as they put the Wolf in the ground. I said no prayers they wouldn't have been to the same god as the Wolf worshiped anyway. I just watched, I had said all that I needed to say to her ages ago, I guess the pity of it is that she didn't realize that. I suppose it was difficult for the Wolf to look at her prize male pup (I was her only male offspring), and realize what a bastard she had reared.

Much like the paterfamilias, and the rest of the clan that I am related to by blood, we had nothing but DNA, and a love of John Barleycorn in common. That and we are all carbon based life forms, but the connections ended there. I wasn't built for the stage that the shit county the Wolf called home provided me. Mainly because there isn't one in the whole damn county. It is a boil on the ass of the world, and very little, if anything of note is there, and it will never change. It is the land that time forgot, and time forgot it for a very, very good reason. 

She reared me the best she could I suppose and my many, many faults are mine alone and are not exactly her fault. In my more melancholy moments, I blame her for have a child with the paterfamilias because, quite simply, they just didn't need to have offspring. Of course, the problem with that theory is it means I wouldn't exist. I am not sure how to square that circle, and being a rather dull fellow I try not to ponder on it too much. How do you hold your own birth against someone? If you possessed a Tardis, would you go back in time and tell the Wolf to not marry the son of a bitch that sired me? It is a thought experiment that leads nowhere, trust me I have tried to make it work.

I  suppose she did the best with what she had to work with, i.e. me, and overall my sins should not be placed at her feet. She was dead two days before I found out, and I felt about 8 minutes of sadness. I shed about 6 tears for her, and that was it. This should be further proof that the Wolf sired a bastard, what kind of monster can't cry for the dying of his Mother? I suppose we have the answer to that question now. The kind of monster that is me. I spent a few solid years resenting her for birthing me, but at the end of the day (end of her days at least) it really wasn't her fault. I mean she was just getting laid, I seriously doubt I was planned, and I am quite sure that if she had her own Tardis and could go into the future to see the result of that one night of whatever the fuck it was, she might have denied the paterfamilias access to her "delta of venus." Maybe waiting a couple of weeks before giving it up would have produced a better result.

But, that is not how it works, time flows in one direction in this world, and that is forward. She made her decision, and here I am trying to find the grief I suppose I should feel for her. Trying, and failing it seems. The death of Camus' stranger put him on a path that led to murder and the guillotine, I am not some French author's construct, I am the product of the Wolf despite my protestations to the contrary. 

I didn't even christen her the Wolf that Raised Me, that was someone from my distant past that, when confronted with the results of the Wolf's teaching me to suppress my feelings by all means, asked me "if I was raised by wolves?" She was unimpressed with my pithy reply of "just one." Thus, the name "The Wolf that Raised Me" was born. That was more years ago than I care to remember, but since that day she was "The Wolf." A cool nickname for a very, very uncool woman, but at the end of the day it suited her.

That day was last Thursday or maybe a bit earlier, I don't nor shall I ever know. The day the Wolf sorted out she was dying, the day she realized that her and the darkness were about to come face to face. Did she wonder if her season was coming to a close? I don't and won't know, and I don't know that I care. I know that she made the conscious choice while still lucid to tell her brother, my sole surviving (and therefore my now favorite uncle), to tell me to fuck off. Perhaps wisdom does come late, as the saying goes, and perhaps wisdom hit the Wolf at the end. That wisdom telling her that the cub she reared was, in fact, the exact bastard that she deserved. 

I think the major problem with the Wolf and I was, I just didn't respect her. That is my failing not hers, and I take that blame with eyes wide open. She can't be blamed for the sins of her offspring, nor should she be blamed for the man I became. I cut her out of the loop on purpose, and eventually on her deathbed I think she sorted that out. I am prone to think that it was that knowledge that led her to make what would be, between us, her final decision. The decision to tell her brother to tell her only (loving) son to go fuck himself. So, here we are (well here I am) after close to 30 years later, finding respect for the Wolf. Farewell Mother, (not Mom, Mother) and in keeping with your upbringing, I will tell you the same thing I told the man you chose to father me, at his funeral, which I was invited to. Rot.  

 

 

The Other

 "Hello, GI. I figured I'd find you here at your usual station, propping up a bar and darkly brooding about something." Nicklas sat down, ordered us both a pint and a shot, and begin propping up his portion of the bar like the good lad that he used to be, before the world changed both for him, and him. "Hullo Nicklas, fancy meeting you here, come to relive old times? Or has the wife kicked you out of the house?" Nicklas barked a laugh, "no she hasn't kicked me out yet, you old bastard. In fact, it was her idea that I find you and make sure that you were still amongst the living. Other than the odd rumour about your life, it has been an age since I last saw you. I looked over at him, "you last saw me in jail. My playmate Felix, as you like to call him, had put me in stir for being a pain in his ass again."

Nicklas nodded, "ah yes and how is your playmate doing?" I shrugged, "he's left me alone for a good, solid two months, which for him is a record, he must be too busy burning villages and eating children to give me a second thought. Which is usually a good thing for me." I raised my shot "skol! Nicklas, here's to Felix's continuing forgetfulness." Nicklas clinked glasses, downed his shot like the good lad he used to be and said "So, GI what would you be if you didn't follow the rules.?" I quirked an eyebrow at him "what do you mean, and why do you ask?" He shrugged "I mean if you didn't follow the few rules of society you do, if you didn't have to follow your boy Felix's rules, what would you be? A hippie, a gangster, a poet, or a water taxi driver?" 

I sat down my pint and said "what do you think I would be?" He replied "I think you'd probably be a criminal of some sort, probably a high dollar thief, or maybe a hired gun. But the rules keep you from it." I smiled, "those aren't rules, those are laws. They aren't the same thing, but I take your point I think. If I wasn't following the rules I would be a lot happier, I doubt I would be employed in any capacity because no one would want to hire a rule breaking me. This might impact my happiness some, since no job usually equals no money, and no money almost always equals no pints, and probably no food either." He laughed "leave it to you to put pints first." I said "well my body has decided that unless I want to gain a hundred pounds in like 4 days, I can either eat, or I can drink pints. It seems to not allow for me to do both."

