Mickey's Hands

By: Jared C. Clark

 

Standing at the bathroom door, I glance at my watch. It's a cheap Casio that I picked up at K-Mart for fifteen bucks, the watch that is, but it does its job. It's getting late, so I Knock once, twice, and say, “c'mon, let's go.”

“Just gimme a minute or two. What's the rush for anyway,” comes the voice hidden behind the door.

“It's almost 11:45, I just wanna get outta here, that's all. Look, I'll be waiting in the front room.”

“OK, babe. I'll be out in a couple minutes.”

Walking back down the narrow hallway of our two bedroom apartment, I think about what Lonnie just said. That whole ‘couple minutes' shpeal. Lonnie's not showing her face for ten or fifteen minutes, at least. She says ‘a couple minutes' to buy time, but she's not fooling me. It's this secret language between men and women. A couple minutes really means fifteen. And, if a woman ever says she's gonna be ten or fifteen minutes, us guys know that we're fucked and might as well pop in the uncut version of a really long movie.

Eventually Lonnie appears in the living room, and together we head out the front door. On the way out, I fumble for my key, then place it in the deadbolt lock, and turn it to the right. This will keep thieves out, but more importantly it will keep our friends out. They have this thing about letting themselves in our place, making a mess, and devouring all our food. I always say, better safe than sorry.

We walk down the cracked sidewalk, and the only sounds are those of the city. Drivers honk their car horns, as if it actually helps them get wherever they're going any faster. Somewhere a siren screams, responding to a murder, or a rape, or a theft, or any of the other fucked up things that can happen when humans are crammed together in the city. Sometimes I wonder if we can ever all get along, or if we're just destined to keep killing each other until there's no one left. The older I get, the more I think it's the latter.

As we walk, our hands commingle, doing a little finger dance. They touch briefly and quickly separate, as if we're being shocked. Its not that I don't want to hold her hand, it's just that I won't take the first step, and actually grab hold. It's funny that it's come to this. We got along so great in the beginning, but isn't that always the case. Eventually, you learn to hate everything you first loved about a person, ‘til things get so bad that you can barely manage to hold hands, let alone talk.

Finally, I muster the courage to break the silence. “So… how was work today?” I already know the answer, it sucked.

“Well, it pretty much sucked. I worked a double, through lunch, and only made sixty bucks. This may be one of the worst days I've ever had at Roy 's. She pulls her jacket up higher on her shoulders, and says, “How was your day at the office?”

“Pretty typical, nothing really happened.” I don't have much more to say about my day, so it's right back to silence

I don't have to worry about tips like Lonnie. Of course, I don't work at a steak house. I just sit on my ass all day at a receptionist desk. Every now and then there is real work to do. Papers to file, phone calls to make, mail to stamp and send. I'm a corporate sentry. I get paid to do pretty much nothing, and so this is what we've been reduced to. Talking about our days at work, she hates her job, so do I. She never gets good enough tips, and I sit around, bored out of my mind. We have these conversations every day, like we've slipped into some kind of routine. But then again, everything seems pretty routine these days. After a couple more minutes the silence is more than I can take, so I pick up the conversation where I left off.

“It's not hard, but it sucks, work I mean. The money is right, and I don't do a whole lot, but I'm not going anywhere. It just seems silly to me sometimes, ya' know, like I went to school for four long years, all for nothing. Sometimes I just think time is running out, like if I don't get out of this place soon, I may never leave. The clock is ticking, and for the first time in my life, I'm feeling like time is not something I should be wasting.”

This doesn't help the situation one bit, of course I should know better. Lonnie has nothing to say, and I have nothing to add, like we're enveloped in a thick fog. A thick fog made of silence. Our heads are fixed straight ahead, like we're wearing neck braces. I gave up on the hand-holding idea a while ago. I wish there was something so say, some way to break through this void, but there's nothing. Just as I'm beginning to drown in desperation we reach the bar. Now I can drown myself in something else altogether. Yeah, with a little help from my old friend Al Cohol, thank God we're finally here.

A narrow set of stairs leads down to the door, and a bouncer is sitting on a stool outside, checking ID's. There's a neon sign above the door, I can hear it humming. In big letters were the words: The Drunken OX . In smaller print under that was: Sex, Drinks, Rock ‘n' Roll . We flash our Licenses to the bouncer, and walk in the door.

