The Yucca and The Bloody Mary

Bodies littered on the floor embodied with spiritual spirits. The 3pm glare of the sun warps  as it dances through, motes of dust, and the multicolored arrangement of, quarter and half empty bottles of inhibition inhibitors. A piece of modern art, the 21st Centuries Persistence of Memory, undead corpses of melting clocks with hands pointing to times of finality. A moan from deep in the abode of self-pity echoes like a prayer in an empty church, it's me, Henry, a man reborn, a phoenix of this era, tumbling over stale beers that were beautiful at night, so full of joy now nightmarish pits of rank regret, like most women I've had the pleasure of knowing. The smell blitzkriegs the nostrils, no mercy, the body knows the steps to this dance and follows with the unnecessary  gag, burp, taste of Red Label, I grab the bottle nearest, and drain it, till it lays on the floor hollow and lifeless. A girl in a restless sleep mutters "five more minutes mom please". She's thinking of the days before she became this vessel of self destruction. I'm not phased, I've been here before, I f*****g live here. Leave a pretty corpse, it's appeal, a riot in high school but now a lonely trot to a beautifully tormented tone, the main character and the villan, the Uno needing uno mas, a monk of a lost religion, devout, unflinching, reading his scriptures on the back of the bottle I hold "George Washington was a devout beer lover…". He always did look like a drunk.

"And now a song by Arianne Grande" says a 40 something man in tight jeans who always tells you at parties that he is now and forever 25. With equanimity I keep my hand steady and turn off the garbage, the sparking sound of the TV shutting sounds like a sigh of relief. I gives the telly a thumbs up. Somebody pukes in the other room. I plug in my favorite CD in the black Panasonic CD player with the NOW UP TO 30CDS sticker on its side, a dusty, ugly thing from an era where music still meant something. Like a retired robot with arthritis in its steel bones it puts the CD to play, complaining while it tucks shaking the CD in. Buena Vista Social Club echoes through the ward of alcoholics nursing their wounds. I take a few amateur latin dance moves to the fridge, opens the treasure chest, the sucking pop of the fridge opening brings saliva to my mouth. The Pavlov effect, the bell rings for a bloody mary, half a glass of vodka some tomato juice and a half bottle of tabasco, heaven

. " oh god what are you drinking?" Sheila says as she gracefully walks in, or as gracefully as one who used the pot of where Henrys Yucca plant rested as an emergency puke bag. The innocent victim of last night's debacle, poor yucca, the soil now soiled, a haunted graveyard of unfinished meals.  She held to the plant for dear life like a girl in a old B movie holding on to the leg of some monstrous heap of muscles that was to be her savior. They never did show the ending where the girl finds out all that black magic (steroids) had made this man's junk a micopenis, a curse by the evil lord that had taken her hostage, a last hurrah so to speak. A haunting design. With great power comes great responsibility, and erectile dysfunction. Maybe that's why HE Man always shouted "HE-MAN!!!" with a sword larger than life, maybe he was compensating.

"Henry"? Sheila says.

"Oh s**t sorry, lost in thought, you remember He-Man, do you think he was compensating" I inquire fool heartedly

"What are you talking about, Henry sometimes I don't get you" she shakes her head

I smile and let out a rasp laugh "join the club".

Sheila stares at me slightly miffed, every sip that slides through the gentle cold ice cubes, takes me farther away from the hole I woke up in, my lips vibrate with pleasure, my tongue wants more 80 proof, "breakfast…. of… Champions" I half shout.

I say "But where are my manners, would you care for a liquid breakfast, I've heard Tomatoes have quite the potency when it comes to vitamins, I might have some eggs in the fridge, but my memory fails me"

"Henry" she asks "Did we do it last night"?

"Vitamin C, A, Pottasium, Calcium"

"Come on Henry!"

"Lycopene, good against cancer I think, the big C!"

"Henry!!"

In a slow motion I roll my eyes at her and say  "well the horoscopes were right and the stars aligned, but…. you were all over Jukka or was it Yucca, holding on to the wood like a baboon to a flimsy tree branch, weird name nonetheless, something Scandinavian… Finnish about it… JUKKA!!"

there is a soul-lamenting feel when she says "Jukka, who is Jukka. Oh my god Henry who is Jukka"

I explained " you know eating cooked tomatoes works as an internal sunscreen, I wonder how many bloody Marys I should drink to stop my balding head from turning tomato red in this hellish heat".

Aggravated Sheila said "F**k your tomatos Henry, you sardonic a*****e, I had relations with a guy whose name sounds like somebody gagging on a piece of food"  

I do a pistol sign with my fingers and point at the yucca palm " the yucca palm Sheila, you really did a number on him, wonder if he will grow all twisted now, did you know that childhood pain can cause serious mental anguish in later years"

"F**k you Henry! you're all twisted"

"Yeah…." I finish the glass, I need more tabasco.

