without a light of doubt

I remember those days well. My doc began prescribing meds. Thorazine.

For myself, I prescribed rotgut whiskey and bennies. Couldn’t afford Martinis.

When I began losing my hair the following fall, I stopped shaving, downgraded my wardrobe, and was suddenly on a first-name basis with shadows.

When I spoke, people would ask, “What did you say?” at least fifty times. I’d tell them, “Don’t worry about it; it’s not important,” and spend the rest of the day pouting.

On the morning of the 5th, I confessed to a woman on the third floor how much I enjoyed Rod McKuen’s poetry. When she refused to acknowledge me (I later learned the woman was stone-deaf), I sunk into a profound depression. I went back to my room and listened to “The Goodbye Girl” by David Gates a hundred and two times. It didn’t make me feel any better.

When I awoke the following day, I put on cheap sunglasses, went to church, pawned an electric guitar I’d won from a radio station autographed by Hanson, collected $25, went to the Waffle House, ordered a bowl of grits and a biscuit.

My waitress flirted with me. I asked her for her number. She just smiled and said, “You’re adorable.”

I didn’t leave her a tip.

When I left, she tackled me in the parking lot.

“Sir, was there something wrong with the service?”

“I’m not working… I’m on a budget…I wish I could have tipped you, but…”

I broke down in tears.

She said, “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.”  She reached into her pocket and offered me five dollars. “I know how it is to be out of work.”

“I can’t take your money,” I said.

“I want you to have it.”

“You’re very kind, but…”

She stashed the bill in my shirt.

“You’re a true Christian,” I said.

“I try to be.”

“God bless you.”

“He already has.”

I steeled myself. “Can I call you sometime?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t go out with unemployed guys,” she said.

Crushed, I headed for the bus station and bought a one-way ticket to points unknown.

As I waited in the lobby, I was approached by a toothless woman in a Mother Hubbard dress.

“I was only thirty credits away from my degree in sociology when I had to leave school,” she said, peanuts and beer on her breath. “I would have still been there, but they didn’t allow you to stay when you’re pregnant, and I was showing.”

That’s when I fell asleep and missed the bus.

But, I reminded myself, I’ve been doing that all my life.