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."