"I also suspect that we would not be friends, you and this Other GI of which we are speaking. You probably wouldn't like him, and I am pretty certain he wouldn't be a fan of you either. No, this Other as we can call him would probably be a right proper bastard." I looked into my pint for more of an explanation, but as usual all my pint did was sit there promising me happiness at the end. I continued "I also suspect you are correct, he would more than likely be a criminal of some sort, probably not a particularly good one because he would more than likely be lazier than me, if such a thing is possible. He would also probably not be living in any sort of city either. I would imagine he would loathe people as much as I do, but being unrestrained by those 'rules of polite society' he wouldn't be involved in society overmuch."

I ordered us another pint, and said "I also suspect he would be much closer to an alcoholic than I am, but I am not sure if that is possible either. He wouldn't want to be sober for this," here I waved my hand in the air to encompass the bar, and the world the general. "I would imagine the hazier his days and nights were, the better it would be for him, and maybe the rest of the world too. I am not sure if sober him would be more likely to burn the world or not. Drunk him would probably talk a little about burning the world, think a lot about burning the world, but ultimately get lost in the details about what type a match to use, and would never get around to it."  

"But what brings you to this fever dream Nicklas? You aren't the philosophical type, or at least you didn't used to be, has fatherhood made you forget those drunken feelings we had ages ago?" He smiled back at me, "fatherhood has nothing to do with this GI, I am here to try, once again, to keep you from pushing the self-destruct button. I drew the short straw that the few friends you still possess decided to draw to send one of us to keep you amongst the living. A task, that I might add, has become more and more difficult over the years." 

I sighed, "Nicklas, I appreciate that, I really do, but I am beginning to think that me being amongst the living is more trouble than it is worth. I don't really add anything to the world other than being a bad example, and I am not sure anyone is really paying any attention to me anymore. Which, to be honest, they shouldn't. I don't know that I have anything to add to the world's overall knowledge. At some point my playmate, as you call him, Felix is going to kill me. I am beginning to think that perhaps I should beat him to the punch. It would be a last act of rebellion in an otherwise wasted life."

"Life is hard Nicklas, and I don't know that I can perform the "dance" that society expects of me much longer. He nodded "We've known this about you for years, we have tried very hard to keep you from doing what we think is inevitable, but at some point we have to realize we can't stop you if you are that determined to do it. But before you do take the easy way out, look at this," Here he slide a photo across the table at me, it was a photo of his son. The son that I had suggested they name him A___.  "Remember him? Remember coming over to our house and handing him a book that you promised to explain to him when he was old enough to understand it? That biography of AH that was miles too old for him when you gave it to him, well guess what old man, he's all grown up and ready to listen."

I sent daggers his way, "You son of a bitch, you know why you're here better than I do, they sent you because they know you know the right buttons to push to keep me on this mortal coil." He smiled, "of course they do, that is why I am here, well that and I am one of the few people that think the world is a better place with you in it." I grimaced, "You know that is what that bitch said to me when she left?' He smiled "of course I do why do you think I said it? Sometimes you just need to hear it from someone other than the "hers" of your life. I don't pretend to like her, nor do I pretend to understand your relationship with her, those mysteries I don't need to solve. I am merely here to tell you it what you need to hear. It might not be what you want to hear, but it is what you need to hear. Take it for what it is worth, and come explain to my heir why he is named A___." I sighed, "well since you put it that way, lead on MacDuff, let's teach the next generation why they are here."

 

Not so Civil (additon)

 Sully slide a pint across the bar to me and gave me a look that said "you're fucked mate." Sadly, I had seen that look before, and while I appreciated the pint I began to look around for its cause. It didn't take long for me to spot her, she had a way of standing out in a crowd. The problem was she knew it, and she liked the attention. It was both a reason to hate her and a reason to love her at the same time. Which, to my cost, I did. She waltzed into the place like she owned it, which I am sure she thought she did, and sat down on the stool next to me. My day had already been a bit shit, and seeing her was not an improvement. I didn't have the guts to tell her to fuck off, so here I was stuck with whatever awfulness she was bringing, but at least I had a full pint.

I was staring very intently at that pint when she sat down next to me. It wasn't like I could run away. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and even if I did she knew where I lived. "Hullo Shakespeare, how's tricks?' I sighed deeply, "tricks are the same as they as usual. Why do you ask? It is not like you give a shit, you are just here to torment me." She had the decency to pretend to care "of course I care Shakespeare, I wouldn't be here if I didn't." 

 "Does your husband or your other boyfriend know where you are?" She gave me a glare that would melt chocolate, "of course they don't  you stupid bastard. Why would they? What I am supposed to tell them? See you later asshole, I am off to meet my drunk ass boyfriend?" I let out a small laugh, "well, while all of that is true, I suppose that it would be a particularly bad idea to tell them that." She nodded, "for once we agree on something outside the bedroom. It's a Xmas miracle."  I took a long draught out of my pint, and said "there is only one small problem sweetie." She arched an eyebrow and replied "Just one? and what pray tell do you think that one small problem is?" I replied "the husband isn't exactly the problem, he has to suspect he's replaced, it is the other boyfriend that is the issue. Did you really think I wouldn't sort out that I was just a "stage upon life's way" for you?" I grimaced, because this was not a pleasant chat for me. "A wise person once told me a very simple equation, it was if she will cheat with you, she will cheat on you. I was way, way too stupid to listen to them, and so here I am. Tragically in love with you, and realizing that you really aren't capable of actual love. I doubt either your husband, or your other boyfriend know this about you." This was not what she wanted to hear, she wanted to hear all the good things about herself that the large R romantic in me had convinced himself to tell her. Sadly, he wasn't around. 

 This was the moment that I had dreaded, the moment that led me to Sully's and to the multiple pints I had already consumed before she walked in. "Sweetie, you are by a considerable distance, the hottest woman who has ever occupied my time and my bed. You are, arguably the smartest woman I have ever met, but.." here I trailed off, I didn't know how to finish a sentence that made little sense to me and would make zero sense to her. "But what? I am both the hottest and smartest woman who has ever had the poor sense to occupy both your mind and your bed. A feat that, I might add, is a lot harder than one would think."

