Old Friend

A Story by epac

A drunk man at a bar is visited by an old friend and he tries to get him to leave, forever.

Old Friends

“I love you,” he tells me with a bright smile. “I hate you,” I tell him bitterly and honestly, feeling it from the very bottom of my heart. “Well, I can’t live without you,” the guy, Al replies as if his answer solves the conflict once and for all. To this, all I can do is just sigh. I sigh the deepest sigh possible which seems to come from deep down in my soul. God I’m so tired of him.

Instead of saying anything more, I go back to looking forward and take another long sip of my beer. Al showed up at this bar maybe 5 minutes ago, thus annoying me from the get go. If only I could convince him to leave me alone. But he always stays. Always.

“Why are you even here?” I ask him with as much scorn as I can. “Err, you called me, remember?” He responds, sounding genuinely confused. I don’t say anything to this. Instead I take another sip of my beer and refuse to look at him. Yeah, I called him. You think he would have something better to do.

“You alright man?” Al now asks, sounding legitimately concerned. I don’t respond. I stay quiet as a mouse as I sip my beer and look at the TV in the corner. Finally, after a few minutes this seems to annoy him as from the corner of my eye I see his body language stiffen. The happy go lucky mood he has is now taken from him.

“You know what man, screw you,” he says angrily. “You’ve got some major issues!” He damn near yells and I’m surprised that no one else in the bar turns to look at him. Instead they keep looking at their own drinks or stay in their conversations. Then again this is a dive bar. People in dive bars tend to keep to their own business. Getting in other’s business tends to get you hurt.

“You call me to come join you, and when I get here, you act like I murdered not just your family, but all your friends, pets, plus every single Girl Scout in the world!” He proclaims, upset. To this I can only smirk. I’m finally making him mad. Good. Finally. He deserves it. He deserves worst for what he does to me.

“I’m getting tired of this BS man,” Al says, standing up and looking as if he’s about to finally leave. Standing very stiff he moves next to me, giving off the unmistakable bar vibe that he’s about to punch me. This simply amuses me. Let him hit me. Let’s see what it gets him. In fact, I consider pushing him to do it but I think I rather have him do it on his own.

“You call me up all happy and wanting to hang out, but when I get here you get all pissy and moany, blaming me for who knows what,” he continues, sounding like he’s wanting to rant. I make a point of rolling my eyes to this, knowing it’ll affect him more. “Whatever mistakes you made man, they aren’t my fault!” He yells damn near in my ear. This makes a flash of red crimson flash over my sight as my anger blares.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet, staring him down. My heart has begun to pound, much like a sledgehammer and a jackhammer combined. The pounding is so fierce that I feel it inside my head, flaring a headache. Each time I feel a heartbeat, it pulses in my head, sending waves of pain all over. My beer is left at the bar as both my hands ball into fists and it takes all I have not to knock his block off.

“What? Huh? What you gonna say?” He continues, getting in my face. “You know I’m right,” he says next, his eyes boring into mine. In those eyes I know too well, I see something that I hate. The truth. That’s the thing about Al, he always speaks the truth. Even when it’s BS.

Wishing I had just ignored him, I turn back to the bar and sit down. This time I don’t just take a sip of my beer, I drink almost half in a few gulps. For several minutes, Al doesn’t say anything. He just saddles back to the seat next to me and then settles in. By the time he’s settled, I’ve already ordered another beer, thankful the bartender didn’t make me leave.

“So…” Al starts in a tentative manner, as if testing the waters. “Something happened today?” He asks, and that anger flashes though me again. He sounds so sincere in wanting to know, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared! “Like you give a damn,” I growl, wanting to give him the hint to leave me alone. I don’t care if I’m sending him conflicting signals by asking him here then telling him to go away. I don’t care. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” I ask him in the same growl, wanting him to just go away but for good.

Al only sighs to this, much like the deep sigh I did. “I can’t take your mood swings,” he groans, putting his head on the bar. “I’m your friend man, but these mood swings. It’s like getting a new personality with every sentence you say!” He exclaims. This little crack makes my anger flash again. In my mind I see me breaking my bottle right over his head. I don’t do it of course. Can’t be kicked out. Not tonight.

“Another please,” I say catching the eye of the bartender once I finish my beer. As I wait for my new beer, I say “I hate you,” without thinking to Al. “You don’t hate me,” Al responds in that tired sounding voice. “I’m the best friend you have ever had,” he says in such a manner that we both know it’s the truth. Again I picture breaking the beer bottle over his head in a fit of anger, but then something happens. Despair and sadness replace that anger, changing it from that fierce hot red feeling, to a dim blue.

“I did call you up,” I say, finally admitting this. “Doesn’t mean you always have to come out,” I say with a quiver in my voice. This takes so much of my strength that when the bartender brings my new beer, I damn near drink half in one sitting. Tears burn in my eyes and I try hard not to cry. “You don’t have to always be there for me!” I say, making my face tense so I don’t break down crying.

“I know, I know,” Al says soothingly, patting my back reassuringly. “But I’m always here for you, you know that,” he says much like a true friend would. But, is he really a friend? I really don’t know. The more I think about it, the more I don’t think he is. But I have a feeling, the more I sit in this bar, the more of a friend he’ll become.

“Tell me,” he says with the air of forgetting all the mushy emotions. “You called up the blond with the big b***s?” Al asks now, and I hear the smile and curiosity in his voice. “By the end of tonight, after some drinks of course, or maybe a lot of drinks, I bet anything I’ll have you calling her up and telling her what you would do to her,” he says proudly. He continues to talk but it’s just mindless droning to me.

Once I finish my beer, I flag for another one. While I wait for it, I take out my wallet and pull out the card that I got from a coworker several weeks ago after a week straight of coming in late. My eyes read it once, twice, then at least a dozen times. I have a feeling that coworker, who I barely know is more of a friend than Al.

“Drink up man, let’s check out what’s on the jukebox,” Al says, slapping me on the back heartily once my new drink arrives. I don’t say anything to him. Instead I just look at the card. I know that in the end, the card is the only true way to get Al to leave…forever. The only problem is, do I want to lose Al’s friendship? Every morning I do. That’s for damn sure. But right now? In the warmth and glow of this bar? I rather like him here. Even if he doesn’t truly exist.

Like I’ve done so many times before, I put the card back into my wallet, thinking I’ll call tomorrow. When it’s halfway in, I read it one last time, “Got a drinking problem? Call Alcoholic Anonymous. 1-800-…”