Sober

Sober

Call me when you’re sober –

Click…dial tone….

When I’m sober he sneered

Downing the last shot of EJ,

Easy Jesus as it’s known in these parts

He rose unsteadily to his feet, leaned into the slight breeze

And made a crooked B-line to his slick, black, mazda

Fumbling for his car keys he ignored the calls of his bredrens

Wanting to know ‘wha gwaan’

‘wha gwaan was that right now he felt like shit inside’

Tho he swayed like a palm tree as he walked

Behind the wheel he was THE street racer

Call me when you’re sober – click – dial tone

It pissed him off, dialing her number off the speed dial

…voicemail…

He was going to settle this tonight.

Months upon months they went through this façade

This game of hints and gestures

Of fake smiles and plastic faces

Poker faces for each other

Staring at each other’s sins and

Speaking out with silence

And working things out through inaction

While he made love to 150 proofs

And she made love to him…

Call me when you’re sober – click – dial tone

His vision became monochromatic

Foot flooring the gas he drives steady

Blood vessels pounding, his world melting like plastic

From the heat of his rage bubbling past angry

Weaving through traffic along glistening streets

Pock-marked with rain filled potholes

Populated by bowed head humans going about their daily human lives

On their constant human grind

Having no place or concern for a human like him

Simply because everybody gots their own shit to deal with

So his shit gets dealt with at the bottom of progressively potent bottles

Since they don’t “communicate” anymore

Then he’ll “communicate” with Napoleon and Cavalier

He’ll ride the Night Train along with Kolbeck to English Harbour for a sip of the Five Year Rum while dancing with Bloody Mary on occasion

And when he’s done seeing pink elephants, unicorns and blue flames off of Absecent

He’ll confess his sins to the Easiest Jesus he could get a hold off

He scoffed, falling into a dry, hacking cough

She had the nerve to tell him to call her when he’s sober

As if he didn’t know that this farce of a relationship was over

That the flames had banked and died

That love didn’t live there anymore

But what actually lived there was the cum stains

Of that motherfucker she didn’t even try to hide anymore

He felt like crashing

Just fold up into a utility post and bleed quietly

But why die quietly when he could take the Gorgon with him

And if Fate was particularly fickle then three hearts would leave this world together

Like a hymn

Ahhhh Fate is indeed fickle

There was that car again,

Parked up in front of his gap,

As if its driver owned the place.

Cum stains on my sheet

The words, the images bounced around within his head

As a haze descended blurring his vision

Was it his fault?

He screeched to a halt

Put the gear in park, pulled the hand lever, fumbled with the glove compartment

Questing for and finding solid death

Reaching for his Glock he took the safety off

The handle fitting perfectly in his hands like an old lover

Leaving a metallic taste in his mouth

The same taste that filled his mouth months ago when he sat at the edge of the cliff

Near the old fort with this same barrel cradled on his tongue

He stepped out of the vehicle

The heels of his Timbs crunching into the wet gravel

A dark grey mimicking the burdened, pregnant clouds ponderously floating by

Like lords of the ocean deep

A fine drizzle misted but not even that could cool his resolve

His heart felt heavy

Heavier still, than the grim reaper manifested in his palm

Calm seemed to envelope him and he made his way toward the door

Using his key he opened the door

The living room was clean,

Nothing out of place

Not a speck of dust

She always was a neat freak

His feet moved him towards the bedroom

It would seem his anger had burned the alcohol from his system

Well he won’t be able to blame it on the rum, whatever he was about to do

Stopping in the doorway of the bedroom, his bedroom

Their bedroom

He took in the sight

Of well folded clothes placed on the chair near the desk

Shoes placed beneath the bed

Belt hanging on the chair back

She on all four on the bed offering the air her ass crack

As the owner of the car parked outside

Who made sure that even in the heat of passion

His clothes should be neatly put away out of respect for her OCD

Smacked her ass repeatedly as he plunged deeper and deeper in time to the rhythmic thumping of the bedhead

Doing what he used to do

What he and her, they used to do

In a bed they used to share…

He stood there as they both spasmed and screamed their orgasmic delight

He stood there as the infiltrator, shuddering, withdrew and dripped, dripped

On the bed sheet

He stood there as they untangled and lay down breathing hard with sweat and broad smiles

He stood there as their breath caught and smile froze when they saw him

He stood there as their eyes widened ever wider when they saw the cold steel in his grip

He stood there as fear washed over them with a stink much different than the one

They not too long made

He walked slowly towards the bed

A million and one thoughts racing through his head

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating the dread on their faces as they realized he was raising the gun and that he was as serious as a heart attack

When he heard his children’s voices floating in from the walkway outside

The sound of the school bus faded slowly along with the screams of excited children going home from school

‘Daddy’s home, daddy’s home,’ they squealed in chorus,

They must have seen his car, he thought.

He paused, blinked and then walked away slipping the gun into his pocket

As he greeted his children at the door with hugs and kisses

‘Daddy, daddy, we missed you so much

‘awww and daddy missed you too.’

‘Whose my boy’

‘Me!’

‘And whose daddy’s pwincess’

‘Meeee!’

‘And who wants icecream?’ he asked to a chorus of Me’s

He smiled, took their little hands into his and walked away

‘Daddy can I have chocolate? I love chocolate,’

‘Sure princess,’

‘Daddy I want pistachio’

‘Anything for my boy’

Gazing at their beaming faces he felt love and joy

And a sort of peace

A peace that was somehow denied him

And his smile faltered a little

As a bit of sadness touched his heart amidst echoes of disappointment

And anger

Yet still he knew that everything was going to be alright

Yes he knew this with every conviction as he stared at their faces

Their innocent, joy filled faces

Dissolving into

Masks of unblinking terror

And a scene too real to escape

He had to say something, anything at all to make this right

To bring back his peace of mind

But try as he might he couldn’t think of anything better to say

As he emptied the gun into both of them

As all the months of shit and frustration possessed his trigger finger

As his screams of anger and madness soared with the barking of the pistol

Drowning out their screams of terror

Except…

‘I’m sober now’

Glen Toussaint©2012