The Drunken Ox isn't empty, but it's not particularly crowded either. The booths on the right wall, and the tables in the center of the building are full of people chatting about God knows what. Like always, the bar's red, blue, and yellow disco lights reveal the hazy cigarette smoke hanging in the stagnant air above the tables. The people sitting at the tables talk and laugh, moving their arms around in a slapdash sort of way, trying to emphasize whatever it is they are trying to say.

The bar is on the left, and runs nearly the entire length of the building, stopping short of the bathrooms. We sit down at the almost too-tall stools in front of the mahogany bar. One of the stools is arguably the best place in the house. Near all the action, with service that's anything but slow.

Speakers in each of the corners of the building play Indy rock at the perfect volume. You can here the music just fine, and never have to yell over it. Right now Isaak Brock was singing “.. I came as ice, I came as a whore, I came as advice that came too short. I came as gold, I came as crap, I came clean and I came as a rat.
It takes a long time but God dies too, but not before he'll stick it to you. Well I ain't sure but I been told, you never die and you never grow old… ” His off-key vocals are accompanied by an acoustic guitar playing a twangy riff, a simple drum beat, and a tambourine. The result is sheer brilliance.

The walls in the Drunken Ox are adorned with records, old instruments, older sports equipment, and a ton of other ‘junk' that adds to the atmosphere. My personal favorite item, the Mickey Mouse wall clock, rests high on the wall directly behind the bar. His big gloved hands are balled into fists, save the index fingers that point straight out. His eyes move back and forth with the ticking of every second. I could sit at the bar all night and just stare at the goofy, fat ass mouse all night. Right now, both of Mickey's hands are pointing straight up.

Most of the remaining empty spaces on the walls are covered with sloppily written sentences, and crude sketches. The messages advertise where to be ‘for a good time,' or who to call for a ‘good time.' In some cases, the messages even give vivid descriptions of a ‘good time' that took place between two (sometimes more) specific people. The writing on the wall is a kind of message board that everyone uses, and nobody took seriously. Always there for a good laugh, the message board is immaturity at its best. Purely juvenile and funny as hell, the scribbling on the walls do minimal harm to anything or anyone. The owner practically encourages it. There's no better place to be, no matter the night of the week.

One of the regular bartenders approaches us at the bar, and looks to me first.

“I'll have a double of tequila.”

“Sure thing,” says the bartender, then looks to Lonnie “what about you?”

She thinks for a second, then says “Just the same for now, thanks.”

The bartender heads to the liquor shelf behind the bar, grabs a bottle, and returns with the two shots. We tip glasses, and down our drinks. “Cheers,” we say in unison. There isn't much to toast to. Then we order another round. Soon I feel my face begin to redden as the alcohol takes effect.

Conversation isn't so hard when there are other people to help facilitate. We chat about movies, books, and bands with anyone who comes our way. I look at Mickey, both his hands are pointing to the one. It's only 1:04, the night is young, and I….I am getting drunk.

Soon, we've spoken to most of our friends in the place, and Lonnie and I are left alone. My attitude starts changing as soon as our conversation gets serious.

“Vic, I need to talk to you about something,” she says.

The only thing running though my head is ‘This is bad. I am way too drunk.' But for some reason I say, “Sure, anything.”

“Where are we going? I mean, what are we doing, you've been a pretty big asshole lately.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Is she drunk? Probably, but so am I, and I'm the one who always gets wasted and blows everything by saying too much. This is bad….Yeah, this is really fucking bad. Just keep a clear head, so far you've kept it cool with her. I try to rationalize, but it's getting me nowhere. Tonight there's just too much on my mind, and I'm loaded. Just take it easy Vic, don't go and blow this, just stay cool. Now I have to piss, that's just fucking terrific.

“I don't know. I guess you just seem distant… Things just don't seem like they were when we first met, when we first moved in together.”

“I don't know, I mean yeah your right. It's just so hard to figure out…I feel so trapped…Sometimes, I don't know, it just feels like there's nothing left here for me anymore.” I start digging.

“What the hell does that mean?” Squinting her eyes, she turns her lips down towards her chin and adds, “Nothing left? Gee thanks.”

