The sun was high. The afternoons seemed to last for days in the middle of summer. That’s why it was the perfect time for a group of friends to get together, fire up the grill, and enjoy each other’s company. This couldn’t have been more unappealing to Tyler unless there was a guaranteed flogging at the end. But that didn’t stop Sam from inviting him along.
“I mean, even if I was still drinking I wouldn’t want to go.”
“Yes you would.”
“Okay, well whatever. We both know that wouldn’t be a good idea anyway.”
They sat in the front seats of Sam’s car in Tyler’s driveway. The engine was still running.
“Tyler, you have to learn to go in public one of these days. I mean, these are just some people from high school. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? The big deal is that they never talked to me in high school and after running into them at the bars for the last few years, I don’t think they’re too impressed with what they saw.”
Tyler sat back in the passenger seat and took a deep breath. It’s not like he got into drunken car wrecks or fights or any sort of trouble while he was drinking. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets. It had only been a few years since turning twenty-one but he packed enough stupid stories, unnecessary jokes, and accidentally embarrassing anecdotes into his drinking excursions to get the reputation of an annoying tag-along that would elicit eye rolls and exaggerated excuses. Tyler knew this. He had known it for a while but the only other option was to sit home alone and sift through the internet.
“Listen, you’re coming to this party with me. You can’t just sit at home posting vocal covers on YouTube all day long.”
“But I’ve got almost a hundred subscribers!”
“Yeah? Can you call your subscribers and ask them to hang out? Would they pick you up at the airport?”
Tyler paused. He shook his head. “Okay. Fine. But you have to be ready to leave whenever I want. I don’t want to be locked in an awkward house for the next twelve hours.”
Sam smiled and shifted the transmission into reverse. “You got it.”
•
Tyler hadn’t told anybody, but there was another reason he was nervous to be in a large group. Sure, walking into a room with a bunch of people was scary enough. That’s why he started drinking in the first place. But he had been losing time. Just a handful of minutes every here and there. It had been happening ever since he stopped drinking. At first he thought it might be some kind of detox reaction, but he was a binge drinker, not a full-blown glass-of-vodka-in-the-morning type of alcoholic. The absence of alcohol couldn’t have been that great of a shock to his body.
The first time it happened, he was getting ready for work at the gas station. He tied his shoes and was about to brush his teeth when he started getting lightheaded. He sat down on the couch and the next thing he knew, he had his keys in his hand and his jacket was on. He didn’t know how much time had passed but he knew something was missing. Since then, it happened once at work and another couple times at home. Although he had no proof anything bad happened, there was no way to know for sure what he had said or done. Going into a crowd of people that already had a negative view of him with the possibility of losing control of himself was terrifying to Tyler. But Sam had been his best friend since they were thirteen and Tyler put a lot of stock in what he said. Nobody else seemed to have his best interest at heart so even when every part of his body disagreed with Sam, he still occasionally followed along.
•
There was a gate in the fence along the side of the house. Sam walked through first and Tyler followed him holding the twelve-pack of beer. Inside, they found about fifteen people in various stages of sitting around a patio table, playing some game involving throwing beanbags, or standing next to a smoking grill. A small dog was chewing on a piece of rope in the grass and jumped to its feet anytime the grill was opened. Tyler knew almost all of the people from high school. They looked towards the gate when Sam and Tyler walked through and their faces showed a mixture of ambivalence, annoyance, and acceptance. Tyler followed Sam into the heart of the group and set the beer on the patio tiles next to the table.
“Sam! Glad you could make it.” A shaggy-haired blond guy named Matt walked over to them. He looked at Tyler. “And you. I hope you can keep from puking on the table this time?”
Tyler vaguely remembered an incident the previous year where his drinks made a second appearance while trying to explain his showering schedule to a table of uninterested people. One of them must have had shaggy, blond hair. Tyler fought the urge to turn around and kick open the gate in the fence. Instead, he nodded. “Hi Matt.”
