Hurt Once, Think Twice OR Cody's Digression

The opening of something I hope. Chapter One.

  Things change. It's a fact of life. A fact that in this moment I am struggling to believe. Or maybe, I just don't want to believe.
  Eleven years ago, sat in the same bar, on the same stool, drinking the same two dollar whiskey, my life did change. The same damn jukebox ringing out the same back-country anthems that it still sounds out this night. Eleven years ago, sat in this bar, on the same bar stool drinking the same two dollar whiskey I discovered what it felt like to lay your eyes upon someone and have your breath stolen.
  Eleven years ago when Julie walked in was worse than the time Billy Cole blindsided me in the street behind Denny's bowling alley as I was stumbling home blind drunk one night. I couldn't breathe, but I remember so clearly that I didn't care. If she was the last thing to of graced my eyes before God decided that he was going to pull me into the shining light past the Pearly Gates, well s**t, I would have died a happy man.
  'Cody, why are you telling me this? I mean, I liked Julie as much as the next guy, but really bro, why now?'
  That's my little brother, and you know, he's probably right. I mean, why tell anyone anything? And, how would you know it's the right time anyways. Honestly, this was not the right time. Not even close. After today though, I figure you gotta take your chances whenever they come up. Besides, that was one of the happiest times of my life.
  I'd moved out to Tennessee after an argument with my old man. Something about not exploring my potential, not going to College. That was somebody else' dream. It feels like another life now, packing a couple of duffels and getting in that old Chevy. There's something so liberating about being able to carry everything you own in two hands. That’s when I ended up here. ‘HELP WANTED’ sign hanging out front, so as fate would have it, I thought I’d try my luck. Sitting on this here stall about to order a shot, that’s when I first laid eyes on her.
  Eleven years on and that old Chevy is still kicking about. She takes up a lot of my time, but hell, I can’t bring myself to take her down the junkyard or sell her for parts. Now that dad has passed, I need that hunk of junk. Dad and I never did get things straight after I walked.

  Six shots deep and I’m only just starting to realise I don’t need that car so much as I do my pop. He’s gone. So I guess that car is the only thing I have to remind myself of him. We fixed it up together, and whenever I start her up, a part of me is always reminded of those good times.

  Six shots deep and eleven years on I’m starting to wonder what life would have been like had I stayed. Would pop, my brother and I still have taken our annual fishing trip to Lanyon’s Creek in the fall? I remember those trips so clearly " a time when the leaves would turn brown and the winds would start to pick up and make our boat rock gently against the swirling, murky water.

  Despite the turning weather and the cold nights shivering away in our sleeping bags, I find nothing but warmth, stillness and calm in those memories. But that’s all they are now, memories. And memories fade. They are things that happened in a former life, a life that I am starting to question whether or not I should have ever walked away from. Hell, I guess I just miss my pop, and I regret that I don’t have the chance to tell him now how much I love and miss him.

  It’s funny you know, how today of all days I’m taking time out to think of these memories. Actually, it ain’t funny, it’s damn right selfish. Truth is, that day I walked out on pop, well hell, I walked out on mom too.
  She was a good woman you know. In fact, a great woman. The kind of woman that would have dropped her whole god damn life just to take an hour on the phone with you. I should probably explain. We buried her today.

  That’s the thing about families. For all the conflict, the arguments, the misplaced concern, if you could tell me better people to spend the hardest times with, I’d buy you a drink.

  ‘Cody, what are we gonna do about the house?’ Jacob askes, half purposefully, half masking what he really means. He knows his question aint lost on me. He knows I took it for what it really means. And that is ‘Cody, what the hell are we going to do now?’ This is when it hits me. I’ve got six years on Jacob. Right now, I have to hurt once, and think twice, cause he was so much closer to ma than me.