I nodded my head in agreement, "I don't disagree with you sweetie, the bed isn't that difficult to occupy, but the mind, well that is a different story. It is the actual problem that we have." She arched a perfect eyebrow, "what do you mean Shakespeare?' I sighed, "if only I was the wordsmith you wanted me to be.  If I was, I would tell you how many times I pinched myself to make sure I am awake. To make sure that I have somehow convinced a smart, sexy woman like you to waste your time on me.  But then I started thinking, and sadly it doesn't pay to be a thinking man."

I glanced over at her, the look forming in her eyes made my resistance to her almost break. Thank fuck for pints. A long drink from my pint slowed the beating of my heart enough to keep me on point.  I had to look her in the eyes and tell her it's over. "I can't be the man you need, and someday you'll realize that, and when you do, you will drop me like a hot rock. I know that you love me, but I think it's time I stop believing that matters in the long run. I will miss you. I will probably miss you for the rest of my life. In fact, I figure you will be the standard I use to judge the next one(s) in my life. I doubt they will thank you for it."

The look of disbelief on her face would have been priceless if I wasn't the one paying the "price." The concept that someone like me would tell someone like her to "fuck off" wasn't something that she could comprehend. I suppose I should have gloated in the "win" for loser men everywhere, but all I could do was feel empty. Eventually it hit home, and she said "you are breaking up with me? you ignorant, fat son of a bitch? You drunk good for nothing bastard. You are telling me that I am not enough for you.?"

I did my best, "I love you, but I hate you. I might be wrong, it might be that I hate myself for loving you, I just don't know. I doubt I will be better off with you. I wish I could bring myself to hate you, to somehow make you hate me, but I am just here as clueless as clueless can be. I wish I could tell you that I can not see the masterpiece in your eyes. I wish I could say that you haven't written words on my soul that I can't erase, but I can't. I can't tell you that there isn't  a little piece of you in every thing I do. However, I have to tell you that all of that just isn't enough"

The look of puzzlement on her pretty face was priceless, but only for an instant. She shook her slowly, and quoted (unintentionally I think) Bugs Bunny, and said "you realize, of course, that this means war." 

 

Diary of a Madman

 The diary landed with a solid 'thunk' on the table in front of me, it even had a pretty red ribbon tied around it to keep it tied shut, and to discourage prying eyes.  "Did you really think that I wouldn't find out?" I looked up at her, and replied "no, not really, but what took you so long? It has been 12 years after all." She snorted a laugh, "Two things I guess. One, I thought that I would be able to let it go, but that just isn't true. Two, I thought maybe you'd change, but that certainly isn't true. So, here we are." I picked up the diary and rifled the pages. "How long have you had this?" She smiled back and said "just about 10 years, you really should find a better hiding place for your sins, or perhaps a different place to commit them."

I shrugged, "well I guess sin begins at home doesn't it sweetheart? It's not like you were interested in anything but the money the business brought into the house. You certainly stopped being interested in me a long time ago." Another snort of derision "you fucking bastard, fucking the maid? How much more of a godsdamn cliche can you be?" I sighed "I am guessing that question doesn't really require an answer, but for the sake of being clear, it wasn't some master plan, and in retrospect it wasn't a particularly good idea." She frowned, and replied "not a good idea Shakespeare? That is the best you can do? With all those pretty little words at your disposal, pretty words that I am sure you employed to talk that little hussy into bed with you." 

She continued, "you realize when the little bitch 'disappeared' I could have told the gendarmes about your little tryst, and they would have probably had a lot of very awkward questions for you to answer? But no, I decided that while you are, in fact, perhaps the biggest bastard I've ever met, that not even you would stoop to murder. I am beginning to think that perhaps I was mistaken." I looked up at her "she left a note, it wasn't the most obvious suicide note, but I think it made her intentions clear enough, and those gendarmes you wanted to feed me to thought so as well." She barked a laugh, "I am sure they did especially after you 'donated' to their Xmas fund, like the loving husband and gods fearing Christian that you pretend to be" 

I pointed at the diary on the table, "you've had this for years, I assume you've read it all?' She sighed "jesus is that what you are worried about? Not worried about me? Not worried about how the lines in that little book ripped my heart into pieces? Not worried about lines sad enough to make me not just cry, but sob so hard I thought my ribs would break. These aren't white lies, you son of a bitch, these are the blackest of black lies. I fucking loved you. You had me believing in the fairy tale that you convinced me we were living, and now I have to cope with the idea that not only is this fairy tale not coming true, but that it was a lie from the beginning. And just for fun, I get to attempt to wrap my head around the idea that you are a murderer." 

That got my full attention, after all being accused of murder by the woman you promised some sort of happily ever after to, does tend to get one's attention. Regardless of the truth of the accusation, it would make for some unpleasant chats with the gendarmes. People who are not known for their sympathy or understanding. I tend to avoid unpleasant conversations, which is a pity, since I was currently trapped in one with no real way out. I stood up, and considered going to her, wrapping my arms around her and telling her how much I loved her (which, in my own fashion, is true), and that we would get through this together. But, I  knew her, I knew that moment had passed, if it ever existed, and that my "pretty, little words" weren't going to get me out of this. At least not unscathed.

She backed up a step, held up a hand, and said "no stay the blue fuck away from me. This isn't something your words can fix Shakespeare. This isn't just you getting drunk, and wandering off, this is...." she stopped there and began to cry. Great racking sobs, not the quiet crying one does at a funeral of a somewhat close friend, but sobs that I thought would break her apart. Ever been there when the nuclear bomb that is you and your actions finally fall? Ever saw someone come all the way apart in front of you and you know it's your fault? I hope, for your sake, that you haven't. It is not pleasant. Not something to tell your mates about over a pint at the local on a Friday night.

She sat down slowly, and said "tell me the truth if you can manage it, tell me why I wasn't enough." That hit me like a proverbial ton of bricks. Ever had someone ask you why they weren't enough? I hope not, it breaks every little bit of you. "I wanted the best for you always, and when I realized that isn't me, I began to drift apart from you. When I realized that I couldn't be the man you needed me to be something inside me sort of broke." She gave me a very, very furious look, and say "broke? something in you broke? you son of a bitch. You're blaming me for what you did?" I raised a hand in protest, "not blaming you, just trying to explain why you just became the voice inside my head, and not exactly real anymore."