They made their rounds of greetings and if Matt’s introduction could be considered “warm” the rest of the party measured somewhere around a melting ice cube. Nobody was interested in the fact that Tyler had stopped drinking. Nobody was curious to see what he was like sober. Everybody had something to say to somebody else so Tyler ended up standing around the outer edge of the group by the patio table, frequently checking the time. And then he got lightheaded.
A wave of panic pulsed through him. He knew he was already in a hole and the thought of switching over to autopilot guaranteed disaster. He quietly found a stray chair in the grass, about five feet behind the grill, and was able to secure himself on top of it. He hoped to simply ride it out before anybody noticed he wasn’t well. He felt the blackout envelop him.
•
His hands were hurting. That was the first thing he noticed. Then he noticed the excited shouts around him. People were patting him on the back. Someone put a beer in each of his hands which felt really good. Not only were people paying attention to him, but they were being nice. He didn’t question it. He just smiled and said things like, “Yeah, well, y’know…”
Sam walked up to him once the fervor died down. “That was amazing, dude. You don’t even like dogs!”
Tyler shrugged, still grasping the two unopened cans of beer.
The gate in the fence opened and another couple of people that looked vaguely familiar came in. They looked taken aback by the noise. “What’s up?” one of them asked.
Matt walked up to them and pointed at Tyler. “That motherfucker right there is a goddamn superhero. First, my dad’s grill from like the twenties or something breaks. The leg just gives out. And little Bitsy is just sitting back there minding her own business when the damn thing starts to fall. Tyler there jumps up from his chair like Spiderman and catches the grill before it smashes her. Burns the shit out of his hands but he doesn’t care. He’s the man.”
Tyler couldn’t believe it. He was never known for his reflexes and definitely not for heroics. If he were to guess, put in the same situation again, he’d be so paralyzed by fear that he wouldn’t be able to get out more than a stilted groan before the grill came crashing down upon the dog. But at least he had an explanation for why the cold beer felt so good on his hands.
After another hour or so of enjoying his newfound role as a hero, he and Sam had to leave to find some burn cream. His hands were the color of fully-cooked lobsters and the blood pulsing through them felt like boiling water.
•
A week later, Tyler was at work. The high from the barbecue had worn off and the insecurities that came with sobriety had worked their way back into his head. His coworkers resigned themselves to another shift of giving Tyler one-word responses. He was trying to focus on restocking the chip and candy aisle. His arms were full of boxes of personal-sized pouches of chips and he had to push his way past a guy with long hair who couldn’t seem to make up his mind between the candy bars. There was an older man contemplating the cases of beer in the coolers behind him. Tyler sighed and set the boxes on the ground when he suddenly felt the lightheadedness return.
There was nowhere to sit and he couldn’t push the guy with long hair over in hopes of making it to the office near the bathrooms in back. He had no choice but to sit on the floor next to the corn nuts when the room disappeared.
•
He woke up in the parking stalls in front of the gas station. The cars at the gas pumps were surrounded by people looking in his direction. A moment later, he noticed a cop car pull into the parking lot with the lights on top circling, but no siren. The guy with long hair was lying on the ground with Tyler’s foot pressed against his back. Reflexively, he pulled his foot away and looked toward the police car.
“Get the fuck off of me!” yelled the guy with long hair even though Tyler wasn’t holding him down anymore.
“Is that him?” the cop yelled as he got out of his car.
Tyler looked back and forth between the cop and the guy jumping to his feet.
The cop walked up and grabbed the guy by his sweatshirt. “What’s your name?”
“Who, me?” said the guy with long hair.
The cop just stared at him.
“Panama Jack.”
The cop rolled his eyes. “Jesus…,” he said under his breath.
“No, it’s Jack,” the guy said, smiling.
“Shut up.” The cop turned to Tyler. “You wanna tell me what happened here?”
Tyler looked inside where his coworkers were watching from behind the counter. They were smiling and their eyes were opened wide.
“Um, I can do you one better,” said Tyler. “Lemme show you the security footage.”
“This is bullshit. Let me go.”
“You don’t want to see your television debut, Panama Jack?” asked the cop. “I do. Let’s all go watch it together.”
