Unadulterated: Flashing Memories From A Jading Young Man, Unaware Of His Ways (Summer 2016)

  The hangovers never got easier. Instead, the reasons for them just mounted up and grew, until everything seemed to be a reason to drink the nights away. If it wasn't the bills that seemed drown me with poverty at every chance they had, it was my warehouse job that worked me down to my vagrant bones. If work didn't get me, the bike ride across town every day and night to get there did. I'd work up an awful hunger for something better during those days, but as much as my stomach would growl, booze and cigarettes were the closet touch of heaven that seemed to be within reach. They were an escape, a bad habit and the only way to keep warm from the coldness of the working-world at night. 

  It wasn't just me who felt that way. Everyone else in my hopeless rooming-house seemed to sing those blues, too. On any given night, the front porch would be littered with empty bottles, ashtrays and cynical laughs that were heading straight to hell, without a second thought. With the chipped paint up the yellow sides of the house, the holes in the wood of the front steps, the laundry machines that ate our coins half the time and the always unwelcomed flashing lights of police cars in our driveway -at least a few nights out of the week- there wasn't much else to look forward to. We all worked minimum-wage jobs -for those of us who were employed. So, we shared the struggle and what we could with each other; lighters, beers, taxi rides to town. We were all angels who got lost and forgotten somewhere along the way in life. There was one angel, though, who still walked as a saint among us sinners, and that was Johanna. 

  I still feel the need to start with an "I'm sorry" whenever I start talking about Johanna. Unfortunately, our relationship with each other had a habit of turning disastrous before we found a smile at the end of the day. Like most of the other good things in life, my poor decision making found a way to rust everything that wanted to glow with golden-promise. Unfortunately, I couldn't save Johanna from myself, but I truly wanted to give her my best. Through everything; the secret smiles we shared in the middle of the still nights, to the blackout arguments that neither of us could remember in the morning -no one infuriated me more and no one made me feel as comforted and understood as Johanna did. Through heaven and hell-on-earth, we had each other. 

  Johanna didn't mind me drinking, and in fact, she would join in just as much as anyone else around the house. She just seemed to know when to stop walking along the lines of madness, while the rest of us dove head-first over the edge. When I walked the familiar line of enjoying myself a little too much and getting ahead of my sobriety with carelessness is when the folded-arms and silence she shot in my direction told me we were in for a long night. I knew that deep down, under the mask of recklessness, that Johanna cared for me and was just looking out for my best interests. Like most of the vices I held onto, I knew better, but I just didn't want to get off the high I was riding. 

  I knew that I'd hear about the night before at some point during the day when I woke up the following afternoon from one of those front porch nights. I didn't remember much about it -only hazy recollections; just one more drink, a joint or three later, Nicki's a*s looking attractive in her tight jeans, Jack laughing wildly at something, the floor shaking, my bed spinning and another night where I had one-too-many. My soul ached and moaned when I finally got around to rolling out of my bed. My head pounded with an angry vengeance -forcing me into empty promises that I'd never drink that much again if it subsided. Of course, there was no such luck. Every footstep and movement of my limbs seemed to be an impossible task that only grew increasingly difficult the more I did it. To make it the absolute, worst hangover I could nightmare; the once beautiful rays of the sun shined down with a blistering-glare that seemed hellbent on testing my tolerance for pain. I started to wonder if I made a mistake by getting out of bed at all that day. 

  After I put some sunglasses on and struggled my way to the back porch, I lit a cigarette and prayed for some sort of salvation. Nothing seemed to help, and the afternoon breeze -that used to whistle sweet and freely through the trees- seemed to hum lullabies of a coming death. There's nothing like a hangover to make even the smallest things in life intolerable. To make matters worse, I had blown the rest of my cash for the week the night before, when I made a run to the corner-store for some more beer. It would be another week-long diet of microwave dinners and cigarettes. I started to think about how I could make things better, but waiting to start that brave venture the next day sounded like a much better idea than finding the strength to do it right then. 

  I looked across the large, green lawn of our backyard and wished that the grass wasn't so bright and lush. Nothing seemed to give me any hope that the day would get better. I knew that I was in for it when I heard the wooden screen-door of Johanna's apartment creak open and then swing shut with a clap as the wood hit back against the house. 

  "You're going to kill me with all that noise one of these days," I yelled over the side of the porch, still unable to hear the muffled complaints of Johanna's voice clearly, until her footsteps came brushing through the grass and closer to the porch. 

  "Shut up, Ryan," the voice of my lovely angel yelled back to me, "It looks like you're already doing a pretty good job of that yourself after last night." She never took it easy on me, and that's part of the reason why I held her in such great heights of admiration. Aside from the fact that she worked full-time as waitress, went to school for nursing and helped her sister look after her daughters -Johanna's young nieces- whenever she could, she also put up with me. 

  Although, I couldn't get out of my own way at times, it gave me a confidence in myself that someone as destined for better as Johanna was saw something in me that was worth sticking around for. 

  "Come up here for a minute. Have a smoke with me,"  I yelled back down, already anxiously awaiting to light up another cigarette -as the first one seemed to give me some relief. 

