Hey You!

I arrived in Birmingham, Alabama, a little after 11:30 PM and checked into a motel along the highway. The attendant was cold and bitter—almost hesitant to rent a room to me until I flashed one of several cards. I almost told him to just keep the card as I really didn’t care at that moment. He gave my card back to me along with a room key and I left the office.

The hotel room was what one would expect to find on the side of the interstate: everything bolted down and the sign that the bedsheets hadn’t been efficiently cleaned in months. I refused to bring anything into room as I didn’t want to take any type of bugs of me. I admit that I could have just relented and slept on the bed but sleeping by myself would have felt lonely…that and the large brown stain in the middle of the bedspread so I laid on the floor against the wall like a thrown-out drunk who has to lean up against the house for warmth, slight comfort, and to keep a connection to his life of a few hours ago.
Alcohol, maybe that would have made me feel better but there was no way I was going to go out that late in a city I was unfamiliar with to try and drown my sorrows.
However, mere minutes later, I found myself back in my car, driving further away from the interstate and Memphis. I searched for the first bar that didn’t look like it was a biker den. Not that I had anything against bikers, I just didn’t want to talk anyone. Maybe I wanted to get plowed. Maybe I just wanted to get an extreme case of cirrhosis of the liver.
The bar was virtually empty with a few patrons sitting at the front. No music, no smell of cigarettes, just the bartender standing in the center like a Budweiser rendition of “The Last Supper”. He nodded at me as I sat down.
“What can I get for you?”
“Whatever you got on tap.”
“You got it,” he replied as he took a step to the side and grabbed a glass. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“That looks kind of painful,” the bartender pointed at my head with the glass in his hand and filled it to the top of.
“It is, and I’m trying to forgot about the one who gave it to me.”
“I understand completely,” the bartender said as he turned the glass towards me.
I only nodded as I took the glass and held it to my lips.
“Trying to get away from it all, right?”
“Somewhat,” I mused as I looked around the bar again and, to my surprise, a man—who I swear was not there a few seconds ago—sat with his hands calmly on the bar.
“Same as always, John?” The bartender asked.
“Yeah, Tom, just like always.”
John then turned to me and nodded. “Passing through?”
“Yeah.”
“Where you heading? Ow, hey, that looks painful,” John exclaimed as he waved Tom back. “Can we get him some ice or something? You may want to go to the restroom and take care of that.”
I felt at my forehead, it was bumpy and it looked like I had lost an MMA fight but it wasn’t bleeding.
“I’m fine,” I waved it off. “It’s a reminder of the past. A badge of honor, I guess.”
“Looks like you lost a grudge match.” Tom said with a nod as he handed a glass to John.
“Wish I could say the other guy looked worse.”
“He probably shouldn’t have thrown that at you. It looks pretty bad.”
“It was there, I was there and he was angry. Simple equation, bad romance.”
“Bad math too,” John said as he took a quick drink.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Wait…how do you know he threw something at me?”
“Do you like to dance?”John asked.
“I did, once.”
“But you don’t now?”
“I don’t know now.”