The Need

[Mattrick]

CHAPTER THREE

Today began no different than the daybefore. He awoke in his usual alley, between a liquor store and a conveniencestore. It is a prime spot. Projections for a typical day were about thirtydollars. Due to the high traffic of each store he could often count on enoughmoney to get something small to eat, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of gin.On the rare occasion he managed to make over forty he would treat himself to ahot meal or cold beer at his local haunt. Between his spot and his personablenature it isn’t difficult to scrape together a days pay. Once he played aguitar, and he still would, if not for the two thugs who smashed it and stole theguitar case housing his donated change. Thankfully, he’d made acquaintanceswith smokers and drinkers alike of which there are plenty of in Ashton and manyoffered condolences when he’d told of the guitar incident, one nice fellow evenoffered to bring him a guitar but Herb declined, no longer wishing to subjecthimself to any extra attention. Around ten this morning a nice fellow gave himfive dollars on the condition he use it for food; Herb isn’t dishonest so hepurchased a bagel with crème cheese from a local coffee shop: it was afortunate start to today. The noon sunbeamed on his weather beaten skin. His untethered grey beard itched somethingfierce. On this unseasonably warm day in May, even he smelt the odor waftingfrom him because it had been so long since he’d bathed. Today was unusually slow and he grew restlessso chose to forgo lunch in lieu of cigarettes because without cigarettes timerefuses to move. Many people passed him by without a whiff of acknowledgment.Am I really that repulsive today? – He’d thought, touching his nose to hisarmpit and denied that to be the truth. He endeavored to recall the last timehe’d stood before a mirror. Over time Herb has grown wary of his own reflectionout of fear of seeing what the world sees. By five he’d only made fifteendollars, which was barely just enough to live on. Maybe I can get a slice fromPatsy’s – He’d thought while smoking in hungry dejection - If the after workrush can provide maybe I can afford a bottle of cheap gin. All day he’d beensalivating for a bottle as was his mission every day. The lingering humidity inthe late evening did little to curb his appetite for alcohol and by days end hewas alone with his hunger and desperation. Regrettably none of his donatingpals came by today and disheveled over this waste of a day he’s perched on the stepsof a local tattoo parlor, consoling himself with darkness and tobacco. Acrossthe street a lovely young girl walks alone and he watches her intently yetdiscreetly. At times like this he feels depraved because his body screams toravage hers because it could pump life into his ebbing heart. How long has itbeen since I’ve slept with a woman? – He asks himself, but he quickly refutesthe question with another question - What does it even matter? As a vagranttime is irrefutably inane; there are no schedules to keep, no places to be oralarms to set. When he’s hungry he eats, if he can. When he’s thirsty hedrinks, anything. If he gets tired the world is his mattress. While this isn’tthe life he’d idealized for himself as a child now, well into his fifties, he’slong since accepted tramping is his existence. Over the years he’s becomeprideful of his vagrancy and romanticizes his life by being convinced he’s somehowcheated society by living in its cracks. Herb is overcome with such desperationhe almost approached the young woman but she was already gone; besides, a pieceof vagrant wisdom frowns on approaching young women when they are alone: theystartle easy. A better target will be along soon so he lights a smoke and likea spider he waits. Not long after two men came walking along so he putsOperation Beggar into action. One of the men wears a toque and glasses; theother is a polite but pale young man and the latter slips a twenty dollar billinto Herb’s dirty palm. Herb is drunk with gratitude and he makes straight forhis local bar, where he can perhaps parlay the drinks he can afford into somefreebies from some generous patron. Ever since the fortuitous morning bagelhe’s been wrought with terrible luck and this act of generosity balances it allout: everything balances out in the end.

Provided one has cash there is a certain bar that isaccepting of street people: it is a haven for them. Such a place should have regularfits of violence yet it’s instead rather irenic. Most patrons are so gratefulfor the hospitality they treat the establishment with the utmost respect. Classicrock always plays from the jukebox. The pool tables are free on Wednesdaynights and offer some much needed entertainment. The regulars like gamble adollar a game and Herb always loses money playing pool but it’s liberating togamble. Herb has more luck playing poker and almost always comes away a fewdollars richer, one night Herb won almost twenty dollars so he bought a roundfor his colleagues. Entering this bar named the ‘The Powder Keg’ he inhalesdeep and smiles. The décor is simple. The wooden bar is partnered with woodenstools with red cushions. The pool tables are in the back that is bright withhumming overhead lights while the rest of the bar provides ample places toslink in the shadows or steal an indoor nap in a corner booth. The clock saysit’s eleven-thirty; he usually arrives earlier and most of his kin have alreadyvacated so it’s oddly empty and quiet. The barkeep takes his order and plops abottle of Budweiser in front of him. Herb slides the twenty across the bar. Thefizzy sweetness of the beer overtakes his world. More vagrant wisdom: beer getsyou drunk and fills you up, making it a frugal purchase. Herb drinks half ofthe beer before he stops himself and thinks – No sense drinking the well drybefore it rains again. Herb rations hischange and assigns each pile a drink.