"Sorry" Sheila says but she doesn’t mean it, she wants to, she loves me and she hates me ,I took her down this path, this abyss, but then again I never made her, or did I. With the nightly calls, full of drunken mumble saturated with self pity after my parents and sister tragically died in a car crash the day before Christmas.  She was there when it happened, and now she was riddled with survivors guilt, but with sleet raining the day before and the road frozen over after, the car was impossible to control. The car slid, screeching like a hull of ship, knowing  the next wave would be the last, wailing for stability, and then a moment of silence, a crash and rolling. The perfume bottle my mother had bought for me flew in the back seat smashed the back window, glass projectiles flew  in all directions, a washing machine-esque scene,  a piece of wood thrust through the front window and pierced through my father Johnathan, indifferently, numbly, how could something inanimate seems so cold hearted. Sheilas seat belt ripped and she flung on my sister Mary, as the side of the car hit a large rock that broke almost every bone in Marys body saving Sheilas life she could feel the body breaking, a cracked egg, life leaking, breath fleeing from holes punctured by her twisted bones. She was dead instantly, she felt no pain or so the paramedic explained (which I whole heartedly doubted). A shard of glass had punctured my mothers jugular, she was looking back trying to grab something to hold on, perhaps the perfume in confusion, like a child trying to catch a fly, not believing this was it, she looked back and tried to speak but the blood in her mouth made a gargling mouth wash sound, her eyes glazed, her head fell forward, staring blankly at her lap and then silence, the smell of Henrys perfume, the soft mass that was now Mary under Sheila, the snow falling, the dead silent peacefulness after a storm, the snow not melting any more from my father's body. she felt undying hatred to that piece of wood, that in a faucet like demeanor dropped blood on her face, one drop at a time, in equal intervals. She laughed, then cried, she wanted to brake, to strangle the piece of wood, it had become something more, something with a soul to her. She woke at times to a sensation of the dripping faucet of blood on her head and for a moment before waking up, somewhere between dream and reality she would see the piece of wood glaring down at her, haunting her very soul, a wooden poltergeist that had spared her soul, it grinned, victorious, unshaken down at her.

She snapped out of thought"Give me a f*****g Vodka on the rocks Henry!"

I oblige  "How could I say no to a girl with such a lascivious, sensual, carnal temper. You turn me on you know "

"I know Henry, I know" she tries to smile

Chan Chan started playing, My favorite song, I'm like my aunt that way, every song she puts on she has to say  " now henry listen carefully, this is the best song ever" .The second bloody mary fell nicely to my empty wretched stomach, ulcers be damned! it oiled the rusty parts, I was ready to limbo so to speak. I jumped to the fridge, grabbed the vodka, threw the ice in the glass with alcoholic precision and filled the cup to the brim. My world suddenly became that one glass, my eyes focused and everything else around it blurred away, I watched as the cubes slowly cracked, smoothened out and finally gave themselves over and became one with the vodka in the glass.

Sheila said "My vodka Henry"

I pompously answer "Of course Milady, so did you wear those stocking just for me?, you know how they turn me on, that long dark hair, those freckles and the tank top, I can't help but gape"

She smiles "Henry…. I'm sorry but your chances aren't that high, I mean I did pick a palm tree over you, you know" sipping on the vodka she bursts out laughing

I overly emphasize the words "hah…hah…haaaa, you know you are the girl that got away, but never went away"

Cory jumps in the kitchen, the cut of the litter wigger, dreads, red hair, raiders cap, , only plays the classic hip hop tracks that nobody heard, his soul is, De La Soul. " what uuuuup b*****s!, yo my man Henry, you see that chick Theresa, mammaries to die for, I mean for real, got me going like damn, how a man gonna handle those with just two hands…. unfair"

His heart was in the right place though, alcohol had seeped through his air force ones, they were beyond saving, he was still wearing his overly sized, Wutang sweater, that he slept in and stuck to him, a second skin, sweat ran down his forehead, he was dying from the heat, but I guess he was going to suffer to keep up his bravado.

I inquire already knowing the answer" Yo, Cory, so did you get some?"

Sheila jabs "of course he didn't with his prosaic, Prozac popping, missing a ball sack demeanor"

Cory gets the dust off his shoulder (literally) "Damn no need to be jealous, Cory got love for everybody, but if you must know, I was a Gentleman"

"Was that before or after she grabbed your cap and puked in it" I said

Slight agitated Cory says "F**k yall haters, and s**t, that was my favorite Raiders cap, you know Eazy E the mofocking G, he dug the Raiders"

"He also died from A.I.D.S. , hope you strapped up… pun intended" Sheila glanced at me and we kept laughing.

"Well at least I wasn't shouting Henrys name while I tried to use a f*****g Yucca Palm as a strip pole and vomit basket at the same time, anyway I'm out I gotta go hustle" and Cory slowly walked putting emphasis on the not so gangster limp, more of a man with skeletal deformity, a sports injury that never really healed. Sheila gaped, rubbernecked me with a look of I didn’t do that did I, and I slowly nodded, oh yes you did, Sheila you minx, you hussy, you trollop. 

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