Tales from the Trenches


Post-Party Depression

TALES FROM THE TRENCHES: POST-PARTY-DEPRESSION
She is so beautiful...

"Let's give a hand to all the bands who played tonight: Billy Palace, Jamie Black, The Third Party, and, of course, me. Let's give me a hand..."

She's perfection, a compact version of everything right. Every moment I see her is glory.
She doesn't want me. She doesn't know me, how could she want me?

"Joel? Joel, you all right?"
"Leave him alone. The margaritas are catching up with him."
"Bout time. Thinks he can finish off my pitcher like that..."
"Hey, we plays hard, we drinks hard!"
"He didn't drink your sloe gin fizz, did he?"
"Why do you think I order slow gin fizzes?"

She's so beautiful. So charming. Friendly. Fun. I guess. She seems like she would be. She sounds like she would be. She smiles a lot. I love her smile.

"Good show, though, right?"
"I dunno. Merc didn't offer us another gig."
"That doesn't always happen that night, man. I swear, you're such a pessimist."
"Just because you're a pessimist doesn't mean they're not out to get you."
"The audience liked us, though."
"Yeah! That's the important thing, right? Who cares what Merc thinks?"

She walks -- no, she glides. She smoothly comes over to us, like on roller blades, floating and graceful. Like a swan. On roller blades.

"Can I get you guys anything else?"
"Lemme get whatever's on tap."
"A margarita. Large. One glass."
"Sloe gin fizz. And chicken fingers."
"And you?"
She stares at me, her eyes shining, brightening up my sad, wretched life. Her beauty is like nothing ever experienced by anyone alive, ever. Why can't all others see it? She is the light, the sun.
"Joel?"
Her beauty...
"JOEL!"
The hand on my head, jiggling me about, pulls me out of my stupor. The hand is right. I'll never impress her, staring stupidly, unable to even order. It's time for clever repartee. Let her know my wit is undeniable, my charm absolute. Let her know, with one simple line, what I feel.
"I'd... uh, hrm."
"Hey, Joel, cat go your... tongue?
I flinch, my own brain and body betraying me. My friends laughing at my discomfort, the loveliest girl in the world staring on. Not a good day for Joel Schumaltz. The heat my face is generating feels not so different than the fire she creates in my heart.
She smiles at me, pats me gently on my shoulder. Her touch cools me and warms me all at once, and I feel strangely renewed. "I'll get you the usual."
She sways off, no longer so smooth, but just as graceful. My attention remains with her long after she turns the corner over to the bar.
"What's the usual, Joel? Can I have me some of that?"
I have no idea. I can't remember a thing before this instant, her touch, her smile, he glorious exit.
Whatever she brings me, I'm sure I'll like it.
I'll love it.

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© 1997 jonberger@mailexcite.com


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