  I start chuckling to myself as I draw the sixth " No, seventh shot of whiskey to my lips. Jacobs stares at me perplexed. The kid is looking at me helplessly, like I’m the guy who’s supposed to hold all the answers. He needs me, I aint got no doubt about it.
  The drinks are starting to take their toll. I know I’m drunk - this feeling is all too familiar, and if anything, I draw comfort from it. The split second realising my vision is blurred and if I stood up I wouldn’t be able to walk straight makes me forget, if only for a second, that if there’s ever a time to stop, it’s now.
  ‘Take that smug look off your face you b*****d! How can you be smiling at a time like this?’ Jacobs face has twisted from a look of desperation to one of resentment and frustration. He is right to be feeling this way.
  ‘I guess I just find it funny Jacob’ I sigh into my glass before swigging down the remains of my drink.
  ‘What could possibly be funny right now?’ His frustration escalates.
  ‘Eleven years ago I fell in love whilst sat at this bar stool drinking this liquor. And now, well… I’m sat in this same bar stool having my first drink with my baby bro. But it just so happens that we had to put our ma in the ground today. So s**t Jacob, if you got any idea how I should be feeling at this moment, I’ll be happy to hear it.’
  He glances at me before diverting his eyes onto the near empty pack of Marlboro that still remains on the bar.

  It’s a funny thing admiration, and there’s a good reason they say you should never meet your heroes. I wonder what they say about keeping your heroes in the family.

  My mind begins to wonder again, taking me back to a rainy night in Portland around sixteen years ago. Jacob and I had gone out there over thanksgiving to stay with Aunt Tilly. Man, Jacob was so excited, he loves Tilly even now, and at that time he was fascinated the WWF. Although I never much cared for it myself, I feigned an interest as best I could for him. We headed out to the arena that Monday night for the RAW event, spending three hours watching these guys wrestle each other.

  After the show Jacob pleads with Aunt Tilly to let him stick around to get an autograph of his hero. He begs, she protests, then somehow I convince her on the compromise I’d stay with him in the pouring rain for a scribble. If you got a kid brother I’m sure you’d do the same, you know? Anyhow, ninety minutes pass, and some dude with long blonde hair comes out. ‘That’s him Cody, that’s Chris Jericho.’ Till this day I recall the force as he drags me toward this guy, my sleeve in one hand, a damp poster and pen in the other. We get to the front of the queue, and offer the poster up to the guy. ‘Hey little guy, I’m not sure who you think I am, but I don’t do that’ is all he says. I never really understood why, hell, I still don’t, but between that man’s inability to do something for my kid brother, and the look on Jacob’s face now… Well, this may be as close as I get.

  Family is a strange thing. I sure as hell never really understood that either. Not until now. Not until I look back on it. You can’t change the past. S**t, you can’t see into the future, let alone think you have any control over it. All you have is the now. And now? I got nothing.

  It’s this realisation when the ‘b*****d smug’ look on my face fades. Jacob doesn’t notice. His head is placed firmly on the bar top. His fingers intertwined around the back of his head. He looks lost for a moment. Perhaps in a moment of prayer. He’s definitely searching for something. Something we both know I can’t give him right now.

  The last remnants of ash had dropped of the tab of Jacobs cigarette that he had propped up in the ashtray sat between us on the bar top. I decide it best to step up from the rickety a*s bar stool that held so many memories for me. Well s**t, I am most definitely drunk. Without any words I begin to stagger towards the bathroom.

  It’s not a long walk, I pass the end of the bar that I had leaned Julie against when I kissed her for the first time. I walk past the pool table. The pool table Julie and I had hustled twenty bucks from the Langston twins one night. I make it to the bathroom and place my hand on the dirt filthy wall to prop myself up. A few drops of water begin to drip onto my shirt. Eleven years on and they still haven’t fixed that f*****g leak in the roof? God damn.
  There is no leak in the roof. But there are tears rolling down my cheeks.

Author's Note

Any feedback welcomed, please be as harsh as you like. Please also be as simple or as technical as you like. It's still a little rough, but i'd like to know if it means anything to anyone, and if not, that's also cool, just let me know why if you don't mind :)