She let out a small gasp, "you self-centered son of whore, I am real, I was always real, right here in front of you all this time. I didn't go anywhere, I didn't "fade into the mists of your complicated history" I have fucking been here, right in front of you, all this time. And what do you do? You try to rewrite the 'boy meets girl' story with some tramp almost half your age. I must be as mad as March hare to ever believe any of those pretty lies you told me. You son of a bitch, you even used universal gravitation to explain the attraction we felt for one another. And like a fucking moron, I fell for it, I began to need you like a man dying of thirst needs water. You became my drug, and then you...." 

She again broke off into sobs, and I began to detect an awful pattern, one in which I was the monster that was the cause of the problem. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could form some limp dick excuse for my behavior, she held up a forestalling hand, and said "resolve yourself to telling me, for once in your godsforsaken life, the actual truth. I can't seem to bear the way you can not love me, and for reasons passing understanding, I need you to make yourself unlovely to me." I sat back down, the heaviness of the guilt she was piling on me was becoming more than I could bear. 

"It wasn't like that, it wasn't me trying to do some number on you. I didn't plan to make her into some new, younger version of you. But there she was, a lovely young creature seeking adventure, and ready to see the world. She just didn't realize the world wasn't so sweet or tender. I didn't intend to break her, I wasn't even trying bend her, but well we made the simplest mistake two people in that position can make." Here I stopped and looked at her. She was, even in her grief, beautiful, and here I was admitting that to quote her "she wasn't enough." Not enough for a self absorbed son of a bitch like me. No wonder it didn't register with her, why would it? She was all that anyone with any sense would want. Smart, funny, gorgeous, and even more importantly, convinced that I was what she wanted in a life partner.

"Your betrayal is not something that I can forgive. You have to pay the price for it. All you had to do was tell me. But no, you chose to lie to my face. We can't be together. "This", she waved a hand vaguely around, "can't exist anymore." I nodded, "I had figured as much. I don't have the pretty words that will make this unhappen. I am sure that you hate me." She laughed at that, and replied "You stupid bastard, I really wished I hated you, I wish I had given up on you, I know I am better off without you, but I can't seem to numb the pain of realizing that. So here we are" she pointed at the diary, "stuck with that. Her words aren't as pretty as yours Shakespeare, but they have the advantage of being the simple, raw truth."

She picked up the diary, and opened it to a random page and began to read "June 15th, today SHE had a doctor's appointment in _____ a lovely hour and a half away, giving me and ____ the entire afternoon to explore each other. I have never felt this way before and he tells me that he has to struggle to block out thoughts of me when he is around her." She closed the book with a snap, "I could go on and on and on but you don't need me to, after all you were fucking there weren't you? Then with a small sigh, she whispered "how could you do this to me?"

How do you answer that? How do you explain to someone you professed to love, that at some point things started to go south? How to tell someone who trusted you, that you're hopelessly afflicted with a wandering eye? That is just the appetizer in this confessional feast, then you have to try to explain why/how the 'other woman' made you feel alive again. Or do you? Do you tell her those hard to swallow facts? Do you tell her that, despite being many, many miles out of your league, she wasn't enough? That you might just be the dumbest man in the history of mankind? 

"You got her with child, you careless bastard. It's all in her diary, she talks about how excited she was to be with child, and how you promised to leave me for her, and raise the child together." She began to shake again, but quickly regained her composure. "She had no idea the lies you were telling her just to keep her silent did she?" I nodded "no she wasn't as clever as you, she believed my lies without fail." I saw the storm begin to brew in her eyes, I waved a conciliatory hand before the storm broke over me. "She gave herself away, and I was there to take advantage, and I understand that was in more ways than one. I am duly ashamed, but...." 

"All the promises you made to her were lies weren't they? Tell me they were, tell me you promised her treasure to look upon just to get in her bed, tell me the river in the time of dryness you promised her was a lie? Tell me that the eyes in the time of blindness you promised were not real." The familiar tone in her voice, made me feel even worse. She was telling me about her hell, the hell that I put her into and through with my stupid choice(s).  She continued "all these years, I made you a daughter and a son. I watched you leave for work, and come home at 5 on the dot, and here you are fucking the help. Don't rub it in how wrong I have been about you all these years. We were married, and I am still here with your children, the children you can't deny. The children you can't abort. The ones that bear your fucking name." She stopped, out of breath, anger making her chest heave.

The mention of the kids broke whatever resistance I had left. I threw up my hands and said "what do you want me to do?" A very small smile came to her lips "I am glad you asked Shakespeare. I have exactly the answer to your question right here." She pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to me. "Read that Shakespeare, and let me know what, if anything, you think?" I took the papers, opened them and read her terms. They weren't overly complicated. I was to 'disappear' presumed a suicide (a neat trick, since "she" was eventually adjudged one too), and never darken the Republics door again. "I don't care where you go, just as long as it is anywhere but here." She was, in her opinion, generous with her terms. I was to write a note, get on a train to _____, and never come back. She allowed me enough money from the sale of the business to make my fall from her grace, non lethal. But it still hurt, a lot. I'd like to say I left a better man, but I doubt that is true.

So here I am, a thousand miles from nowhere wondering where I should actually be. But then, as I look around, and realize that time no longer matters to me, and that the bruises on my memory are beginning to heal, and the bloodstains on my hand are beginning to fade, I understand there is no place I'd rather be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Half Christmas

She slid her quite lovely ass into booth across from me, and gave me a overly bright smile. "Afternoon lover boy, how are you doing? Next week is your birthday? Feeling any closer to shuffling off this mortal coil? Have you named an heir to the ____ Empire yet? Not that I expect there is much to inherit other than unpaid bar tabs." I looked over at her, there was a time when looking at her was my full time job, a job I took with just a shade too much seriousness before it all went pear shaped, and ended in tears (mostly mine, I am not sure she is capable of crying).  Nowdays I was merely content with seeing her from a distance, generally a distance greater than the one currently between us. "I pay my debts. Well, eventually I pay my debts. I have yet to have Sully claim any of my possessions in form of payment." She let out a giggle, "your possessions are a lot of books that no one other than you would ever want to read. What would Sully do with them? Open a reading library for the drunk and cynical? Or maybe a primer for how to plan a failed revolution?" I laughed "none of the above sweetie, Sully knows my reading habits, in fact the bastard has read most of them himself. But I am not here to read Pilgrim's Progress,  I am here to find that old familiar drunken feeling, you know something that I can count on to the end, unlike you."

