‘I was found with a waitress in a cocktail bar… That much is true.’
There are certain things in your life that you need to do when sober. I thought this was one. No more drink. Not even one for the road. And when I say sober, I mean as sober as you can be. That means stop! Put your drink down and deal with what you have to. That is why I am waiting for them and drinking half espresso, half water, just to make me as sober as I can be.
They found him. They found my mobile number. They called and I am now drinking cold strong coffee. They said that they would pick me up, but I didn’t want that, don’t ask me why. I needed the minutes. I needed the alcohol but replaced it with coffee. I relented and told them where I was. But I wasn’t going to drink any more. I decided to take that want or need and use it. For hate? For resentment? For fuck knows what! I closed my eyes and wondered how I felt. Honestly, I asked myself that stupid question. The answer, well that was simple, I wanted another drink. Not because it would have made me feel any better. Not because I would have forgotten. Just simply because, I wanted another drink. The consequences were neither here nor there. But as I said, there are certain things that you need to do sober. Now sobriety, that is relative. To me sobriety, is being able to function. That removes a mediocre level of booze intake away from a lot of people. I have been able to function with a litre of whisky in me. To me, that is sober. To be lying in a pool of your own vomit, well that is being drunk. I don’t ever get drunk. I am always sober… In my eyes I am. But why am I therefore drinking cold coffee? I know that I could handle another drink, another ten drinks if they were there but I think it is a respect type of thing. He’s dead, I know that, even if they ‘Don’t want to tell me over the phone’, I am not bloody stupid. But it doesn’t matter, to me, to respect, is to stop. That is until I have seen him. Then I will mourn and grieve and toast and drink. But not now, not at this haven’t seen him but know what has happened stage. This is the time for cold coffee and reflection.
Reflection, fuck! What do I reflect on? His intervention in my life which caused me to drink? Do I want to think on that or do I want to grieve? Or hate? Or love? Fuck! I have never in my life wanted another drink so bad, but NO, another espresso if needs must. I am still waiting for them. I am sure that I have told them where I am. I will not insult myself by saying that this seems like hours since they called, I fucking know it is only minutes. I’ll order another coffee. Caffeine is the afflicted’s poor substitute.
One memory! One fucking memory! Anything!!
… I’ve tanned the coffee and am still thinking. Something that would make me smile. The door opens, the police come in. I nod to them and they wander over. No need for haste, he is dead. No need for suspicion, they know I have been here, no need for sympathy, all they need to do is look at me. As they walk over from the door and I hear them calling my name, I order another brandy. Certain things you must do sober, this is not one of them.
‘… Don’t, don’t you want me… ‘