Bliss

Bliss
Inspired by the Hinder song Bliss (I Don’t Wanna Know)


I sit down in my computer chair, the bottle of vodka set next to my laptop for easy access. I don’t mix it with anything, I drink it straight from the bottle, and why not? It’s my booze after all. I take a swig and cough as the harsh liquor burns my throat, tasting like lighter fluid.

How long has it been since you’ve gone? I try to recall, it seems like a lifetime, forever, since I’ve seen your face. But in reality its only been about two months. Two months since I’ve heard your voice, touched your hair, smelled that special smell that only you have, tasted your kiss, that special mix of cigarettes and you.

I take another drink, the music plays, I’m lost in my own self pity. I miss you. Why aren’t you back yet? Why haven’t you called, texted, written, anything? You know how I worry yet you do this to me, again I ask why? Perhaps I deserve it for some reason beyond my comprehension.

My light blonde hair that is a bit past my shoulders hangs loosely, my long bangs in my face as I lean over the keyboard, just staring at it, thinking of only you. My grey eyes bore into the keys, it makes me wish I was typing you a message, but I have no email to send one to. I rub the back of my neck with my pianist hands that should be far too lovely for a man, even one that, so I’m told, is as beautiful as me. You know I’ve had neck and back problems since my car accident, and my height of six foot doesn’t help. Maybe if I had some more meat on my bones, some muscle, it would support my neck and back better, but for the life of me I can’t gain weight even if I wanted to, I’m a skinny fuck, and that’s one of the things you loved about me. How I was so slender and light that even though I’m a man you could pick me up with no problems, and every time you did it made me blush which made you love it all the more.

I recall the day you left. It was a normal June day… well not really. Cloudy and overcast in the middle of June, and I knew what was going to happen, it’s as if the Gods knew how miserable I was. I meet you on a corner, a corner that I can’t even go by in the car now without crying. I give you the $50 you wanted, you now “owe” me $500, but I don’t care, all I see is you, the money doesn‘t matter. Your hair that is a few inches shorter than mine and black as night looks like it hasn’t been combed, your pale skin that is somehow still a bit darker than mine looks so dull in the gloom of the clouds. Your face is a bit pink, and your blue eyes water as though you’ve been crying and are trying hard to keep the tears at bay for my sake.

“No matter what happens, just know that I’m okay, alright? I’ll come back.”

Those words play so clearly in my head, even now. The tone in your voice, strong yet wavering, as though it could snap any second.

“Stay in contact, okay? Otherwise I’ll hurt you when you get back” I try to smile a bit to help you, make you think I’m alright and I’ll be okay, even though I know I won’t be.

You laugh a bit, you had the best laugh, and smiles. You hug me, hold me close, resting your cheek on my forehead, those muscular arms holding me and making me feel that everything really will be fine. We stand like that for a while, but not nearly as long as I would’ve liked, the clouds slowly rolling by overhead.

“Take the same route back to the bus, no camera’s, you’ll be safe.”

You tell me this, worried for my wellbeing. It might’ve been better if I’d just left the money somewhere and you’d picked it up. No chance of me being found and hurt to get to you, and no long goodbyes. But I couldn’t do that, and I think neither could you.

I know you were terrified of a repeat of history. Two months earlier we’d walked down a back alley on our way to your place, when a man jumped us. He demanded our money, holding a gun pointed straight at us. Neither of us had any, we were both unemployed, which we stated. The gunman didn’t believe us, and went to shoot you, the one I cared about more than anybody. I pushed you out of the way, thus causing the bullet to bury itself in the right side of my chest in the area near where the lower part of your arm and torso connect. I will never forget that burning, searing pain as my nerves were shredded by the little piece of metal, and you will never forgive yourself for me getting hurt, my scream of pain echoing forever in both of our minds.

We say goodbye and go in separate directions. You linger for a while across the street I notice as I speed walk away, hoping to contain the tears until I get home. I then feel my phone buzz, the vibration from a text message. I open my phone and read it.

“You are my guardian angel, I wish my shattered heart was as strong as yours. You keep me going, you help me when nobody else can, I owe you so much. I love you.”

The floodgates have opened. I cry and cry and cry, leaning against an old faded orange building, clutching my phone reading those last three words repeatedly. I technically wasn’t yours and you technically weren’t mine, and I think that always bothered me, but now it doesn’t. I reply, with trembling hands.

“I love you too. Be safe and come back soon. I need you as much as you need me.”