I sighed, " and yes it is my birthday next week. A day, which I might add, you helped me celebrate a few times in the past by each of us ending up in our birthday suits. Any chance that is why you are here today? One more trip around the bases for old times sake?" She smirked "not bloody likely lover boy, my new man might be a bit upset about that." I laughed "well we don't want to upset anybody now do we? That would just be a damn shame. So, exactly why are you here? To gloat about new boy toy? To rub it in that you won our dirty little war? We drifted apart for a reason, mainly you, so why don't you do exactly that and drift." A look of shock crossed her face, and I must confess I felt a little bit of joy about that. The fact that I could still shock her all these years later meant something. Granted, I had no idea what it meant, but I knew it meant something. Perhaps a shot of whiskey would help me figure it out.

She recovered her composure quickly enough, "I know you will find this hard to believe since you don't really believe in anything, but I do want what is best for you. I just wish you would figure out what is best for you" and pointing at my glass "before that swill kills you." I laughed "this swill as you put it, is about the only thing I want for my birthday. Not a new horse, a new gun, and certainly not a new you." I lifted my glass and swirled the amber liquid around slowly, you see even when whiskey lets me down, and it has several times in the past, at least it has the decency to get me drunk first." I continued "besides I can at least afford the whiskey it merely costs money, I can not afford another you, you cost people their souls."

She sniffed "always the brooding poet on that shit aren't you? You stopped making me happy, the skies became a lot greyer, and you took my sunshine away. That is why I left, this can not be a surprise to you." I laughed "and you call me Shakespeare? that was one of the most sadly eloquent things I've ever heard you say. Usually you saved your eloquence for roundly cursing me for the nine kinds of fool you thought me to be." She  shrugged "you are decidedly still nine kinds of a fool, but thankfully for the cosmos, you are no longer my fool to corral. The only reason I even remember it's your birthday is because you always referred to it as half-christmas, which from a pagan I always thought funny." 

"I don't exactly consider myself a pagan. It's not that I don't believe in god(s), I've just yet to accept their terms. Therefore, while we remain in negotiations about the terms of any worship/boon granting, I shall continue to find faith in nothing other than whiskey." I exhaled "other than coming here to celebrate me being a year closer to the grave, why are you here? It's not like we are getting the band back together, neither of us are going to change into the person the other one needs, and to be honest, you just make me sad. I look at you and see the what ifs of my history writ large in very, very bright letters that even at my drunkest I could read. I see the past we share and the future we should have had but for...." Here I trailed off, there was no need to say the same shit to her again all it did was give her an odd type of joy.

 She rolled her lovely eyes and said "to be such a well read man, you can be as thick as two boards. Of course the band is not getting back together, our past is just that past, we don't have a future, well at least together, and I figure with another birthday your future is dwindling away. So I thought that perhaps you'd have enough sense to understand why I am here. I guess, as usual, I have overestimated you." She stood to go with a slight frown on her face, but I waved her back down. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, you're telling me you've an actual reason to be here other than to torment me, and remind me how you want me to die in fire?" 

She sighed "yes Shakespeare, I am here for an actual reason, and it isn't to set you alight in some sort of reenactment of a Viking funeral, at least not yet. You'd probably be better off dead if you were to take the starring role in that act. I know it's hard for you but try to think. Think about it from your own point of view. If the roles were reversed why would you be here?" She stood up, and it began to dawn on me "but just in case the whiskey has addled the little sense you have left, here's a clue, and she slowly so very slowly unbuttoned two of the top buttons on her blouse. I don't need your mouth for the pretty words Shakespeare, I've other plans for it and you. Your tab is paid, and let's get out of here so we can go some place quiet like where you can unwrap your present, me."

 

 

Roseman's Farm

 

 The Duke of Wellington, when confronted with someone who tried to blackmail him by threatening to publish letters of his to his mistress, said "Publish and be damned" So here I go publishing, and I suspect I was already damned, but this certainly won't help. 

The disaster of Powers' Gate broke something in me. I am sure I wasn't the only one of Lobar's Wolves that felt that way, but fuck the Wolves, I was too busy trying not to die to worry about them. I suppose I should have cared, after all Lobar's Wolves had fed me for quite some time, and food is important to maintaining life. However, that kind of thinking was way beyond me after Powers' Gate. Powers' Gate made me want to curl into a ball and die. In fact, several people became quite worried that I would just go ahead and do what Powers' Gate failed to do, and kill myself. I don't know if that was the best idea, but a lot of people who pretended to give a shit about me were concerned it was the path I was going to take.The irony of people thinking I was going to off myself after a surviving a battle in which several people would have happily made me unalive, wasn't lost on me, but irony and all its complicated machinations wasn't exactly something that I was particularly worried about.

 However, offing yourself if you plan to do it right, takes a fair amount of thought. A fair amount of planning and an idea about what comes next. Not to you because you are as dead as dead can be, but to the poor sons of bitches you've left behind to clean up your shit. Shuffling off this mortal coil is easy enough, there are pills to make it happen, there are guns galore to put to your forehead, or in your mouth. There are even ways to make it happen where it looks like an accident. Jumping/falling in front of a train springs to mind. These ideas, and more (which we will save for a later day) all came to mind as I staggered away from Powers' Gate. I couldn't understand what happened at Powers' Gate, It was quite simply a disaster.

Disasters are hard to process, the mind can't grasp the information the world is feeding it. It is like the eruption of Vesuvius. It comes out of nowhere, at least to you, and it destroys everything in its path. It simply does not compute. You weren't prepared for this, and even if you had pretended you were, you really weren't ready for the scope of this. Powers' Gate was the hammer and you were the nail. It slammed into you like a shit ton of bricks, and left you pondering why you were left alive. The educated amongst us call it survivor's guilt. The survivors just call it being lucky. At the time, I called it a mistake. A mistake I thought long and hard about rectifying. 

