three VINCENT part 5
Lying in Carl’s basement I tried to follow a trail of breadcrumbs back through the course of my night.
I know I left the restaurant and went to Ramon’s house to deliver his tips. Kyle had my scalp hanging from his junior bat-belt but I wouldn’t let him shame Ramon into scrubbing his uniform, force him to come crawling back to exchange his dignity for seventy-two dollars in small bills and change.
I gave Ramon the Jack Daniels and his money.
Didn’t you quit?
Fired. Total fucking misconduct.
When we were at the Amber Room you drank Cokes all night and said you quit drinking.
This isn’t mine. It’s your PapaTaco severance package.
We opened the bottle, of course we did and we actively hated on Kyle. Ramon’s envelope was largely singles and I broke into my twenties to match him for five-dollar hands of Blackjack while we chased shots with peppermint Tic Tacs and talked shit about the new sheriff in town.
I remember setting the alarm on my phone. I had to get back to the apartment in time to brush my teeth and pick up the place a little before Margaret came home. I figured she might let a few sips slide if I told her how I saved Jenny’s job and provided Ramon with restorative justice.
At some point the music got too loud and I got louder which pissed off Ramon’s girlfriend. I was asked to leave.
I walked up Monroe under streetlights swarmed by jerky galaxies of insects.
My needle dropped back to thumping sounds. The growl of zippers. Heels on hardwood, keys jingling. Then the noises moved away from me.
Vapor condensed inside my skull. Slowly cooled and accumulated. My cheek peeled painfully from the floor.
I was on the tile against the tub in the bathroom, white enamel washed blue. I wiggled my extremities and took inventory. Ran a hand over my face feeling for cuts and dried blood. Pushed a finger into my mouth and probed for broken edges, missing teeth.
Rolled over and held my breath as the fluid in my head shifted and leveled. Clenched my eyes shut and watched the darkness inside me explode in a storm of visual signals, sickening phosphene hula hoops and wobbly helixes of pixels and static. A painful impact hammered my head in sync with my pulse, crashing like those swinging steel balls that hang in a frame to demonstrate what Margaret called The Croquet Phenomenon. I heard my heartbeat army-marching through my head from ear to ringing ear, combat boots over crunchy snow.
A sharp pain in my hip, but all major systems reported normal. My vessel was intact.
When I finished vomiting I drank from the sink. The bedroom door was closed.
I knocked soft. Put my ear up close and listened for any sign of Margaret. Stepped away from the burnt-fuel smell of my breath against the paint.
Nothing.
The bed was empty, Margaret’s pillows gone. Dull in the darkness, crumpled bills on the hardwood. I stepped around them and looked for a note. Backed out of the room empty-handed like a man who’d stumbled upon a crime scene, careful not to leave a trace or touch anything.
The front door stood open wide. I held up a hand against the glare of the hallway light. Reached to pull it shut but missed and nearly fell.
A backpack full of my clothes hung from the doorknob. My guitar lay across the threshold.
I pulled these things inside, secured the door and returned to the bathroom to vomit again. I got dressed. I couldn’t find my phone.
I turned on all the lights and looked one last time for a note.
The last time I did this she left a note.
end chapter three
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