I wonder what your reaction was when you read that. Was it as upsetting and dramatic as mine? Or did you keep your cool? Perhaps smile? I wonder if I’ll ever know.

Days pass, we text every now and then. Then one day I get a response from your number, saying that it no longer is yours. Your phone, the most reliable way for me to get a hold of you, is gone. I try to email you, but I get an auto-response saying your email address no longer exists. I don’t know what to do. I lye on my bed and cry so hard that I nearly make myself sick, sick with worry, sick from crying.

No word in almost two months now, I flash back to the present. Another drink, another cough, a little bit more vodka gone, into my system to help me drown out everything. I‘ve been drinking long enough to have a bit of a buzz going on, yet still be rather coherent much to my dismay. I’m turning into an alcoholic, I hope you’re happy. Not really, I know when you get back you’ll be frustrated with me for drinking so much, but I can’t help it. I just can’t get through the days sober anymore, you were my drug that kept me happy and upbeat, even though I didn’t show my positive feelings very much. I’m introverted and quiet, you know that, so maybe even though I still acted reserved you knew I was happy. Now I feel like a hollow shell of my former self, from those days past that I wish I could return to, but can’t, not until you are back here with me.

My phone rings, a ring tone of someone whose number is not identified in my phones address book. I answer regardless, hoping that maybe it‘s you calling from a payphone.

The conversation only lasts 20 seconds, if that, time was somewhat of a blur during then. I’m sure the look of horror gradually spread upon my face as the person on the other end of the phone spoke, my stomach doing flips before falling out from the bottom. I can only say one word at the end of the conversation. Coming.

I close my flip phone, the expression of terror still etched on my face. I grab my keys, throw on my flip flops with record speed, and dash out the door, slamming it behind me as I race to my car. I unlock it, fumbling with both that task and the actual task of starting my manual transmission car without stalling it. I peel out of the driveway and down the street, somewhat paying attention to the speed limit but still speeding, not caring if I get a cop trying to pull me over at this ungodly hour of the night.

The words repeat in my head, they drive me on, force what little buzz I had to go flying out the window.

“Hello?”

I only spoke three words on the phone, that was the first.

“Evening, is this Gren?”

A man with a deep voice speaks.

“Yes.”

The second word I spoke.

“A friend of yours has been involved in a shooting downtown in an alley between Cornwall and Magnolia. His name is Brock, he has slightly long black hair, is it possible for you to come down here? Yours was the only number we could find on him.”

He says this somewhat somberly, as though this is the one part of his job he really hates.

“Coming.”

Back to the present, I whip around a corner, only one minute away now as I barrel down the deserted streets of town. I can see the flashing blue and red lights now and I feel as though I’m going to be sick. It’s not some sick joke, not a prank, not a lie. Dear God please no, I think to myself.

I drive up, turn the car off, and stumble out, not even really parking it. I sprint the short expanse to where the officers are standing around something, one turns.

“Gren.”

He speaks, the same man as on the phone.

The officer jogs up to me and meets me before I can get closer, holding me back. I try to get past him, I pull frantically at his uniform, try and push him to the side, to dodge around him, but he’s too strong and too fast.

“Listen now, really listen. He was shot twice, once in his left leg then the last shot was in his left lung. We got here as fast as we could, but it was too late. I’m sorry.”

Time seems to stop now, but in reality it only took him a second to step aside and let me forward. I walk as if in a daze, dreading yet knowing what I’m going to find. My steps seem to thud and reverberate loudly, every sound amplified, everything a dramatic blur, except for your body lying on the pavement. That picture is the clearest and most terrible thing I have ever seen. Terrible doesn’t even come close to describing it, there are no words to describe something as horrific as that, no words to describe the mass of emotions I felt all at that one moment in time.

You’re lying there, slightly sprawled, the blood has stopped flowing from your left thigh and chest, no blood around your mouth like in movies and television shows, your eyes open but lifeless. I remember the last time I saw them, watery with tears, then a few days before that when they seemed to be smiling and twinkling because you were so happy just to be with me. Now they are only blank, the blue a pale blunt color with no shine, no glimmer, no life. I sink to my knees next to you, the tears free-flowing as I lightly rest my hands on your arms, feeling your skin that usually so warm is stone cold. I lightly trail my finger tips up your arms, past your shoulder, up your neck, and hold your face lightly in my fragile hands.

“Please wake up.”

My voice is shaking as I sob, my breath hitching as I gasp for breath after I speak.

