short story-medea

Medea

"You never been in love. I can tell! I know it, an you think I'm some kinda regular drunk sunday night drunk when the bar closes, well it ain't closed yet, my friend, it ain't closed yet.

"I can tell you never been in love. Yeah, another drink. Cigarette, too, the hell, right? Lonely when it rains. Everytime I hear that goddamn train go by and it's raining it makes me think about her. You woulnd't know, you ain't been in love.

"The draft in that door's chilly. You're gonna get a cold sittin here with me. Me? Naw. The whiskey gods love me. I don't ever get sick. Hell, I could be out there on the tracks naked in the rain and not get hurt. I'm loose, I'm pickled. Train'd even just toss me in a puddle.

"Who's who? Oh. Her. Well she ain't blond. Not, well, not pretty like I could tell you. She lives over on Pine St. You know those big yellow block buildings? Up inthere she lives. In the back half in there. Second floor, over the alley, got a cat, jars of food, books, all that stuff women have, you know, flowers and cats and shit.

"Got a light? You don't know what it's like. It's nothing about how she looks-If I tell you brown hair, what do you know? She looks like anyone else. Mole on her neck. Big eyes- sad a little. Not a tall woman, or short that you'd notice it, her tits aren't huge, got a little roll of fat around her belly, you know how they get...wears a garden hat, big dumb straw thing, but she don't have a garden. Says the sun gives her freckles but she doesn't have freckles.

"They shoulda never put mirrors behind bars like that. See those bags under my eyes? You probly sleep real good at night. You probly drop right off into fuckin fairy land.

"I don't sleep, no, the whiskey sometimes, it'll knock me out, that's good. She's sleepin now, I know. cream on her legs and whhite pillows and the cat layin there too. I always hated that, cat hair all over the sheets.

"Oh you work at the vet? Good for you. Animals, huh? Never liked em. You'd think it's a little thing. You can have family you don't like, right? She says the cat's family. I don't have to lay down with her brother's stubbles in the bed, but the cat- you know.

"You wanna ask about my face. I can tell. You ain't the first. I know it's the only reason you're listening anyway, right? You're waiting for a right minute to say it, right time to ask, not to be rude, you wanna see the freak show but you wanna be nice about it too, right? You're a nice person I bet. Right-o.

"You wouldn't care about some slobberin drunk without this scar...Look at you. I used to look like anyone else, shit I was even handsome. Don't believe me? No you don't. I can tell, you sat back quick just now. It's true though. Better-lookin than you at least. You never been in love. I could tell you what happened. But you won't understand. You ain't never been in love."

(ed. note-unfortunately this is all I have of this one. I lost the h=l;ast few pages and for the fucking lifde of me I have no memory of why or how he got his face scarred. maybe I'll change it into fiction and make something up-but I suck at that and I like the non-fiction folktale sound of it just the way the guy said it.)