Subject: [OTL]: Forty More To Go From: D Benway Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2005 17:22:04 -0800 (PST) Forty More to Go An Xmas story by Benway This story borrows some characters for not-for-profit use from DC Comics. If you want to read a bright and sunny Xmas story like the ones on TV, don't read this. Also, those who are susceptible to triggers are warned that this could be unpleasant. It is not for the little ones. Best to all during this, the holiday season. _______________________________________________________________________ It's three flights up to my apartment. I can make it. I get a lot of exercise. I walk everywhere I need to go. If I can't walk, they send a van. They won't let me take the bus anymore. And the subway- One. Two. Three. First landing. The trick is not to be heard. Or, to not let the bottles be heard. We're not supposed to drink in here. Alcohol, that is. It's in the contract. If I get caught, I could lose my Disability. I only get Disability because someone knows who I am and what I did. Hardly anyone gets it now. But, it's Christmas, so it's OK. You can't have a party without wine. Or whiskey. I don't see anyone on the second landing either. That doesn't mean they don't see me. I can see the peepholes go dark, and hear the shuffling. I've seen some of them. It's hard to remember their names, they come and go so often. When I was little, Dad used to drive way out of the way to avoid going through here. It's safer now, but it's still not very nice. It could be worse. I'm at the door, and I have my keys. I didn't leave them at Ahmed's again. Ahmed's good about things like that. Last time he sent Ali with them. He takes food stamps for alcohol. He gives me a good rate. A good rate for a good man, he says. My name is on the door. My name is Tom. Like that fools anybody. One letter. I'd almost feel better if someone did find me. That would mean someone was looking. I'm almost ready for the party. I bought the food yesterday. I've got chips, I've got dip, I've got those little sausages in a can that Kon loves. Those were hard. I'm not sure I can open the can until he comes. I've even got a tree. It's not very big and it's plastic, but we've always had a tree. It wouldn't be Christmas without one. There's gifts for everyone under it. They're not much, but it's the thought that counts. It's amazing what you can buy at Ahmed's. I've got the whiskey out. It's not very good, but I don't think anyone will mind. And the wine, courtesy of Ernest and Julio. And the brandy. When Nelson died they put his body in a brandy barrel, rather than burying it as sea. Just like- One. Two. Three. The brandy was fucking stupid. I could've got gin. I should throw it the fuck away. Or drink it. I'm not supposed to drink. It could set off the Hep C, the Hep D, or the Hep Q and it fucks with the antiretrovirals. And then there's the meds, which I thought I put away. But I didn't. They're sitting on the table, glaring at me. Three days worth, because Tony's going to be away today and tomorrow. I had to sign a pledge not to do anything stupid. I never do anything stupid. Three little plastic boxes, safely locked away. There's six compartments in each one, for breakfast, lunch, dinner, bedtime, bad times, and emergencies. The more of the last two that stay filled, the happier Doc Prak is with me. I've been sending them all back filled for the last month. Doc Prak's been very happy. He wouldn't be happy about the party. But, what the hey. It's Christmas. You have to have a Christmas party at Christmas. I had a glass of brandy in my hand. Now, it's gone. That wasn't so bad. I'm making progress. Bruce is the first to arrive, as always. I told him two, and he comes at two. He's never understood that two really means three. He's stiff, like he always is out of combat gear. He takes a glass of the whiskey (which I've watered down), and treats it like one of his own single malts. We talk about the city, and how it's growing. He's had a lot to do with that. We don't talk about- Babs is here, with Dinah. They brought Dick. This'll make it less funereal. Dick skips the backslap, which is good because I don't want to end up on the floor and spend three weeks with my jaw wired shut again. I ask him how things are going in San Fran. He tells me about his new girl, and the place they have in North Beach. He can see the new Tower from his window. He says some things about the Titans, but I really don't want to know. If he doesn't mention someone's name, I'll know they're- One. Two. Three. Dinah's talking to Bruce. She's whispering something in his ear. For a moment the stone facade cracks, and it's almost- Steph's here. I didn't hear her come in. She goes for the Gallo, just like she always does. Babs taps me on the shoulder, and asks me to dance. She leads. It's just as well. My coordination isn't what it was. She doesn't come in close. It's just as well. I've got the first hard-on that I've had in over a year, and I wouldn't want to have that pressing up against her. Not when I'm spoken for. Dick steps in, and Steph's waiting for me for with a big glass of wine. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. She takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. I close the door behind me. It's rude, but they'll understand. I take her in my arms. I don't care if she feels what I've got. I don't care if she sees it. She's still so strong- Fuck. Someone knocking. Go away. Steph doesn't pay any attention. She's already got my fly open. They're still knocking. Can't they get a fucking clue? It's by invitation only. She's pulling me down towards the bed. She smells so good. "I'm gonna call the cops!" Fuck. "Just a sec," I say. I can see the disappointment in Steph's eyes. If I go now, I have no idea when she'll come back. If I don't go now and the cops come- One. Two. Three. I go to the door. Steph comes with me. She's holding my hand. Through the peephole, I can see Dawn Lisner from downstairs. Fuck. "What?" I say. "What're you doing in there?" she says. "Nothing," I say. "Loud nothing," she says. "I'll turn it down," I say. "That mean you and your friends'll stop shouting?" she says. Shit. "You're not supposed to have more than two guests at a time," she says. "I don't," I say. "I've counted at least seven voices," she says. Bruce, Babs, Dinah, Dick, Steph, me. Fuck. Who else showed up when I wasn't looking? "There's no-one here," I say. "I heard they're gonna toss you out if you make trouble again," she says. "Let me see." Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. "I'll turn it down," I say. "I want to see," she says. "Please," I say. "There's no-one here." I'm dying. Not really. Dying would be easier. "Fine," she says. "I'm gonna call the cops." Steph squeezes my hand. I turn down the music. "OK," I say. "I'm going to open the door." One. Two. Three. Dawn is standing in the hall. She weighs at least three hundred pounds, and walks with a cane. It wasn't easy for her to get up two flights of stairs. "See?" I say. She barges in. I hate it when people do that. "Nice place," she says. "Why you got pictures of dead people up on the walls?" "Because," I say. "I got pictures of Brad Pitt up on my walls," she says. "We used to go out." I hate having crazy people in my place. "Sure," I say. "You say that like you don't believe me," she says. "Fuck you." She takes out a cigarette and lights up. Her fingers are brown with tar. I wonder if she ever washes? It doesn't smell like it. "You got weenies," she says. "They're for later," I say. "It's Christmas," she says. "Don't you get into the spirit of Christmas?" "I'm saving them for a friend," I say. "Like all the other ones you got in here?" she says. "What's he going to do, eat them?" "Maybe," I say. "I can show you the spirit of Christmas," she says. "It's right here in my Bible." She gets out her Bible. It's the size of the phone book. It's got a red leather cover, and I just know that everything Jesus said is printed in a different colour ink. What I don't expect is that she's pasted Brad Pitt's face onto every picture of Jesus. "It's here somewhere," she says. "I think it's in the book of Linus." I used to watch that, every year, even once down in the cave. Bruce couldn't understand- One. Two. Three. "And of the Nethinims, whom David and the princes had appointed for the service of the Levites, two hundred and twenty Nethinims: all of them were expressed by name," she says. "Then I proclaimed a fast there, at the river of Ahava, that we might afflict ourselves before our God, to seek of him a right way for us, and for our little ones, and for all our substance." She closes the Bible, and beams at me. "That is the true meaning of Christmas," she says. "Oh," I say. "Who's that?" she says. "There's nobody here," I say. "I know that," she says. "I don't see people who aren't there. What do you think I am, crazy?" "No," I say. "I mean in that picture in your hand," she says. "That your girlfriend?" "Yeah," I say. "So you're a pervert?" she says. "I fuckin' hate perverts." "I am not a pervert," I say. "Sure," she says. "She's like, what, fifteen? You could be her Grandpa." "I'm 38," I say. "Don't look it," she says. "It's still statutory." "She's been dead for 22 FUCKING YEARS!" I say. One. Two. Six. Nine. Two. Three. "You don't have to shout," she says. "If you hadn't been shouting I wouldn't have come up here." "I am not a pervert," I say. "I will be quiet. Now would you please get the fuck out of my apartment?" "That's wine," she says, pointing at the Gallo. "You're not supposed to have booze in here." "No, I'm not," I say. "Want some?" "I'm not supposed to," she says. "It fucks with my meds." "It fucks with mine, too," I say. "But what the hey? It's Christmas." She starts giggling. I start giggling too. When I wake up, it's Christmas Day. I hope. I'm in bed. I don't have anything on. My Depends are sitting on top of my underwear, but I can't see where she put the safety pins. Its also damp underneath me. And it stinks. At least I've still got the rubber sheet on the bed. I don't want to even start thinking of what might have happened. I can't look at myself in the mirror, and the last thing I'd want to see is a woman just as fat. It's the meds, Doc Prak tells me. He keeps changing them, but I still put on the pounds. Still, it's a great disguise. No-one would ever suspect who I was. But still, I really should try to remember. I'm one of the good guys. I need to know if I should tell her what I've got. Even if she's got it, she might have a different strain. But then, I'd have to go down and talk to her. And if she's decided not to tattle, finding out might make her change her mind. And it's not like I'm sure I did anything. I get out my last pair of Depends and put them on. It's Christmas. I get my next cheque on Tuesday, and I can get another package then. One benefit to being big is that I can't see why I need them. I still can't look. I find my shirt on the living room floor. I'm putting it on when I see the candy dish and then I see Steph's hair blonde hair rising over my gut then Dawn's face covered in come and she's saying Tastes like candy but she's saying it with my voice- When I come around again, it's dark and I'm lying in a puddle of cold puke. All I got for Christmas was a flashback. It doesn't taste like candy. Bruce always said every man had his breaking point, and I was barely a man. I knew it intellectually, but I didn't know what it would mean when they broke me. They didn't even know it was me, and they thought I was someone else, so I couldn't tell them what they wanted to know, and so they broke me some more. When I told them what they wanted to hear it was too late during the big fight and they mixed me up with someone else and I got out and I alone survived to tell no-one. Except Doc Prak. He gives me extra time. We sit in his office after closing and he drinks rum and I drink water. We don't say much. We don't have to. He mouthed off to some big man back in Thailand and that's how he got broken. He found his way back, but he needs someone to talk about it with. Someone who's been there. You can't talk about it with someone who's never been there. I could get up. Go somewhere it smells less disgusting. Like the kitchen. The Gallo and the brandy are gone, but the whiskey's still on the counter. Guess even she has the taste not to drink Pakistani whiskey. The drawer with the pills in it is still closed. Three days worth. What's stupider, forty more years of this or giving myself a present I'd really enjoy? It's easier just to stay here on the floor. If I close my eyes, I can just go to sleep, and then tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. FIN