“Please wake up, please blink, please laugh, please smile, please say this is all some sick horrid joke and that you got me good. Say that you’re home finally, that everything will be okay, that you love me, please just do something!”

My hands are on your shoulders now, shaking you, trying to force you to wake up. You could slap me, spit on me, say you hated me and wished you could watch me burn alive, that everything we were was a mistake, anything, as long as you’d just be okay.

But you aren’t okay. You are dead. You are no longer of this world, high above those ever present clouds in a city of angels.

I’m lost, unsure of what to do. The sky seems to crack like a glass window, like a mirror, and crumble down around me until its just the both of us in this void of black here where everything has fallen away. I keep crying, the sound bleeding into the black oblivion of my mind where no other sounds can penetrate.

I can think of only one thing to do in all this harsh blackness. I lift you up lightly, one hand on your cheek, and give you one last kiss, our goodbye kiss. You still taste exactly the same, that taste of you mingled with cigarettes that I love so much. I run my fingers through your hair, feeling its almost fluffy softness. Your scent is mixed with that of blood, I can’t hear your voice, I look into your eyes and my brain feels as if it will implode from the lack of light coming from them.

I can only hold you close to me now, I hold you for I’m not sure how long, before I whisper “Goodbye” in your ear as the police officer pulls me lightly away from you.

“Do you know if he had any family?”

The same officer asks me, about ten feet away from where you are lying.

“No he didn’t, it was just him and I.”

My voice sounds empty, emotionless, dead.

“The only possessions he had on him were his ID, this piece of paper with your number on it, and $500 dollars.”

He hands me the piece of paper and pulls out the wad of money, waiting for my response I guess.

“He owed me that amount… a loan, although I never much cared if I got it back as long as he was okay…”

My voice trails several times, grows quiet, cracks as the tears make a desperate attempt to flow harder than the few I’m currently shedding.

“I know it’s a small consolation, but its yours. We’ll be taking him to the city morgue shortly, you can either come or go home. Either way, just be there at 9:00am to fill out some mandatory paper work, you can also take his clothes and ID with you then if you’d like.”

The cop hands me those few possessions you had on you. The piece of paper with your handwriting on it, only stating my name and number, and the money. He was wrong, it isn’t a small consolation. It’s no consolation. But atleast I will always have your ID and clothes to cherish, perhaps the cloth will still smell like you by the time I get your things.

“Right… I’ll come back in the morning, I‘m fine to drive.”

I paused for a bit before answering, my mind muddled and foggy like soapy water.

“Here’s the address, again I’m sorry for your loss.”

He tips his hat after handing me the little piece of paper with the address, looking as though he pities me, and heads back over to your body.

I stand in that same spot for a few minutes, reading the address over a few times, it’s not far from here. I walk back to my car, although it doesn’t really register, my mind is somewhere else so when I notice I’m back at my vehicle it’s a bit of a surprise. I get in, set the two pieces of paper and the money on the passengers seat, and buckle up, starting the car. I don’t go directly home, instead I drive to the only liquor store in town that is still open at this hour.

“Hey Gren.”

The shopkeeper greets me and smiles a bit but it quickly fades upon seeing my expression.

“Anything wrong?”

What a stupid question I think. Everything is wrong. But I say nothing.

I don’t browse like I do typically, I get exactly what I want. Three more bottles of Smirnoff’s Vodka, a bottle of Hypnotiq, a Russian Cherry Cognac, Soju, Sake, Vanilla Rum from Singapore, and a pack of Kirin Ichiban beer.

The shop-keep is rather shocked, admittedly I’m a regular but I’ve never bought this much bulk before.

“You sure you want all of this? It’s just-”

I cut him off, not in the mood.

“Just ring it up.”

I pull out my debit card, I don’t need my ID, again I’ve been here so many time he knows me by name.

“Right.”

He speaks quietly, takes the card, and bags my purchases which I carry out to the car and set in the back seat before driving back for home.

The shock is still there, I know you are gone, but it doesn’t feel like it. Memories flood through my mind as I drive through the deserted streets of town, the streetlights flashing by, the scenery outside my window dark and ominous.

I pull into my driveway and glance at the clock in my car. 2:30am, it’s been 45 minutes since I received that call, the call that I believe will be the worse call I ever receive in my life. I get out, get my bags, the papers and money, and go inside, I hadn’t bothered locking the door before I left despite the neighborhood I live in, too much of a rush obviously to care.