“No, it's….it's not like that. You're the only reason I haven't left yet. I've just been really fucking confused lately… I mean, we fight more, and I hate my job…it's getting to be too much. Maybe it was a bad idea that we moved in together so soon, I mean we were only together five months…” my voice trails off, and my hole gets deeper.

“Vic, what are you saying?” she says, the anger in her voice being replaced by confusion, and hurt. She stares straight at me, fighting back the tears trying to well up in her eyes.

The walls are well over my head. Seeing no way out, I continue downward. There's not much else to do. “I'm just confuse right now….and I'm feeling like we may have jumped into this….God, I don't even know what to say. Things aren't the same as they used to be…..I don't even know anymore. My head is a mess…...I'm a fucking mess.”

The resignation returns to her voice, as she says “Try me.”

“I'm drunk, forget it…I'm talking out of my ass, I don't even know what I'm saying….I'm just being stupid.” I try to get out, but it's too late. She just stares back at me. There is no way she will buy that. ‘A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts' is one of her favorite expressions. And most of the time, it's the plain and simple truth.

I'm screwed, and I know it. “I care about you, I really do…. I just, maybe we just rushed into this… I don't want to break up or anything, I just….fuck I don't know. Maybe it's more than that, its just that….sometimes I can't help but think that I just don't lo…” I stop myself short, but the damage is done. I just dug myself a grave.

“Don't know if you what, Vic?” She knew the answer. ‘I don't know if I love you. Lonnie can barely hold back, a single tear threatens to drop from her left eye. “Don't know if you what, Vic?” she says, her voice rising, then faltering as her eyes begin to water. In a softer tone she says, “You're an asshole,” stands up and, without saying another word, she walks out of the bar.

I don't know what else to do, so I sit at the bar and stare at Mickey, and drink more. I watch the hands move from 1:18 all the way around to 2:18, killing five shots in the process. The same sentences run through my head a thousand times, ‘What did I do? Way to go, you fucking moron.'

The bar's emptier now. There are only about fifteen of us still hanging around. I'm sitting in the same seat at the bar with two other guys, still occupying stools up front.

The first is sitting at the far end of the bar, head down in his crossed arms. I know exactly how that feels, I've been there plenty of times. At the rate I'm heading tonight, I could easily be in the same boat “head down guy.”

The other guy at the bar is a couple stools down on my right. His name is Johnny, I usually talk to him when he's in here, we've both been coming here since the day the place opened. But right now, I'm not in the mood to talk. I sit at the bar, alone, and I realize how I must look. “This is pathetic, and you shouldn't be doing this to yourself. It can't be good for your health,” I whisper to myself.

The weight of this realization hovers over me, and finally I do the thing I had been avoiding the last 45 minutes. I move over a seat, and look to my right in search of company. “What's up man?”

“What's this? Ladies and Gentleman, he finally speaks. It's unbelievable.”

I can't help but smile, I deserve that, and I know it. “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, it's been a rough night. So, what the hell is going on man? Haven't seen you in a while, what's it been…a week or two?

“Yeah man, at least. All I do anymore is work. What's new? Work. Hey Johnny, where have ya been? Either working, or sleeping, so I can go to work.” He laughs. “Work man, and boy o' boy does it fucking suck.”

“Yeah tell me about it,” I'm all smiles now. Funny how just a little human contact can reverse my mood, just like that. Maybe humans aren't so bad after all.

Johnny orders another beer, but I pass. I'm drunk enough already. We start talking, which is never a problem, because we have so much in common. We have a lot of the same friends, and even read the same authors. We talk about everything and nothing, all at once. One minute, we're talking about religion, the next we're discussing great places to eat.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, “Nicky loves that place.” That does it, and the next thing I know, we're talking about our girlfriends. I haven't checked on Mickey in a while, and when I glance up, I realize me and Johnny have been talking for almost two hours.

“Oh yeah…How are you guys doing these days?”

He tells me that everything is great, never better. She found a great job, and they're approaching their two-year anniversary. “How about you and Lonnie?” he says, “I saw her storm out of here earlier, she was looking kind of upset.”

“Yeah, man….I don't really know how to answer that. I've been questioning this whole relationship, maybe it's because we live together now…I don't know what it is, probably a combination of things. It just seems like when you share a place with someone, you can really fucking hate them sometimes.”

A puzzled look crosses Johnny's face. “How long have you guys been together?”

“Just a little over six months, I guess.” I take a minute to count on my fingers, “yeah, six months.”

