Haze

chapter 11

"I can't believe you did it," Jesse said. In front of us were two nearly empty bottles of wine and the remains of a pizza. It had been that sort of evening, no doubt. I had to watch out before I became a real alcoholic.

I was a little tipsy by that point, so my response was more enthusiastic than I had planned. "Why the hell would you say that? It was your idea." I gave him an evil smile.

"Effie, I hope you're not pinning this on me. I just wanted to outline the options available to you. When you gain five pounds because you're sitting on the couch eating a pint of Ben & Jerry's every night while you watch romcoms, don't come crying to me." He laughed, the prick.

"Dammit, Jesse! Why did you have to mention ice cream? Does that party store down the street have it?" I couldn't stop thinking about it after he said it. "And shut up! I'm not going to do that every night. Only tonight."

Jesse gave me one of those award-winning, future-CEO smiles. "I think they do," he said. "It's two dollars more than at the supermarket, though. Drunk people are always willing to pay more."

"Yeah, and we're drunk people," I said proudly.

"You are. I'm only a buzzed person."

"And how much will buzzed people pay?" I asked.

"Somewhere between sober and drunk pricing." He finished his glass of wine and then filled it back to the top. "But I'll be joining you soon enough."

I felt really lucky to have Jesse at that moment. He was essentially the only friend I had in this gigantic city. We lived together, but hell, that could have meant so much less. You didn't have to be friends with someone just because you were roommates. Getting along was important, but friendship was never a requirement.

Suddenly Jesse's phone vibrated loudly against the table. I waited that crucial second to see if it was a call or just a text. It vibrated again. Call.

"Dammit, it's Laura. I'll just be a couple of minutes." He grabbed the phone and headed toward the living room. "Hey, babe, how was your day? He what?" His voice grew fainter as he moved down the hall, away from me. Some juicy bit of gossip was spilling into his ear.

In that moment, I didn't like being alone one bit, especially not after hearing Jesse talk to Laura. It made me infinitely jealous, my inebriation critical to that emotional flare-up. Immediately, I thought to call Jack, to tell him that I had made a mistake only a couple of hours after saying we needed a break.

I was thinking about his apartment and that fancy chair, his tongue against my tender, sensitive flesh. My quivering thighs, the grand rescue in the coffee shop, the dark secret from the past and the weakness and humanity around it...

"I'll go get ice cream!" I declared to no one but the nearly empty pizza box and wine bottles. I didn't want to wait for Jesse and I needed the distraction. I didn't want to be frail, but hell, tonight I was going to do what I wanted and make the most of it. Just tonight.

I grabbed my purse and took off down the stairs, clutching the railing for support. The sky was dark and it looked like a storm was imminent. The party store was only two blocks away though, so I decided to risk it all for some ice cream. It was just a little water, right?

After crossing the street, I noticed a figure that looked all too familiar, initially thinking it was Jack, due to my chaotic mind. And then, the figure turned around abruptly after noticing me. I walked forward and then curiously tapped on his shoulder. It was Sam.

"Sam! What the hell are you doing in my part of town? I thought you lived in Manhattan!" I should have probably been worried about my slurred speech, but I didn't really care.

He looked strung out and shocked to see me. "I didn't even know you lived around here! I'm... I'm meeting someone at a restaurant close by." Our eyes broke contact. "It's uh, a Greek place."

"It's not that super fancy one, is it?" I asked politely. "I could never afford something like—"

"Super fancy? I doubt that." His words were forced and cold. "I'm on a budget for the immediate future, so I hope it's not the super fancy one since I agreed to pay." He let out a really hollow, unctuous laugh. I could smell the strong scent of whiskey on his breath.

I tried to recall the name, but the Greek word just wouldn't come to my drunk mind. "Oh, whatever, Sam. Is everything okay?" Sadness oozed from his pores like sweat.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out and glanced at it. "I gotta run though, Effie. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

"Bye, Sam!" I raucously shouted at his back. He took off in the wrong direction, his brisk pace not unlike he was fleeing something. "I think it's the other way, Sam!" I wasn't sure if he heard me or not. He kept walking anyway.

