I am not a paranoid person, but I am a drinker. As a result of my drinking, I often exhibit traits of paranoia–I hear noises of uncertain origin that I associate with death, see flashes of light can only be of extra-terrestrial origin, feel little tremors that whisper warning of geological disaster (have you seen that Discovery Channel show about super-volcanoes? I mean, Jesus). So I’ve been called paranoid, but if that were true wouldn’t I do something more than pour another glass and pull the lever on the recliner I can’t afford but bought anyway?
The Japanese-looking man at Jerome’s Liquors who watches tapes of Korean-looking television on a TV/VCR behind bulletproof glass wondered aloud at me in a cloud of slaughtered English: How ca’ you be so sa’ whe’ errbody so happy? He turned the rotating (and also bulletproof) little carousel and delivered me my Popov. While I can’t imagine anything more pathetic than the man who sells me cheap liquor calling me sad, at least he didn’t insinuate I was paranoid. Better sad. But he had a fair point. In this so-called Golden Age, there isn’t much room for sadness.
I dashed across Preston street to avoid any other members of the alcoholic community that might be outside Dionysus and started up the alley. Of all the noises I’ve ever heard while drunk, the SHHPOPP’ing noise that suddenly and forcefully eminated from the center of the dark parking lot has never been one of them. So I stopped and looked at empty space. My eyes were doing that thing: blobs of color, semi-visible and erratic, flashing and zooming toward some single point in my pupil. I turned to keep walking, but for the first time in my experience, the blobs stayed behind. That shouldn’t happen. I turned back just in time to see a man calmly step out of nowhere, through the blobs and onto the parking lot. I blinked. The blobs were gone. The man wasn’t.
“You there!” he shouted, approaching me. Were I paranoid, I would have been terrified and ran. As a drunk, I stood there and stared; this important distinction that I am making should be clear now.
“Where am I?” he asked, lowering his voice as he neared.
“Mount Vernon,” I replied easily.
“Baltimore…listen: I am going to ask you a few strange but very simple questions. I want you to answer them quickly and honestly.”
“Sure.”
“What year is it?”
“2008.”
“What countries are we at war with?”
“Uh…none?”
“Not Pakistan? Or Iran or North Korea?”
“No.”
This seemed to excite him for some reason.
“Who is the President? What is his name?”
He had a hopefullness about him when he asked this question, and that endeared me to him. I liked this stranger, if only because the questions were so easy and the answers made him so happy. I can take credit for this, for helping another human being be happy.
“Al Gore.”
He raised his hands over his head in victory and breathlessly mumbled something about “it working.” He hugged me firmly, like men should hug each other, and started jogging then running up the alley. Like 50’s Doc Brown after he sends Marty back to the future. I found myself smiling, but after a few seconds the reasons got cloudy. Was I smiling because of that man, or because of “Back to the Future?” Regardless, I turned on my heels and quickly walked back to Jerome’s. I would buy something better tasting and smile straight through the glass at my either Japanese or Korean neighbor.
Permalink
·
0 comments
Tagged drinking, sadness