  "Only if you promise to stop acting like a jackass." 

  "I don't know if I'll ever be done with that," I said in honest-reflection, thinking of how I didn't see much wrong with the night before -except for the fact that I let Johanna down in a way. "But, I'll try my best for you," I finished the thought. 

  Johanna agreed, after she sorted her clothes in the laundry room -which was right underneath he porch. Oddly enough, the laundry room is where we first met. A few months prior, when I first moved in. It was strange to think back to a time before I knew what I was getting myself into. I thought that I was taking further steps down my life of independence, but little did I know all the madness and tribulations of a troubled, working life that would be waiting for me.

   It was one of my first bouts with the dryer machine; the usual song and dance of kicking it and swearing the worst kind of hate when it felt the urge to eat all my quarters, and not work. Two dollars in quarters is a tedious task to come up when you're not expecting it. In the middle of my frustrated-fury, I didn't hear the little taps of footsteps dancing down the stairs as I turned around and saw Johanna standing there, asking me if I needed help. It was one of the few times in my life where I had nothing to say to her. All I could do was stare in a moment that would come to change my life and make me question many things -even to this day. That was Johanna, though; shorter than my shoulders, her tan, copper-dream skin glowing even in the night, her usually wavy, black hair was tied back from covering the deep brown of her eyes -the ones I swore I saw a happy future in- and I almost missed them entirely because my young-man's attention span was bending to the will of her curves. I never stood a chance. 

  I watched her walk out of that same laundry room, barefoot in the grass with a fragile grace in each step. She wore shorts that barely covered her backside and a light, hooded-sweatshirt that covered her head and gave her the comfort of hiding from the fools of the world such as myself. She made her way up to the porch and sat cross-legged across from me in one of the chairs. I held my lighter up the cigarette that rested between her lips and smiled through my aching-existence as I watched her face. She was all that I needed to be alright. 

  "So, what are you up to this weekend?" Johanna broke the moment after she took a long drag from her cigarette. 

  "I have no idea. At this point, I'm thinking it'll be a miracle if I end up making it through the day." 

  "That's your own damn fault, though. Don't you ever get sick of doing that s**t every night? I mean, I don't mind it every now and then, but it just seems so predictable." It was the same old song and dance that we played with each other after little disappointment of mine. Normally, it would've turned into a stubborn standoff of pride and ego and resulted in an argument, but I was too weak to muster the patience or energy for any of it. 

  "I don't know," was all that I could think to say. Johanna had a point, though; all the nights spent drinking and smoking my hopes into finding something that made it all worth it, seemed to still be searching for answers. 

  "I have something going on Friday and I want you to come along with me. I wouldn't feel comfortable having anyone else there," Johanna said, and my deep-down intentions of wanting to be someone to be proud of for her came to life with purpose. 

  "Me? Well, what is it?" 

  "After last night, I can't believe I'm leaning on you -of all people- for this," she shook her head with a cynical grin, inhaling a deep drag from her cigarette, again. 

  "Look, whatever it is, I'll do it," I said, throwing myself into the flames of forgiveness, without realizing the consequences of having a good heart. 

  "We'll see how long that promise lasts. So..." Johanna took a deep breath of her own, trying to find some courage deep down. "You know how I've been doing my own writings and everything lately?" I nodded my head in understanding and let her continue on. "Well, there's a poetry night, type of thing in town this weekend, and I really want to go and read some of my stuff, meet some like-minded people. I'm gonna regret saying this, I'm sure, but you know what you're doing when it comes to writing. I want you to be there with me," Johnna finished and looked up at me with those brown eyes that I couldn't stand to share with disappointment any longer. 

  As much as I hated people -especially the shallow ones who took the "arts" too seriously- I knew that it was an oncoming-dread, but at least it would have vindication at the end of it for all of my poor decisions when it came to my relationship with Johanna. Out of all the hard-luck circumstances I seemed to find myself in throughout life, writing was one thing that seemed to hold good-faith for me. I had been writing for a few years, and it was really the only thing I had any discipline and promise in. Every night -however drunk, bored, tired or starving I was- I found time to sit at my desk and write the hours away. I had a few things published in a small magazine here and there, and I even had been back and forth with a publisher about putting a novel out. While I did it all out of instinct and love, it was something that Johanna actually seemed to admire me for. I was good for something after all. Johanna gained interest, and naturally, starting writing poems and such on her own; most of which I actually tended to like. I wasn't sure why she was so eager to share her soul with strangers, but after I took a long drag off of my cigarette and ignored flashes of quick excuses to get out of it, I agreed to go with her. 

  "Oh my god! Ryan, thank you!" Johanna leapt out of the chair and wrapped her arms around my neck with a joyful, little shriek and kissed my cheek. When she pulled away, I saw the smile that stained her face, and I knew that I did the right thing; no matter how painful of a night it would be for me to get through. After our time on the porch ended, I couldn't handle the screaming-headache from my hangover any longer, and slept the rest of the day away -finding a reason to smile by the end of it, after all. 