Tyler shoved his burned hands into his pockets and led the cop to the office by the bathrooms. A computer monitor sat on a desk next to the safe. After a few clicks and a little bit of waiting, Tyler pressed play and they watched a split shot of the six cameras in the gas station. There was no audio on the tape so the three of them listened to the sounds of each other breathing.
First, in the top right corner, they watched as Tyler sat on the floor.
“Hard day at work, eh?” said the guy with long hair.
The cop turned towards him, making eye contact, and blew a quick puff of air at his face. He twitched as if about to be slapped. “Shut up,” said the cop.
In the black and white video, the guy turned away from Tyler and stuffed a couple candy bars into his pockets. The man by the beer case saw this and started to shout.
“What’s he saying there?” asked the cop.
“He was asking for directions.”
“Shut up,” said the cop.
The guy with long hair moved out of the view of the camera. He entered the viewpoint of an outside camera facing the front door. The video showed him walking into the parking lot with Tyler coming through the door before it could close. He grabbed the guy, who tried to shake him off. They fell to the ground and started wrestling while the people pumping their gas either pulled out their cell phones to record or jumped in their cars to run away. They rolled on the concrete for a couple minutes until Tyler was able to stand up and put a foot on his back as the cop car pulled into the parking lot.
“Well, how about that?” said the cop.
“Yeah, how about that assault? I’d like to press charges.”
“Charges?” The cop took a step back and crossed his arms. “For what? Taking shoplifting seriously?”
Tyler stood silently next to the monitors, not sure what to say.
“A little too seriously,” said the guy with long hair.
“You know who else takes shoplifting seriously? Me. Come on, Panama Jack.” The cop grabbed him by the back of the shirt and started leading him out of the office. He stopped after opening the door and turned back to Tyler. “Good work, man.” He smiled and walked out of the door.
Tyler followed shortly after and walked to the counter where his coworkers were still smiling.
“That was fucking awesome!” one of them said.
“That was like some pro wrestler shit!” said the other.
Tyler nodded and half-smiled, unsure of how to accept praise for something he didn’t remember doing. For the second time that month.
•
Word of the gas station takedown quickly spread. His coworkers were asking him to join them after work. People from high school that never seemed to notice him were inviting him to hang out. But Tyler couldn’t just roll with it. He knew that it was all a scam and it was only a matter of time before everyone noticed. And then Sam called.
“Tyler. Saturday night. You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“It’s Amanda’s birthday.”
“Who?” But Tyler knew exactly who.
“You know exactly who. The girl you stared at like a creepy weirdo all the way through high school. It’s her birthday tonight.”
“Sam, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if what? If you feel like having a good time? You have been sitting around feeling sorry for yourself because of, well, I have no idea. But you’re lonely right?”
“Um.”
“Exactly. People want to see you. I don’t know where that undercover cop shit you did came from, or the grill thing, but you need to make use of your momentum, man.”
“That’s the thing, Sam. I didn’t really do those things.”
“Tyler, shut up. I watched you grab that grill.”
Tyler took a deep breath and told Sam about the blackouts. How long they’d been happening, the fact that he didn’t remember a moment of the reasons people were paying attention to him.
“Holy shit, man. That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t wanna go out and screw everything up.”
“Yeah, or you’ll save the day again. Who knows? You said these things happen all the time and you usually don’t see anything out of the ordinary, right?”
Tyler nodded even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it.
“Well then you’ll probably just forget you ate a piece of cake or something and it won’t matter. You’re coming with me.”
And then he hung up.
•
Tyler and Sam pulled into the parking lot of the Old 48 Bar a little after ten o’clock. The bass pumped through the walls and Tyler immediately felt nervous.
“Here we go,” said Sam. “Time for you to watch me get drunk.”
They walked through the back door. To their right was the dance floor with the DJ booth set up along the far wall. Nobody was dancing. A small group of people stood near the bar on the far side of the building. There were about twenty people trying to talk over the music but it didn’t look like many of them were succeeding. Another group of people sat at a table near the door, but they didn’t seem to be there for the party. Sam slapped Tyler on the chest in place of words and led him to the bar. Sam yelled his order at the bartender and eventually handed Tyler a glass of Sprite.