I shrugged it off and headed to the party store, worried again about the storm. Sam had actually been a nice distraction, because now that I was alone, I felt weak and hopeless and wished he, the man that had heavily contributed to my confusing situation, were back. It was weird.

My feet moved independently of my brain, but it was quite an effort to keep going. My mind juggled images of Jack and me, as well as fleeting images of ice cream. It was purely ridiculous, but what control did I really have over my drunken thoughts?

I got into the party store and headed straight to the Ben & Jerry's display. I grabbed our poison—Red Velvet Cake for me and Phish Food for Jesse—and paid as quickly as I could. The rumble of thunder gave me a hostile greeting from outside. I hated storms, especially when I was alone. And tonight, I was more alone—and vulnerable—than usual.

Cash exchanged with the clerk, I grabbed my bag of ice cream and made a mad dash for the sidewalk. As soon as I pushed through the double doors, I was greeted by a gust of wind that almost swept me off my feet. Yeah, just like Jack had...

A droplet of rain hit my scalp as I pushed onward. It wasn't that far of a walk. I'd be okay, I'd be—

Boom! Another blast of thunder shook my whole body and terror pulsed in my veins. The raw, un-muffled sound was nearly too much to handle.

The next time I felt moisture, it was the beginning of a torrential downpour. In mere seconds, the storm had fully come to life, snarling and growling and making an instant mess of things. Lightning crawled across the sky in bright, random, branch-like patterns. Unforgiving gusts of wind sent gallons of water onto my body. Shivers broke loose inside of me as tears spilled from my eyes. In too many ways, this felt like a warzone.

"Dammit!" I screamed out at a force I had no control over. I trudged through puddles that were forming rapidly. The harder I ran, the more I splashed myself. This was unusually strong rain. It felt like I had accidentally stumbled into New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. I couldn't even hide under awnings since the moisture was flying horizontally in sheets.

I couldn't control the choked sobs that kept escaping from my lips. With how soaked my shirt was, it didn't even make sense to wipe my eyes. When I realized I had accidentally walked a block in the wrong direction, it made me cry even more. I had walked outside and immediately followed the direction of the wind without thinking.

I kept my purse tightly under my arm, aggressively shielding it from the rain.

The storm felt like my life—and at that moment, it was my life.

I wanted to control every part of it, yet moments like these arose and I couldn't do a damn thing about them. No, I couldn't just disappear and wind up safe and warm inside my bedroom, escaping the raging weather. I hated that fact more than anything.

I wanted good things to happen at all times, but they didn't. I wanted to make the right decision each and every time, but usually I didn't. Whether my assessment was right or wrong, it sure felt spot-on in that moment.

And when my choices were made and I had to live with them, I drowned in what was left, a figurative, self-imposed sea of misery. I had hurt myself, and more importantly, I had hurt others.

Was the storm even real? Had I just invented it in my mind to illustrate a point? To highlight my mistake with Jack? Additional rain blasted me in the face, and I was sure it wasn't just my imagination. An ice cream vice had led me to this extreme discomfort, this raging and relentless force of nature.

I realized it was actually kind of stupid to blame it on the ice cream. It was me, fleeing from a uncomfortable situation, that's all. And no, it wasn't Jesse's fault either. He had a life of his own, one that I never should have been jealous of.

My phone kept ringing in my purse, but I wasn't about to take the call and potentially inflict the poor thing with serious water damage. Even though I was a mess, I wasn't about to do my phone in, too. Limiting casualties seemed like the best option for sure.

But what if it's Jack?

Why did I even care? I was still a block away from home, sobbing and soaked. The few remaining people on the streets looked at me with judgmental eyes, as if I was a leper.

Just another drunk college girl, they probably thought. I gulped down the realization as soon as it arose.

I was so close now, another half block between me and relief. It was the shortest distance I'd ever struggled to cover in my life. The wind continued to battle me relentlessly. It just wouldn't give up for anything—and neither would I.