Moral cowardice was the main reason I didn't finish what Powers' Gate had started. It is a lot easier to be physically brave/stupid when you are doing it in front of a crowd or as a group of people. Collective bravery comes from not wanting to be the first bastard to piss yourself, and run away screaming from potentially becoming thought about in the past tense. I drifted after the Gate, I had no desire to rejoin the remains of Lobar's Wolves (now branded La Compagnie du Chapeau, whatever the fuck that meant), and continue the soldiering life. 

I wasn't anybodies idea of Napoleon, but being a soldier was all that I knew. It was what I had been for the majority of my adult life, and now I was over it. It was wrenching, what was I to do now? Become a fucking farmer, planting some sort of seed I knew nothing about to raise crops I had no idea what to do with? Maybe go to sea and become a sailor, tricky since I was a sinker not a swimmer, and knew fuck all about the sailing life. Factory life? Being a wage slave had no appeal to me, but here I was shiftless, homeless, and clueless. Take the veil, or become a monk? Tricky to do that, when one doesn't believe in god (or at least the current, most popular god). Therefore, I doubted the priesthood was the answer to my question of how to stay alive. It was in this very confused state that I stumbled upon Roseman's Farm.

Despite the years that have passed since, I remember the exact moment I ran into Roseman's Farm. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't something that I saw coming, it just kind of happened. I didn't have Lobar's Wolves or Claudell's Marines at Roseman's Farm, it was just me. It was a simplified version of single combat, and it was all the more intense for that. Divisions and divisions of screaming men trying to murder each other for the love of God, King, and Country are all very confusing, and it is easy to get lost amongst the numbers, but here at Roseman's Farm it was just me, and well Roseman, the owner of aforementioned farm.

This "single combat" was new to me, and I must confess rather confusing. How does one hide in this situation? How does one pretend not to be terrified? Terror, when  you are feeling it among a few hundred other people isn't as awful as one would think. Terror when there is no one to share it with, is crippling. You can't make this type of terror unhappen. It strikes deep inside of you, and makes you want to be anyone else but yourself right now. 

I spent a considerable amount of time on Roseman's Farm. I learned a fair amount about myself, the wolf that raised me, and life in general. If you consider Roseman's Farm a battle, which I am not sure that you should, I would count it as a victory. I walked away from Roseman's Farm, which was the goal. Sometimes walking away is as good as it gets. We don't have to bring back cannons or flags of the "enemy" to adorn the halls of our fair city to prove our success. Sometimes just not losing is to be considered a win.

At the time, I had no idea that this was the first "battle" of Roseman's Farn. After all, it was just a speck on the map, not one that would stand out to anyone making any sort of useful map. A map that I was going to pull out of its case and find a black spot on, and decide that was where I needed to go next. 

 

Waiting on a Train

 I peered off into the distance, every since Big Ed Magee had punched me back into the stone age about a year or so ago in some dusty no name town in the Dakota territory, I didn't see so good. At the time I figured it would go away, but it seemed I was stuck with a bit of permanent blurry vision. I'd like to say that fucking Big Ed's sister was worth, but truth be told, it probably wasn't. Don't get me wrong she was lovely, but Big Ed didn't cotton to the idea of some "low life scum" such as myself planting a seed that would grow into the family tree. That is just a long winded way of saying I couldn't see a fucking thing past about 30 yards in front of me, so I had no idea what I was peering towards. Luckily for me the sound carried, Big Ed's punch didn't affect me hearing, and a train whistle is pretty damn loud. Even more lucky for me, I had the Kid next to me, the Kid had a lot of flaws, but poor eyesight wasn't one of them. If for no other reason than that, he was useful to have around, helps you figure out which direction to shoot. 

Hopefully no one would need to be shot, I wasn't much of the killer type, not like the Kid. The Kid was a killer's killer. Something inside the Kid didn't complete the cycle it was supposed to, and because of that (maybe?) he was a stone, cold killer. I don't think he enjoyed it, I never really felt the need to inquire too deeply into what made the Kid tick, or rather tick so loudly. I didn't figure it would help me sleep at night, nor would I be able to resolve whatever the fuck issues he had, I'm no head doctor. Hell, I am no kind of doctor, I rob trains and, when the mood strikes me, the occasional bank.

Which is why I was here, blindly peering towards the sound of a train's whistle in the middle distance, and checking to make sure my gun was at least loaded. I had no doubt that if anyone needed a little "lead poisoning" either the Kid, or our fellow desperado, a dude by the name of Shaw would be more than happy to unalive someone.  I didn't know much about Shaw, he was laconic personified. If you asked Shaw a question, and got more than four words in reply it was a minor miracle. In fact, the Kid and I had a running bet on just such a thing. So far, the Kid owed me about 11 pints or 4 shots of whiskey, or any combination of the two. However, Shaw wasn't in the outfit to entertain us with speeches from Hamlet or Macbeth. Shaw wasn't quite the killer that the Kid was, but he wasn't exactly shy of pulling his big iron to settle any sort of dispute. Some questions don't need more than four words for an answer.

The Kid was a pretty bright boy, and he had picked our spot well, the train with all that lovely money that we needed to keep all the pretty whores in the territory happy, would have to come to almost a full stop as it rounded Pembeton's Bend.  Which, if the plan went as it was supposed to, three desperadoes, would approach the nearly stopped train, "convince" the engineer to come to a complete stop, while we relieved the _____ Courier Company of its monthly payroll. I knew that the payroll was destined for working men unlike myself, but I figured the company could afford to replace the loss, and beside those pretty whores weren't interested in me for my looks. If she can't love you for who you are (and to be honest I couldn't blame her), then at least let her love you for the money you spend on her.

The whistle got closer and the train began to struggle around the bend, which had the advantage of slowing it considerably down, and off we went 3 idiot desperadoes waiting on a train. We got it stopped easily enough, too easy now that I think about it, but at the time what did I know about stopping trains?  We did the whole cliche of "hands up and no one gets hurt" bullshit. And Shaw kept the passengers "calm" while the Kid and I moved toward the big payday. Just as one would expect, some overly loyal employee of the _____ Courier Company barred our way. The Kid asked "George" very politely to open the safe, but out a misplaced loyalty George refused. 

