As he stepped out of Link’s Bar the cold air hit him and Gabe could feel the tingle crawl up on either side of his jaw. The saliva was coming, lubricating the path. The first thing Gabe saw was the big public garbage can right next to the light pole. He started moving toward it, and in his guts he could feel it was coming with a rush. He slammed his arms around the sides and looked in. Beer bottles, old take-out wrappers from the pizzeria next door, old food, bad, foul, dark, lingering. He tried not to breathe but the thought never fully hit as the beer came back up.
His body convulsed, his hands gripped the rim of the can, and his head plummeted deeper. Gabe could hear it splashing down inside, but it was too dark and his eyes clamped shut as his stomach gave another heave. Some landed on top of the trash, some splashed and trickled down, and Gabe wondered if there was a bag inside or not holding it all together.
So far no one had witnessed this, Link’s being the only bar open at that hour—all the patrons had poured in and were dancing to the pop music poorly filtered through a static-ridden sound-system. All his friends were inside as well—Gabe was alone, making a new friend, confessing his vileness to a silent partner.
After a third go at it Gabe pulled his head out, rested his forehead on his arm. His throat was hoarse, mouth dripping on his shoes. He coughed a few times; spit what was left in his mouth. He had been in a hurry with the beers. He always was when he wasn’t paying for them. He also had smoked too many cigarettes—one had been well enough. He had taken one from Todd’s pack, influenced by the moment, lit up and it had felt like old times again. He then attempted to re-live the good old times again and again. He remembered being twelve again, being caught with a pack of cigarettes by his parents. He had snuck one of his mothers, and gone down the street to the school to light up. Only problem was when we are young, often, we are naïve, and after a few cigarettes Gabe’s little body couldn’t handle all that nicotine and he grew sick and passed out. When his mother found him he had the stolen cigarettes in his pocket, lighter in hand, and a puddle of vomit under his head.
Gabe now stood there catching his breath, saliva dripping from his mouth, eyes closed. He silently chuckled at the memory. He stood straight, lifted his head and threw it back with placid laughter.
Then he felt the rush coming again, like the waves of a flu virus—hot, cold, hot, cold. He felt the blood in his veins coursing faster and faster. The saliva was coming back, sloppily paving the way. The beer came again and Gabe managed to get his head in the garbage without vomiting on the curb. As it left his mouth he could hear people’s voices. Not looking up, only concentrating on the puke, the bad ideas, the end to it, Gabe heard a girl’s voice: “Oh, god, I feel like that guy right now!”
He steadied himself, but his head was too heavy at this point to stand up straight. He wiped his mouth and stepped away from his new acquaintance, fiddled around in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled down, one eye open, found the number, called. After two rings Curtis answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello? Hey, Curtis . . .”
“Gabe? What’s up man? You guys still out right now?”
“Yeah, well, Todd’s inside. I came out here . . . Look, do you think you could, give me a ride home?”
“Yeah, sure Gabe . . . Everything alright?”
“No . . . well yeah, it’s just, I just filled the garbage can. I started puking and I gotta get home. I, I should get some rest before work tomorrow . . .”
“Okay, yeah. I’ll be there in a few.”
Curtis hung up. Gabe shoved the phone back in his pocket and took a seat on the curb. He put his arms around his knees and rested his head. Another group merged out of Link’s, this time it was two guys in a heated argument, and a very, very loudmouth of a girl following behind. Gabe couldn’t put the sentences together, but the two men were angrily shouting at each other, with each other, and Gabe stuck his head up at the momentary excitement of seeing a fight. When Gabe opened his eyes the light had grown brighter overhead, beaming through his pupils, burning his corneas, melting his iris’ into blue ink. He rubbed his eyes into his sleeve until they stopped watering. He lifted his head to watch the scene.
It was a blur but Gabe saw the two men. They were chest to chest, arms outstretched and heads were bobbing with attitude and mouths moved fast. Gabe heard, “Yeah, mother fucker! What you goin’ do now, huh?”, and “You don’t know me, you don’t know me,” and, “I told you not to disrespect me in front of my lady, didn‘t I!?”
The girl was screeching at both of them to “shut the fuck up and both y’all go back inside, right now! C’mon Tony! Leave him alone Tony! You guys need to fucking calm down!” The two didn’t seem to hear her, and the attitude hovering them didn’t change. A few minutes went by and Gabe put his head back down. Pretty soon, he thought, they are going to shake hands and go back in for a drink. Then the girl noticed Gabe, leaned in, and her demeanor flipped a complete one-eighty. “Sorry for the noise, you alright?” she asked him. He pulled his head up when he realized she was talking to him. The two behind her didn’t notice, just kept at each other.
“Yeah,” Gabe said with one eye, “Just waiting for my ride.”
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked, “You wanna cigarette?”
“No,” said Gabe, half smiled, “Thanks, just waiting for my ride.”
She turned back to her task at hand. The words continued, and suddenly a noise began to drown it out. It was music, thunderous, and it was building from somewhere other than inside Link’s. It was Curtis, blaring his stereo. Gabe looked up from the curb as the headlights zoomed up and stopped in front of him.
Gabe got up, on his feet, opened the door and sat down in one quick motion. The car reversed, then turned, then into drive, and Gabe looked out the window at the front of the bar. The fight, or build up to a fight, had vanished. He didn’t see anyone outside anymore. He turned to Curtis. “Damn, you got here fast.”
“You feeling alright?” Curtis asked.
“I think I tried my luck and lost the house.”
“Were you guys at the apartment earlier? I heard there was going to be a barbeque.”
“Yeah, it was a little while ago. Hey, thanks for the ride.”
“No problem,” said Curtis, “I’m just down the street. You got work tomorrow then?”
“At seven. I may not make it . . . I don‘t know, I haven‘t called in sick once yet.”
“Well, if your not feeling up to it . . .”
“Yeah, I don’t know . . . it’s just that, I’m a temp, and they may look down upon a temp who’ll call in sick.” He brought his hands up suggestively and altered his voice to that of a big-wig boss. “‘How often will he do this if brought in permanently?’”
The car drove along, the two talked, the music sitting next to them, and it all happened in fast forward. The car stopped in front of Gabe’s apartment.
“Thank you again,” said Gabe. “I would do the same for you, always, any ways.”
“Yeah man, of course. You going to be alright?”
“Yeah, thanks . . . Thanks again, man. When are you moving again?”
“Not till the middle of July, the tenth I think.”
“We’re going to have to hang out before you go,” Gabe hiccupped and some beer came up. He cupped his mouth and said, “I should go.”
Curtis nodded. “Alright man, later.”
Gabe teetered up the concrete steps as Curtis drove off. Gabe fell through the front door, keys falling from his hand. He was on his knees before he entered the bathroom. A shaking hand whipped the light on, he lifted the seat and filled the bowl. The puke ruptured the toilet, water splashed back up in his face and Gabe tried to keep his eyes closed. Several dry heaves followed and Gabe reached for the toilet paper sweating. He pulled off a good-sized piece, wiped his forehead, his mouth, and blew his nose, threw the wad in the toilet and flushed.
He stood, faltered, made it to the bedroom and grabbed a blanket. He switched the light off and the living room was cast by the orange lamps from the street. Gabe kicked his shoes off, stepped on the keys walking past, and collapsed on the couch. He set his alarm to go off an hour before he was to be at work, then dropped it. He heard it hit the floor and bounce against the leg of the couch. The orange lamps outside frowned in through the windows as if they were his guardians, and Gabe just laid there stinking of vomit and cigarettes.