The drink untangles his thoughts and he realizes heneglected to thank the kind lad for giving him the money he’s now drinking: herepents by finishing the bottle.

Herb’s starving so he helps himself to some complimentarynuts now that he’s had a drink. He plods towards the juke box and inserts fiftycents. He deliberates over which song he wants to hear because fifty cents isexpensive to him and he settles on ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ by Bob Dylan. Back onhis stool the music nestles over him like a blanket and wisps him back to the carefreeand cleaner days of his youth. Beneath his grizzly beard he smiles. He ordersanother beer.

Just then a young man approaches the bar and sits severalstools down. His hands are shaking. He’s sweating something terrible. Herbwatches him order a drink. Discreetly, he studies the boy: his darting eyes, theway he looks over his shoulder and the tender way in which he caresses hisglass with his finger. Hastily Herb drinks his beer and moves onto gin, all thewhile looking at the boy. If this boy was a groundhog – He thinks – I’d think therewould be another six weeks of winter. He laughs out loud and the boy doesn’tglance at him. After getting a second drink, the young man moves to a booth.Despite knowing it’s rude to spy, Herb finds it impossible to resist. The boyis a nervous wreck and he buries his face in his hands and begins to bawl. Herbis a firm believer in karma and his negligence in thanking the nice lad for themoney has plunged Herb into the negative and he wishes to balance himself outso, drink in hand, he approaches the crying boy. The boy acknowledges him withlost, damp eyes.

“What do you want?” The boy snaps.

Herb responds with a dumbfounded stare. The boy doesn’tlower his glaring eyes as he takes a long drink. “You looked like you could usesome company.” Herb says in a congenial voice. The boy says nothing but Herbsees him processing. It’s obvious to Herb the boy’s in a turbulent state.

“And you figured that why? Does it look like I’m looking for charity?”

“If either ofus is looking for charity, it’s me. The only reason I have this drink in myhand is due to sheer generosity. I don’t mean to intrude.” He pulls at his beard,“You just look like you could use an ear to vent into.”

“And you’re willing to be that ear?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it going to cost me?” The boy says, leaning backin the booth.

“Excuse me?” Herb rebounds.

“Your kind’s always looking to get something from me.”

Herb runs his tongue across his stained teeth. “I’m notlooking for anything.”

“Good, cause you ain’t getting nothin’ outta me. But ifyou want to help yourself to my misery, you’re welcome to it. Let’s spread itaround a bit. Sit the fuck down if you want.”

Herb sits “Thank you. Wow, that’s quite the scratch youhave there. Rough night?”

The boy titters. A long scratch stretches from his templedown his cheek. “You can say that again, old man. But this bitch of a scratchis from last night.”

“What happened?” The boy’s face informs Herb he’s gottentoo personal and, for some reason, Herb is a little afraid.

The boy stares into his drink. It takes him half a minuteto answer as if he’s deliberating over his approach. Finally he chucks hishands up and says, “Women, what can I say? ‘Can’t live with em’ and all thattalk.”

Herb laughs a coarse, haggard laugh that booms inside thegrungy walls. “You’re right about that! Dames, they always find a way to get tous, don’t they? But still, we can’t escape their feminine whiles. So you’retroubled over a girl are ya?”

“Not anymore, it’s over. She’s the one who gave me thisscratch. That was before she threw me to the streets like a piece of trash. Youknow what she told me? She told me that I ruined the person that she was, thatI sucked the life out of her.” He stops to suck back a few tears. “She calledme a damned time vampire. Can you believe that shit?”

“No, I can’t.” Herb replies. Truth is, he has no ideawhat a time vampire is.

“A year ago she was telling me I was the best thing thatever happened to her, that I made her live worth living. And now today I’msupposed to what, go on living like she never existed? That the four years wewere together never happened? I don’t think I can do that. Before I met her Iquestioned whether or not I was even alive. Now I know that I am alive and Ijust can’t go back to being dead inside, I just can’t. How can I possibly dothat? How?”

“I sat on your side of the table once, a long time ago.”

“How did you copewith it?”

Herb gestures along his body and the boy follows hishands, noticing his grubby beard and filthy and torn plaid button up. “Does itlook like I coped well?”

“No, I guess not.” The boy says and chomps on his lower lip.

Several people enter the bar and stir up a ruckus. Herbturns towards the noise and the rambunctious young men head straight for thepool tables at the back and their volume goes with them.

“So what’s your story old man? What did you do that wasso regrettable?”

“Pardon?” Herb replies, off guard.