Unlike all the stories you hear, saying "no" to a fellow intent on robbing you does not end well for you. The Kid sighed deeply and then very calmly shot George in the forehead. As George toppled over, as dead as dead can be, the Kid slowly stepped over his body, placed what he thought was just enough dynamite against the safe, lit the fuse, and yelled let's blow baby!!!" And blow it did, the fucking amount of dynamite the Kid used might have opened the gates of Heaven, and they sure as fuck blew the door right off the ____ Courier Company's safe, and left me with a slight ringing in my ears that persists to this day. At this rate, I'd be blind and deaf in a year, and of little use to the Kid, or the pretty whores. 

"Burned money doesn't spend Kid" I said when I was able to stop the dust from choking me to death. The Kid spat out a mouthful of dust himself, and just laughed, "gold don't burn my boy."  As a few paper bills swirled in the aftermath of the Kid's dynamite experiment, I arched an eyebrow. "what do you mean gold? I thought we was after the payroll." The Kid looked at me like I was simple, and replied "don't think GI, when you think you weaken the nation. Just point your gun at who I tell you to, and try to look desperate when the occasion calls for it, oh and grab the other end of that there box. Your strong back is more use of me than your half blind eyes." 

"The _____ Courier Company doesn't pay its employees in gold Kid, so what the fuck are you babbling about gold for?" The Kid nodded "they surely don't, and we ain't here for no fucking payroll to deprive some poor son of a bitch of his monthly wages. We, my little buttercup, are here for that there box. Which, I might add, I asked you to grab the other end of already." I glared at him, and then grabbed the other end of the box. The dynamite hadn't done a lot of damage to it, and stenciled on the side of it were words that made my blood run cold. "Fuck me Kid, have you lost the last part of your mind? We can't rob this, this will get us hanged, and probably hanged again for good measure as a way to discourage others. Don't you remember what these sons of bitches (here I pointed to the box) did to Black Tom Doyle? Took his fucking head clean off when they hanged him. Folks still talk about it and it has been 7 years ago. They say half the town fainted when his head popped off like a cork coming out of a bottle."

The Kid shrugged, "they'd hang us anyway" he pointed at George's body. "Killing that fellow isn't exactly going to be counted as community service in these parts, so we might as we get as many dollars as we can, while we can." I grunted I supposed he had a point, but still being hanged once and proper like was bad, being hanged by the bastards we were now robbing would be twice as bad, even if you were just as dead either way.  Just then Shaw came through the door, looked around at the disaster we had created with the dynamite, saw the box, saw the words on the box, and said  "what the fuck are you idiots doing? We came for payroll not that shite." much more than four words, thus costing me one shot of whiskey. I only hoped to remain alive to buy it for the Kid. 

The Kid smiled, looked at me and said "you owe me a shot of whiskey that was 14 whole words." Then he looked at Shaw and said "stop making speeches and go get the fucking horses you ape, we need to be anywhere but here, and quick like." Shaw, having used up his allotment of words for the week, just nodded and went to get the horses as he was bidden. We lugged the box out of the boxcar, put in on the spare horse, and rode like the devil himself was after us for almost a full day, until we decided that killing our horses would be a bad plan, and we could at least pretend we were safely far enough away from the scene of the crime to rest.

When we woke up from what seemed a week of sleep, and opened box, we found enough gold to make Midas jealous. Gobs of the stuff, it was like finding Blackbeard's long lost treasure, gold, gold, everywhere gold. I confess it gave me heart palpitations, and I idled away a few lovely hours thinking of how all the lovely whores in the territory would find me handsome for at least a year with all this gold in my pockets. Which as it turns out was way overestimating how long all this gold would last. You see, the ___ Mining Company, whose name was on the box, were a proper set of bastards, and apparently clever ones as well. It seems they had been robbed before by other immoral, thieving bastards (unlike us), and had taken to spreading a thin layer of real gold coins on the top of every box to make it look like we had made the haul of the century. As we later found out, to our cost, the rest of the "gold" coins were brass painted up to look like gold. Our take was barely enough to keep me in whiskey and whores for a week (not that I stinted myself on either, but I am not a spendthrift either). 

However, one thing we did 'gain' from our little robbery, was a lovely pair of watches that Shaw had taken off a couple of passengers, and the eternal enmity of the _____ Mining Company, which wasn't exactly what I was aiming for, but it seems they take losing any amount of coin as a personal insult. I considered the brass coins the insult myself, and therefore the ____ Mining Company and I were going to have a long, healthy hate, providing one of their hired dicks didn't shoot me in the back like a dog one day. Those watches would come in handy in later days, but those are stories for another time. This was merely a starter tale to the life I lived with the Kid, and how shockingly the only one of us to end up dancing at the end of a rope was Shaw. 

 

 

 

 

Droit

 It's a quarter of 2 a.m. in Sully's bar, and the dregs of the society that I am a card carrying member of, are here, the ones that have nowhere else to go, and no one to answer to other than themselves. A couple of them are looking worse for the wear, singing softly to themselves songs only they can hear. A few of them are looking for that last minute queen they can take home, couple with, and hope neither of them have a disease that can't be cured by antibiotics. Me, on the other hand, I am sitting on my usual stool minding the remains of my business. My business, on this particular Tuesday, is getting as drunk as possible as quick as possible. Luckily for me, Sully understood that from the moment I sat down, and has been "feeding" me turbo beers for more hours than I am likely to remember come tomorrow. 

It was about this time that I stole a glance at the fellow next to me, and realized that perhaps I had partaken of one too many. He wasn't an Adonis or anything, he was mostly just a nondescript fellow that wouldn't warrant a second glance, unless you paid attention to how he was dressed. I blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't a figment of my over-active imagination, and said "why are you here?" He smiled what I considered to be a particularly nasty smile and replied "I'm here for you GI, you know why I am here, and you know that I am here at your 'request'. Don't play stupid with me, it doesn't become you. 