I put everything up, and go directly back to my room, my already opened vodka bottle still sitting there, right where I left it, looking more tempting than ever. I take the biggest drink of straight vodka I ever have, and nearly throw up right then and there. I set it down and shaking, collapse on my bed, crying harder than I think I ever have in my entire 21 years on this planet.

“This can’t be happening, you can’t be gone, you just can’t, you said you’d be okay, that you’d come back and be fine, you said it would all be okay!”

I’m sure no one could’ve understood my words had anyone else been around. Between my sobs and hysteric tone I could barely understand myself.

I continue ranting and raving like this for a while, I’m sure up in heaven or wherever you are you are heartsick and wishing you could just give me a hug and make it all better. I wish you could do that too. But you can’t. We are farther apart than ever before, farther apart that anywhere on the face of the earth. You are untouchable, I can’t reach you. Not unless I die, and even though thoughts of suicide have been swarming like flies around a corpse in my mind, I can’t do that, for a few reasons. I can’t kill myself because I know that if I did and I somehow wound up where you are, you’d be furious and never forgive me for doing something so stupid, and that is the main reason I won’t do it. But the other reason, either I just think life is too precious, or I’m too much of a pussy to actually go through it. I’m not really sure which in all of my befuddlement.

Hours pass, I look at the clock and it is 5:00am, by this time I’ve gone through the last half in my vodka bottle and am lying in a sick stupor on my bed.

I have now come to a conclusion, and although I’m sure that you won’t like it, it is indeed my conclusion. I know now, now that I know you are gone and never coming back, that I cannot stay sober for even a single day. I will blow so much money on alcohol, but I’ll need it. For if I go even one day without a buzz, I will fully break down, retreat into my mind, and cease to exist. I know that most people, including you, would probably consider this foolish, overkill, and that I should get a grip and live. But I can’t. Because even though you said my heart was strong, despite all I’ve been through, if I fully face that you are gone, I will break, absolutely shatter, and retreat back to that black abyss in the far corner of my mind where no one will be able to find me, ever. I am glad in a way now that atleast I know where you are, and I know you’ll be fine and happy. But at the same time I wish I didn’t. I wish I could go on believing you were fine, being ignorant to the fact that you will never come back.

I wish I didn’t know it was over, and that we hadn’t had our goodbye kiss. Because ignorance truly is bliss, because now I can’t stay sober, because you left me here like this, because I really just don’t want to know.

I want you back, to be lying on your bed, safe in your arms, listening to your breathing, being warmed by your natural heat, both of us smiling in our half awake state just happy to be with the other.

But that will never be again, and for so many reasons that it would take eons to write them down, I can’t go back to the way I was. Never again. Now that the cold hard truth of life has hit me full on in the face and knocked me on my back so that I’m paralyzed and unable to move.

I needed you, perhaps more than you needed me, and without your guiding light, I slip into my alcoholic life style and will always talk to others about you, the love of my life that was taken from me. About your devilishly charming looks, personality, about that cute smile you had, those funny jokes and impersonations you used to do, everything.

God how I wish I could remain blissfully ignorant. This thought plays over and over in my mind as the tears continue to flow down my cheeks and stain my pillow covers. I slowly shut my eyes and drift off to sleep, an alarm on my phone set for 8:30am so I can go to the morgue and once again face the cold reality that you are gone, never to return.

I still feel like I could call you, even now as I hover on the edge of sleep. I wonder how long this feeling will last, of thinking you are still here then having the truth that you aren’t slam into me full on like a ton of bricks. I wonder many things, of many types, my mind going 1000 miles a minute, but finally sleep comes.

I lie in my bed, alone, sleeping now, with my empty vodka bottle on my desk where a full one will replace it tomorrow. I imagine you are crying, not wanting to see me like this, and I’m sorry that I’m upsetting you. But I can’t get through this alone, so now that you are gone, the alcohol will have to do. Perhaps I will see you sooner than I imagine, maybe I won’t, I have no answers to this. The only thing I know right now, is that I can’t stay sober, because you left me here on this godforsaken planet, and that the alcohol will help me remain ignorant to the cold truth that lingers with sobriety, that if I ever see it again, will destroy me.

I’m sorry that I am not doing well. I‘m sorry that I got more attached to you than I should’ve in the long run. I‘m sorry that I didn‘t just move on while you were gone so that when I got the news I wouldn‘t be as affected. I‘m sorry that I am virtually throwing my life away from being grief-stricken over the loss of you. I‘m sorry that I am doing so many things you wouldn’t want me to do. But your guardian angel’s wings have been torn out by the base, and I have fallen, oh so very far.