“Well, you want me to share with you. Maybe if youindulge me with your misery, I’ll be more willing to open up to you about mine.You didn’t get to where you are without regrets, so let’s hear one.” Herb’sreluctant to answer because he doesn’t want to tread the trails of his sulliedpast. The boy slams a wad of cash from his pocket and slams it on the table. “Howabout a drink? Maybe that will get thattongue working.”

Herb knows he will look the fool whether he accepts adrink or not. “Gin.” He says and indicates two fingers worth.

The boy leaves the booth. Herb’s sweating and suddenlyfeeling as if the roles have been reversed and he’s the one who’s wandered intoa spider’s web. He feels extremely foolish for thinking he can repay the ladfor the twenty dollars by offering his ear to this troubled stranger. The boyreturns with two drinks: one gin, one rye and coke.

“Your fee.” The boy says and slides the glass across thetable. “Talk or walk because I ain’t sitting here all night. I got places to be.Things to do. People to see.”

“Thank you, very much.” Herb says and clutches his drink.

“Ain’t yougonna drink it?”

“I’ll need itwhen my story is done. You are right, I’ve done many regrettable things but onething stands tall among the rest.” Gin splashes over the brim of the glassbecause the hand holding it violently trembles. He puts it down and licks thebooze from his grubby fingers; the boy kind of smiles at the sight. “Once I wasmarried. I loved my wife with all my heart, and my daughter as well. For workI…well, it doesn’t matter what I did. Let’s just say I was pretty successfuland leave it at that. A large part of myjob was showing out of town clients Toronto, usually the night life whichincluded less than reputable establishments sometimes. Needless to say therewas a fair bit of alcohol involved, drugs too. I did a lot of cocaine and I dranka lot of booze, and I did a lot both for a long time until it caught up withme. I fucked up real bad with a few clients, unfixable kind of fuck ups. I gotcanned. My reputation in the industry was soiled. I was beside myself.

“I had mydaughter enrolled in a hoity-toity private school and she was blossoming intosuch a beautiful, upright girl. But whenthe well ran dry I had to pull her out. She couldn’t forgive me for beingforced to put her in a public high school. Eventually, I managed to find adecent paying job right here in Ashton. Over time my wife stopped crying somuch and my daughter settled into her new school, so I convinced myself todrink a tall glass of optimism. Maybe things would work out in the end.” Herbpicks up the gin but stops himself from drinking it. The boy leers at everyanxious motion Herb makes and Herb doesn’t notice his baleful stare becausehe’s unable to lift his eyes from his glass. “One day a water main burst so thefactory had to shut down so they could fix it. With my free time I figured I’dgo to a bar and tie one on. I wassupposed to pick up my daughter after soccer practice. I go so drunk so fast I’dlost track of time and I was an hour late before I’d even left. When I got tothe school no one was there and when I got home she wasn’t there, either. Ifigured she’d gone to a friend’s house so I waited for her. By nine at night,me and my wife were panicked. We called around to as many parents we could butthere was no trace of her. The police said they would keep an eye out for her. Hourswent by with no word until the phone rang just as the sun was coming up. It wasthe police. They’d found her…”

Herb can’t wait. The pain is too much. He needs to drink.He socks the drink back. The boy is definitely smiling now. Gin drips fromHerb’s straggly, grey beard.

“They found her on the side of the fucking road! No, shewasn’t dead but I think she’d been better if she were. Someone abducted her,beat and raped her. Fuck! She was fifteen years old, fifteen! Can you evenimagine? The sick fuck didn’t even bother to clothe her when he dumped her inthe gutter. My wife, well she hated me. My daughter,” he trails off into aprolonged blank stare before finding his place. “My daughter, she just wasnever the same after that. I couldn’t bear to look at her. Oh god, I couldn’t evenrecognize my own daughter. That’s how terribly he’d beat her. And then–-” The boy studies Herb’s throbbingfists. “Well, you know how the story ends. You knew it the moment I walked upto you.”

“Jesus.” The boy whispers and drinks his drink.

Herb can’t place exactly why he told this sordid story.He’d no intention of pulling the heaviest skeleton out of the closet but nowthat it’s on the table he thinks he can parlay it into a few more drinks, anice little pity payment, so he shovels it on heavier. “That’s my biggestregret, drinking. And everything I willingly regret, if only to regret all themore!” Herb grabs his glass to drink having forgotten it’s empty. It’s almosttime to cash in – He thinks – I can feel it. “So, what do you regret?”

“I regret love. I regret needing it, having it and thenlosing it. And you know what the worst part about it is?”

Herb shakes his head.