Arriving at my stoop—the cement looked cold and wet, but then again, so was I—I gently collapsed onto the steps and sat, numbing myself to everything. Had that really just happened? Raindrops continued to patter against my plastic bag while the wind howled.

Not ten minutes ago, I was eating pizza and drinking wine in the apartment. I was running into Sam by surprise. I was dry as I bought sugary dessert.

That wasn't me anymore. I had sobered up some, but yeah, I was still drunk. I was wet and miserable. I don't know why I continued to sit there, but I did. And then, the storm left just as quickly as it arrived, and I started laughing like a crazy person.

Another tenant in my building opened the door behind me right after the madness concluded, and walked out onto the steps. He was an older man, a nice guy I'd noticed in passing a number of times but never spoken to. He always waved and smiled at me, though.

"What the hell is a girl like you doing out here?"

I turned and looked up at him—he had styled the very few white hairs left on his head and was wearing a nice polo shirt and pair of slacks. His shiny shoes were as reflective as a mirror and his weight rested on a cane. His obvious optimism felt more powerful than the remains of the storm—and it was kind of contagious.

"I don't know," I said. "I wanted ice cream and I got this instead." I lifted my soaking wet dress up and rang some water out. It spilled down the smooth surface of the steps and joined another puddle at the bottom.

"Serves you right for going out during a storm." He let out a booming laugh that softened me immediately, despite the fact that he had just scolded me.

"I guess you're right." I smiled back, even though it was a struggle at first. The physical act of smiling actually made me feel better. "You sure look nice. Where are you headed?"

He gave me a proud smile that seemed to illuminate the whole block. "Well, young lady, I've got a date. She's a real looker. Never thought I'd go on a first date again, but I'm a widower at seventy-five and ready to start fresh." After hearing his words, I expected a look of sadness, an outward expression of regret and misery. It didn't come. He was unfazed by the past, by his past.

I gulped, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid about my own woes. A widower at seventy-five. I couldn't even fathom what he had probably been through. But did I actually need to? "That's great," I said. "She'll be really impressed when she sees you."

"She'd better be!" He hobbled down the rest of the stairs and then turned to face me once he got on the sidewalk. "You have a nice night, ma'am, okay?"

"Thanks. You too!"

"And go change your clothes before you catch a cold." He started walking away, his potent laugh echoing through the evening like a banshee's.

Worried that the ice cream was melting, I stood up and walked inside, empowered by the random meeting on the steps. Had I just gone straight up to the apartment, I never would have had the conversation.

***

When I got inside, Jesse looked like death. He might have actually looked worse than I did.

"Christ, Effie! I was so worried about you. What the hell happened? I called you like a hundred times! You were here and then you just—"

I was feeling better on my walk up the stairs after the old man, but seeing Jesse made the sobs return. "I went to get the ice cream and then the storm and the seventy-five year old guy and I just can't—"

"Shh," he said reassuringly. "It's okay now." He hugged me and then helped me onto the couch. Even if he didn't actually give a damn, I couldn't help but think that he genuinely did. Jesse left the room and then came back with a towel that I eagerly accepted from him and used to dry my hair. I was shivering cold.

"I think I made a mistake with Jack," I cried. "It was stupid. He's probably out with some other girl and I hate myself for doing this and it's only been like two hours."

"Effie, you've got to calm down. No decision is ever easy." He smiled. "The alcohol is making it worse—I guarantee it. And Jack's probably doing work, not sleeping around. You told him it was a break, not a break-up. That implies it will resume."

He was right, of course. It was just a series of stupid coincidences, one after another until my threshold was exceeded and I withered away to nothing. "Yeah." I buried my head in my hands and sighed.

"Do you need anything? Food? Water?"

"A glass of water would be nice."

Jesse nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him getting out a glass from the cupboard and running the sink.

"I got you ice cream in the bag! I hope it didn't all melt."

He returned and handed me the glass. In his other hand was the ice cream bag and two spoons. "I noticed that. Phish Food, huh? My favorite."