  Every day leading up to the weekend, I tried to think of ways to talk Johanna out of wanting to go. The only answer I came up with was selfishness, though. It wasn't so much that I didn't want Johanna to shine or spread her wings with soaring-confidence -it was that I already knew better than to listen to the expectations of the night being anything but a bore. I could already hear the self-indulgence that would be spewing from hipster tongues; funny hats, thick-rimmed glasses and scarfs that wouldn't be needed to defend against the cold of winter for another few months. The type of people there would speak with large vocabularies instead of soul. What did they know about life, though? They had it good, there was no need to pretend to suffer for the sake of being interesting; their step-fathers never beat their mothers, their hands didn't blister at the end of each night of work, they didn't have to bicycle their way through the rainy days because it was the only option they had and their washing-machine probably even worked, too. I already wanted to leave and the night hadn't even arrived yet. 

  Still, when the weekend did finally roll around, Johanna enticed me with every little vice to hold me to my word. "I'll drive, so you don't have to ride that bike of yours. I'll get us a pack of cigarettes to split and I'll even buy you a drink or two," she promised me in passing a day prior. She knew the way to my soul. Even while I was getting dressed for the night, each button going up my shirt tried to convince me that it wasn't worth it. I stood on the porch, waiting for Johanna to finish getting ready; my button-up shirt, tattered jeans and my worn-in boots that couldn't do any better. I even threw on my sunglasses, just to make sure I would be left alone. 

  "You look ridiculous wearing those at night," Johanna commented on the glasses and shook her head at me as we got into her car. My eyes snuck a glance at Johanna every chance they could. My heart beat wild with desire, as I was floored by her beauty; the black dress that hugged her skin, the curls at the end of her hair, the lipstick that colored her lips with attraction and even in the nighttime, her skin was glowing as it always seemed to. I was falling in love all over again and having all sorts of between-the-sheets dreams about her. 

  When she parked the car in town, I felt too beneath her to even attempt to be a gentleman and hold her hand. Why would she want to confess to sharing my company? A mere mortal such as myself, didn't deserve the loving touch of an angel. The slight-smile on her face told me that she was satisfied enough that I actually came along. I knew better than to test my luck any further with her just yet, though.   

  When we got to the café, the smell of coffee and soy milk told me that I would have to suffer through sobriety until the bitter end of the night. The crowd was pretty much exactly who I loathed them to be. I made it a point not to hide my hands, in hopes that the lingering-scent of cigarettes would ward most of the people off. Johanna amazed me, as always, though. Even with me sticking by her side in a brooding-silence, she wove through the room; striking up conversations, sharing introductions and laughs, and she even made a few new friends it seemed. She could work magic in the most hopeless of places. 

  When the time came for the poetry-reading to start, we took a seat by the window. The first few readers nearly put me to sleep; dull, lifeless ramblings that the world was a better place without. Instead of listening, I often found myself looking out the window, across the streets, to the neon-glow coming from a bar -where I'd much rather be. The only time I actually sat on the edge of the chair and listened with great respect is when Johanna got up to read. I watched her hold her papers filled with poems in her hand, and read them out loud to ears other than mine for the first time. My heart roared against my chest. God, I was nervous as hell for her. I was ready to make a scene if anyone snickered or gave her a reception that was anything less than warm and loving. I made sure to clap and let it be known that I heard every word at the end of each poem. I could've died happily right there; watching her confidently read form her soul and pouring joy that smiled from her face as each ending was met with applause. The look on her face was the most beautiful thing I think I had ever seen. I'd give up all of my selfish-nights, for the rest of my days, if it meant she could feel that happy, again; just once. 

  I gave her a hug as she sat back down with me, and the smile was still smeared across her face. I could even feel the pulse of excitement in her hand when she held mine and gave it a little squeeze. I looked down as her fingers crossed with mine, and thought how I must be doing something right with her for once. While the elation of things going well flowed through us, it was hard to hold on to that feeling once I realized there was still most of the night to endure through. 

  Everyone who went up seemed to get worse, and I felt the awful helplessness of boredom coming on. Whether it was their writing or just my patience running thin, I could hardly sit still any longer. Everything was a reason to get up and leave. I couldn't fight the buzzing impatience -no matter how often I looked to Johanna and tried to find higher purpose to. Unfortunately, I found a reason to do so, and let down all of my best intentions, along with Johanna's trust. 

  One of the young writers got up and got choked up on contrived emotion when he started reading off a poem about mother earth and her "crying heart" -pausing every so often to take a deep shuttered breath and compose himself. "Oh Jesus Christ," I blurted out and hung my head in my hands, groaning at dramatics. When I looked up, all the eyes that I never cared to meet were looking at me; including the embarrassed and angered ones of Johanna -who had let go of my hand and scooted several inches away from me. I couldn't defend myself, and didn't want to in a way either. I was a mess of disappointment and disregard, but I was honest in the very least -even if it was the only thing I had in the moment. I stepped outside and lit a cigarette, before walking across the street to the bar; to drink away the truth that I had blown a good thing, once again.