The boy takes a long drink and says, “The worst part isthat for so long I thought love was going to save me. That the only thing thatwas wrong with me was that no one loved me and that if someone, hell anyone,could bring themselves to love me that I would suddenly change, suddenly becomesomeone or something, ya know? But nothing changed. Not a goddamn thing. Soyeah, that’s definitely my main regret, love, and ever being stupid enough towant anything to do with that whole goddamn mess.”

“That’s a sillyregret.” There’s s a twitch in the boy’s countenance and Herb knows heperturbed him.

“Oh, is it? How the fuck can you possibly say that afterthe story you just told me? When was the last time you even looked at yourself?You’re fucking repulsive to every sense and yet still you beg, you beg! Youspill your life story to me, a total stranger! I’m just a kid compared to you!Do you know who you have to thank for your life as it is now? Thank yourfamily. Call em up and thank them. Thank them for the love you had for thembecause if you didn’t love them, if you never loved them, you wouldn’t befeeling guilt. Trust me on this, okay? Love is an evil, evil thing and it willburn the world to the ground. Just wait and watch and maybe you’ll see ithappen.”

“You may have a point. But all the same, I wouldn’t giveup on love if I were you. Best advice I can give is, do whatever you can tokeep it in your life.”

“What if it’stoo late for that? What if I can’t fix it? What if I never feel love again?”

“There’s no such thing as too late when you’re young.”

“No, it’s gone! Okay? It’s gone and it ain’t ever comin’back. Just like it never came back for you.”

Herb consolesthe boy with warm eyes, and thinks – What he’s raging war with is tearing him apart.Herb doesn’t need a reflection to know he’s worn that same face many, manytimes so he says, “Are my wife and daughter gone? No. I could use a quarter andcall them this very moment.”

“So, why don’t you?”

“I’m too ashamed. I’m far too old. And I’ve waited fartoo long. They have their own lives now. They can’t gain anything by my beingaround. I’m afraid calling them after so long would only be a selfish choice. Butyou, you’re still young! You have time on your side. You have time to directyourself, and you really should. That is, unless you want to be sitting on thisside of the table one day.”

The boy standsup and slams a twenty dollar bill on the table and says, “I’ll never sit onthat side of the table. Here, buy yourself a drink or two. Wasn’t that yourplan? Go tell the poor, depressed, lonely kid all about your bad decisions andhope he’ll take pity on you and shower you with drinks? I will admit though oldman, you’re a great measuring stick. Next to you my rap list is short.” Herbsnatches the bill and stuffs it in his pocket, but his shame is so burdensomehe can’t lift his head from the table. “Honestly, who in their right mind wouldtake advice from you? You and people like you are a virus, you’re just carriersof misery.” The boy storms the bar, orders a shot and pounds it back. He saysto the bartender, “Night Roy, hope I see you again.”

“Goodnight,Darren.” Roy responds, not noticing the tone in his customer’s voice.

Until closingtime Herb sits alone in the booth, despondent. He discovers his sadness isunquenchable by drinking himself broke. Pity is his only currency. I’m a uselessold fool – He thinks, which something he’s long been convinced of. Karma is atricky mistress – He thinks as he picks himself up and returns to his domain –I feel like this because I didn’t thank the lad for the twenty dollars. Shamechurns his stomach and he thinks – If only I was rich enough to buy drink afterdrink, surrounded by beautiful women, not only living but loving life. But Herbknows he’s worth the same as an empty tumbler.

He’s back inhis alleyway, his home. The air is damp and the wind sharpens its edge againsthis skin so he climbs into his threadbare sleeping bag for warmth. This daywill end like any other day: drunk, depressed and alone. The hard cement is a difficultthing to embrace. Soon he’s asleep and he stumbles into a dream. He’s coming upthe walk of his old home. His wife reads on the swinging bench and she greetshim with a warm smile. Then he hears a laugh he’d forced himself to forget. Hisdaughter runs towards him with her arms out, her white dress flowing behindher. Herb stoops to equally embrace her but she passes through him and goesinto a white van. The sliding door slams shut behind her. A mangled screamcomes from the inside the van. The van starts rocking back and forth and aslender, pale hand presses up against the fogging window. A hand falls on hisshoulder but he can’t look away from his daughter’s palm. A voice, his wife, whispersin his ear as his daughter’s hand falls from view – Open the door, save her. It’sspoken as a suggestion, not a plea. Hot blood pours from his ears and hisdaughter’s unbreakable scream swallows the world. Herb clutches the slidingdoor’s handle. The screaming stops. He throws open the door but there was noone in there. On the van’s floor are his daughter’s clothes and they are rippedand bloody. A storm rolls in over the city of Ashton and its first drops fellon Herb’s sleeping body and inside his dream it starts to pour. He sticks outhis tongue to catch the drops. It’s raining gin. Like the great deluge hisworld floods over. Herb is too old, too tired, too beaten to tread in therising tide of alcohol so he sinks, opens his mouth and swallows.