"You're not real." I said with as much conviction as I could manage. "You're just a figment of my drunken imagination." He replied "that may be true, but nevertheless here I am, and while I am here we might as well have a chat about that burden you've been lugging around for the last month."  I frowned, "that is my burden, and I will bear it thank you very much." He shrugged "you might, but since I am here for you, you might as well let it go, or let go as much of it as you can. After all, if I am not real it doesn't matter now does it?"

As much as it pained me, I had to admit he had a point. After all, why not unburden yourself to a willing and imaginary listener? "Fine" I said. "I figure that since you are here, you already know the details of the 'burden' as you call it. It started almost 30 years ago, and has had a couple of reruns since. The first episode (if you can call it that) was a brief but furious affair. It was something that had zero chance of going anywhere of any importance, but was still full of a lot of passion. However, passion doesn't pay the bulldog. Certainly sex almost every two hours is nice for about a day, but at some point one of us has to get up and get a job. And I was not exactly into the Protestant work ethic, and it appeared she might be Catholic." 

"It wasn't the love of a lifetime, and it should have just ended there, but it somehow managed to last a lifetime.  If it had then I suspect you wouldn't be here haunting me at 2 fucking o'clock in the morning." He shrugged, "well two things about that. One here I am, and two I've got nowhere else to be, so please humour an old man and continue." I sighed, "can I at least have another beer?" He laughed "of course you can, and for fun why don't you order me a glass of the best house wine they have? I clearly can't drink it, but it would be nice to at least pretend." I laughed "the best house wine in this shithole is just short of kerosene, but sure let's have a glass of it, just don't bring it near an open flame." I waved the barmaid over and ordered my usual, and a glass of the "finest touch of the grape you can find in this dump, if you please." She glared at me for a second, then shrugged "sure GI, whatever you want. Just as long as you pay." I smiled my best smile (which rarely worked, but was worth a shot) of course I will pay my dear, I wouldn't think of leaving you destitute."

She flounced off, then returned with the drinks and a surly look. "Here you go, lover boy," she said with a wink and left me with my ghost. "You know all of these details, after all you are here." I pointed to my head "whether I like it or not." Another Gallic shrug, "sure I am but, as I said humour me, say it out loud, perhaps it will be a bit of a release." I grimaced "talking out loud to a ghost in a bar at 2 a.m. gets the men with butterfly nets called on you, but since I've nowhere else to be, I'll indulge your old ass." He pretended to lift the glass in front of him in a salute and said "good lad. I knew you could do it."

"After that first youthful wildly passionate affair, she drifted, and by drifted I mean disappeared. You already know that a lot of people disappear on me, it is a gift. I have been ghosted so many times, I'd have to send away to a mathematician to compute."  He nodded, "I am aware of the multitude of people who have thrown up their hands, and walked completely out of your life. I can't say that I blame any of them for the decision." I laughed "I am sure you have it all written down somewhere, but I myself have lost count. Either way, she moved to ____ ___, which was on the other side of a wide, deep river from me. It wasn't like I had to swim the river, there existed good, quality roads that covered the distance between us. The physical distance that is no road nor any bridge could cover the emotional distance.  In fact, I took those roads once, found her on the other side, but that was just the death throes of the affair."

 "I let it drift for several years, after all, I didn't have a choice and I found other playmates that were more than happy to take her place, and do as much damage as they could given their limited time. Not that I am some Lothario that beats women off with a stick, but she faded into the background after several years of my dating life. Then about 7 years and two moves across two states later, up she popped. I don't remember how it happened, but there she was like the ghost of Xmas past in the flesh. And it was incredible, we talked for days, it became a ritual our daily chats, when I was out getting too stupidly drunk to make our chats, she would leave me notes telling me how much she missed me. Being missed is almost always a good thing, in most cases it beats being there." I took a very long drink of my pint, "and then we met in person after all those years, and it was a disaster. It went as well as Charles XII's invasion of Russia in 1712, an absolute disaster."

He smiled slightly, "I thought that disasters were your specialty. After all, this isn't the first glass of wine I've had sat so tantalizingly in front of me, and not the first sad story I've heard from you." I shrugged, "fine you crafty son of a bitch, you know the rest of part two. I crawled home with my tail between my legs, and licked my wounds for 22 years give or take. Then after several failed attempts on my part to reconnect, I got a reply. It was tentative at first, and I wasn't sure what the hell it was all about, but it was a difficult to believe that after all these years, here she was or at least here she was corresponding with me again."

"Perhaps distance, like absence makes the heart grow fonder. I have been told on several occasions that a long distance relationship with me is the preferred relationship with me. That me in small doses is a lot easier to handle than me full time. Either way, several months later, here she was across from me at dinner, next to me at a bar, and beside me in bed. Nature, as it is wont to do, took its course and here I am drunk as drunk can be talking to fucking ghosts about what I should do next." 

He nodded, "As you said, I know all of this, I am like the cobras in your dreams always around on the perimeter waiting for our moment to strike, and here I am striking while you are awake, I leave the cobras to strike whilst you are asleep." Staring very hard at me he said "you dumb bastard, you got her in your bed after over two decades?" I nodded. "And then she went her way and you went yours?" I nodded again. He barked out a laugh, "you wonderful son of a bitch, I've finally taught you something. I feel like a mother eagle that watches her hatchling finally take flight. Fuck me, but I am PROUD of you GI." I opened my mouth to reply, but he put up a forestalling hand "no lad, don't speak and ruin it. I know what you're going to ask, and it's a fucking silly, romantically infused question. Try living in the moment, and stop wanting all those things from the past. The past is the past for a reason, and it seems that if you walk away now, you've "won"."

I blinked very hard, he was beginning to fade, like a shadow that dissipates in the rising sun. Being that it was not anywhere close to sunrise, I knew that whatever power of my imagination that had called him into some sort of temporal existence, it was beginning to fade. I shook my head to attempt to clear the ever increasing, heavy cobwebs weaving their darkening shade over my ability to pay attention to the problem of being awake. He all but purred, "enjoy the cobras, at least they kill you quickly." Fighting off the lead weights that had suddenly, seemingly been attached to my eyelids, I muttered the phrase I had been resisting saying all along. "You are right."

The last bit that I recall is his melodious laughter as he said "Of course I am right, I am Tallyrand."