I started laughing uncontrollably. I don't know where the giggles came from, but they had arrived with a vengeance and I stopped caring.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I don't know. Give me one of those spoons." I took a big gulp of the water and set it down on the table next to the couch. He tossed me the utensil and I missed. It landed on my lap.

"Nice catch," Jesse said. He ripped the plastic and the top off the ice cream and took a bite. "God, this is so good. It never gets old."

I tore into mine as well and filled my mouth with sweet, sugary bliss. It was exactly what I needed and calmed me damn near instantly. "People should eat ice cream instead of taking anti-depressants," I said.

"I think you're right."

We ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying every bite as much as the one that came before it. I had forgotten the world, forgotten my troubles, let them go as if they were things that just didn't matter anymore, diurnal distractions that were fading away into the night.

Jesse interrupted the silence, his voice full of concern. "Hey, Effie, you said something about an old man. What the hell were you talking about?"

I started laughing again and told him the story.

"Oh, that was Bill! He's a nice guy. I didn't know that about him."

"Have you ever talked to him?"

"Just greetings and goodbyes." A look of fascination broke out on his face. "Shit, I don't know if I could start over again like that. Props to him for having the guts."

"Is being alone better?" I asked.

Jesse paused and then looked at me quizzically. "I don't think there's any good reason for either of us to be talking like this."

Even before he finished his sentence, I was already on a new subject. "Oh yeah, and Sam was outside in the street too!"

"Sam? What was he doing there?"

"Meeting someone at a restaurant. He looked surprised to see me. I bet he got caught in the storm too. He deserved it after being mean to me."

Jesse raised an eyebrow curiously. "That's weird. Wouldn't have expected to hear that on top of everything else that went down tonight. You probably packed more excitement into ten minutes that most people have in years."

"I guess I did," I admitted quietly.

***

Jesse actually stayed out in the living room with me most of the night, probably fully aware that I didn't want to be left alone. He didn't have to do it, nor did I ask it of him. I couldn't even express how much it meant to me, and so tonight, I wouldn't even try.

"I'm going to head off to bed," Jesse finally said. I knew it was coming eventually, so I had braced myself for it. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks so much." It was all I had.

"I owed it to you for the ice cream. Don't beat yourself up too much."

"I won't," I said. "I'll beat myself up just the right amount."

He smiled. "Goodnight, Effie."

After he left, I realized I had been sitting in my wet clothes the whole evening. I shut off the TV and then took a hot shower, thoroughly appreciating the cleansing stream of water. I felt good again, but I was worried that it would be a different story when I tried to fall asleep.

After the shower, I tossed my clothes in the hamper and got into bed. I checked my phone for the first time since I had been caught in the storm: five missed calls from Jesse and one text from Jack. I wasn't sure if I should open it.

My willpower failed.

Him: It will all be okay, Effie.

It was unspecific yet positive, and its emotional claws started to dig into my tractable flesh. I felt that knot start to form in my stomach, but I fought it as hard as I could. Overwhelming pangs of guilt were the last thing I needed before trying to fall asleep.

You're just doing it until the deal is over and Sam calms down.

I kept saying those words to myself over and over again. Each time they felt more and more like self-flagellation than reassurance. Being alone felt off, but then again, what did I expect during a break? Taking a break involved being apart, so everything was going according to schedule.

My schedule. The thing I supposedly wanted.

Let it go for now, Effie. It'll all be fine. Jack even says so...

If I could make it through this, I'd know my feelings were authentic, not just lust-crazed, thoughtless bursts of emotion and obsession that only mattered in the short-term. There was also that notion of pride, the desire to keep my job and move up in the world.

If I could make it through this...

What did that even mean? It wasn't chemotherapy or something. I wasn't dying. I'd be okay. Something told me that, at least. Unfortunately, just because it was okay didn't mean that it would be easy or uncomplicated. I could foresee that already.

Just let it go...

Thankfully, sleep was good to me that night.