“Holy shit man, when did you guys move in together?”

“About a month ago, I guess…Yeah, that seems right, month ago next week.”

“So, anyway, what was with all that stuff earlier? You still haven't explained that.”

“Ah man, I don't even know. I was way too drunk, and I pretty much told Lonnie that I didn't love her anymore. It was bad, I was speaking way to freely.”

“Damn, man. That's going to be a tough one to recover from…One last question, though. You didn't mean it right?”

“I don't know. I'm beginning to think I did…Sometimes I just feel so lost. Like I'm gonna get stuck here…I don't know, I guess I just want out. It's like fate hasn't found me yet.

“I know what your sayin', like you just need to get out of this shit hole once and for all, and go find your destiny.”

“Yeah, that's exactly it. That's fucking right on.”

“I hate to be the bringer of bad news man, but it's way too hard.”

I don't believe what he's telling me. “What? How the hell do you know?”

“Man, something like a year ago, I came close to getting out of here. I never made it. Think about it, there're just too many loose ends.”

He seems to know what he's talking about, “Go on.”

“Where are you going to go? And when you get there, where are you going to stay. You won't find a job right away, so what are you going to do about money? What about all your stuff. You can't just pack up everything and dip out like that.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not, you can only carry so much.”

“That may be true, but…”

He cuts me off saying, “And didn't you just get an apartment with Lonnie, aren't you obligated to a lease?”

“Yeah, I guess I never really thought about all that stuff. I don't know what I'm going to do man.”

“Plan ahead, that's the only way. See how things go with Lonnie, and set a goal, try to be free from obligations in a year. You can always go then.

“Man, I don't think I can make it that long in this place, and I definitely don't think things will work out with Lonnie after tonight.

“Ya never know, but I'm telling you… You can't just up and leave, it's never that simple.”

I never really put much thought into all the specifics of just leaving. But as Johnny was talking, a realization crept up and hit me like a knock out punch.

“I don't know man, I think now might be my golden opportunity.”

“Ha, Ha, very funny. In our dreams right?”

“Johnny, I'm not bullshitting you.”

“And how is it, Mr. Vic, that you think you can just up and leave right now?”

I don't know where to start, so jumping in I say, “Well as far as money goes, I wouldn't say that I have a lot. But I have enough to keep me on my feet for a month or two.”

“And where are you going to stay? Sleeping in Motels will burn through your cash real fast.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that. A lot of my friends from school headed East after graduation. I'm sure I could stay with some of them ‘til I got settled in.”

“You're drunk. This is all just drunk talk, right?

“No man. I was drunk, but my head is clear right now.”

“All right, but you're forgetting some things. Your stuff, your lease?”

“I don't have that much stuff at the apartment anyway, I still haven't completely moved in. And as far as the lease goes, we signed a monthly contract at first. That might have been the only smart thing we did.”

“Well holy shit, it actually sounds like you can do this. Go man! Go now, before you get stuck.” Johnny's expression changes, “wait, you're forgetting one thing.”

“Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

“Lonnie.”

“Yeah, I've been thinking about that this whole time. There's only one thing keeping me in this city, and that one thing is Lonnie.”

“See what I'm saying, there's always that one thing. My advice to you, see how it goes, and when it goes as badly as you think it will, get the fuck outta dodge.”

“Yeah, that's what I was thinking. The only problem is so many doors are open right now, and they could start slamming shut any day.”

“It's your call man, I honestly don't know what I would do in your shoes. It's a tough call. All I can say is I missed my chance, and I really regret it sometimes…no, a lot of the time.”

I look up to Mickey, the mouse's hands are pointing at 4:30. “Holy shit,” I say, “it's really late, I should get moving.”

“Yeah, I should probably head out too.”

“Hey man, take it easy, I'll see you around.”

“I hope so man, it was good talking to you.”

Johnny stood, and started walking away. In the center of the room, he turns back to me and says, “Hey Vic,”

“Yeah?” I say, and look at him across the nearly empty bar.

“Always remember…Only tomorrow can tell what the future may bring.”

I nod slowly, and take that in. Meanwhile, Johnny turns, and walks out the front door of the bar.”

I hit the bathroom one last time before leaving, and make my way out of the bar. A high tempo guitar riff plays over heavy drums, as Bert McCracken of The Used screams, “…today I fell and felt better. Just knowing this matters. I just feel stronger, and sharper. Found a box of sharp objects, what a beautiful thing.”

I stop short of the door, and take one last look at Mickey. So, Whaddya think old buddy?”

Mickey just stares back, his eyes move back in forth. Tick, Tick.

“Yeah, that's what I was thinking.” I walk out the door of the Drunken Ox, and climb the stairs back up to street level. I make my way back to the apartment, and pass the time thinking about my options. What are my options anyway? I unlock the door, and sneak into 3467B Willard way, home. The lights are all off, and there's a pillow and blanket waiting for me on the couch. I sit on the couch for close to fifteen minutes, then go into the kitchen for pen and paper. I lay down on the couch, and start writing. I write with little form, just flowing with it, pouring my heart and soul into the paper. I set it down on the coffee table, then stand up, and walk to the master bedroom. Lonnie's fast asleep. The blanket covers her from her shoulders to her toes, and reminds me of a mountain sloping down into a valley. I turn on the closet light, and close the door so I don't wake her up.

I grab an empty duffel bag, and dump the contents of a backpack. I stuff the duffel bag full of my favorite clothes, the best of my thrift store t-shirts, and as many pairs of jeans that will fit. I killed the light, then made my way around the apartment getting to work stashing my most prize possessions in the backpack. First I stuff my CD's and CD player in the bag. Then my four favorite books, they never lost their magic, and would keep me company on the train. I threw in an unopened box of guitar picks, I never knew when I would end up needing those. I would have to leave my guitar, amp, and stereo. But that was ok, Lonnie could pawn that stuff and have enough money for a month's rent, probably two. Leaving my bags by the front door, I make my way to the master bedroom one last time. Clicking on the closet light, I crack the door so only a sliver of light escapes. Standing there, I stare at Lonnie, I want one last good look. Want to know what I'm leaving behind.

Lonnie suddenly stirs, raising her head, squinting against the light. “Vic, is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I, uh, I just needed to get something out of the closet. I'll let you get back to sleep.”

“OK.” She rolls over, and I turn off the light. As I reach the doorway, I hear a quick rustling of the sheets, and she says, “Vic, wait.”

“Yeah?” There really isn't much else to say.

“I'm sorry.”

“What?” The room is dark so she can't see the bewilderment in my face, but I'm sure she hears it in my voice.

“I'm sorry. I was being bitch earlier. It's just that I've been getting frustrated lately, because it seems like we're fighting a lot more. I just want to work through this. I want it to be like it was before, and I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry too. I was a pretty big ass tonight, it has been really frustrating lately. I guess its getting to me too, but we'll talk more about this later. You should get some sleep.”

“You can climb in here if you want.”

This is definitely not what I was expecting, and I have no idea what to do. “I think I'll just sleep on the couch tonight, give you some space.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

I leave the bedroom, and sit back down on the couch. That was a curve ball that I was not expecting, but Mickey is right. Time is running out. My mind is already made up, and I grab the bags and open the front door. I take one last look around my home, and say “goodbye.” Then the door is closed, the dead bolt is locked, and I'm on my way.

Above the city, the sky is still dark, but blue light is beginning to creep up the horizon. It's getting close to 5:15, but I'm in no hurry. I stroll around the city, taking it all in one last time. I reach the big terminal, face its huge glossy windows, and walk in through a set of revolving doors.

I look at the schedule, there are more than enough trains heading East in the next hour. I look at the names on the board: Boston , D.C. , New York , Philadelphia , the possibilities are endless. I could go anywhere. The prospect sends shivers down my spine, the names fly through my mind. It's finally happening, “ Chicago ,” I say to myself. There's a train leaving in twenty-five minutes. Chicago seems as good a place to start as any. I buy a ticket, and head to the platform.

Standing on the platform, I have a perfect view of the rising sun. I don't really care where I end up, any place is probably better than this one. I'm leaving, and that's the only thing that matters. My duffel bag rests on the concrete by my feet, my backpack dangles from my shoulder, and my eyes stare towards the sun, East. I can't help but think about what awaits me out there. It's time for a fresh start. As the pale blue of the sunrise chased away the night, I thought about Chicago , my first destination, maybe my first and last. Maybe I wouldn't even make it as far as Chicago , I sure didn't know.