Tyler was treated to repeated questions about his experiences at the gas station and the barbecue. Thankfully, this only lasted about fifteen minutes before the DJ cut the music and started speaking into the microphone.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to wish a happy birthday to the delightful Amanda,” said the DJ. He adopted the speaking style of a radio DJ and held the last syllable of her name as if announcing her into a boxing ring.
People clapped and cheered. Amanda stepped forward from the back and Tyler’s hands immediately grew damp at the sight of her. It had been a while since he had seen her and she was somehow able to hold the trance over him even after the drought. He grew dizzy but he couldn’t be sure if it was because the blood had rushed from his head after seeing Amanda, or if he was about to have a blackout.
She walked onto the dance floor next to the DJ booth and a couple people met her with the birthday cake. The candles danced on top even though the music had stopped.
“Now I’d like all of you to help me wish her a happy birth—”
•
When Tyler blinked back into consciousness, people were patting him on the back and laughing. A girl he had never seen before handed him a beer and Amanda was walking towards him.
“Thank you,” she said when she was close enough. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked away. Tyler looked for Sam to get some information.
“Did it happen again? You look freaked out. You have no idea what just happened, do you?” Sam asked.
Tyler shook his head.
“Lucky for you, I was recording.” Sam lifted his phone and pulled up a video. “Watch.”
The video was shaky, but Tyler could see the cake and the DJ and Amanda and then all of a sudden everything went dark besides the candles. The power cut out and the DJ’s microphone and equipment were silent. The whole bar was quiet except for the unrelated table’s muffled laughs, but everyone else held their breath besides muttering the occasional “Oh shit.” And then, in the middle of the silence, someone cleared their throat.
A luxurious voice filled the room. It was deep and strong, fluid as the wake behind a canoe on a calm afternoon. The richness of tone surprised Tyler, and he marveled at how he didn’t have a million YouTube subscribers. He had perfected the art of singing, and this performance was irrefutable proof. By the third line, the whole bar was either cheering or singing along but his voice continued to carry the song. The lights came back on a couple seconds before the song was over.
The microphone sprang back to life and the DJ immediately yelled an elongated “Oh shit!” as everyone started clapping.
“Hey man! That was awesome.” Another guy Tyler had never seen before reached over Sam’s shoulder, knocking the phone out of the way, and handed Tyler a shot. “Here!”
Before he could tell himself not to, Tyler got caught up in the momentum of the moment and drank the shot. But he wasn’t ready for it. The liquor felt hot as it slid down his throat. It burned. His eyes started to water and so did his mouth. He knew he didn’t have long. He turned around and made a straight shot for the bathroom. The shot came back up behind the safety of the bathroom door, but it was no secret what had happened. He walked back out to find the crowd that had just cheered him drawing back in disgust, a few of them laughing. The shot was still burning in his stomach and Tyler wished he could vomit the rest of it out. His mouth felt dirty. His throat felt dirty. He felt dirty.
A man approached from the direction of the table by the door. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said. Tyler wiped his eyes, still running from the shot that wouldn’t stay down, and saw the guy with long hair from the gas station. Panama Jack.
“I knew that was you,” he said. “Fucking Frank Sinatra wannabe.”
Tyler became lightheaded, but he needed to be present. He needed to be there. So he focused on the burns on his hands until it passed and looked at the man standing in front of him.
“You think you’re a big tough guy, eh? Standing up for your candy bars and packs of cigarettes?” He pushed Tyler, and then came the war cry.
But it wasn’t from Tyler, or the guy with long hair, but from a drunken Sam coming flying up behind him. Sam jumped but the war cry gave the guy with long hair enough warning to move out of the way. While Sam skidded across the floor, Tyler made a move towards Jack. The long hair waved through the air like a cape as the guy drew his arm back with a target sitting directly on Tyler’s face. The punch followed through, and Tyler fell to the ground with his nose leaking blood and his eyes watering for a second time.
A blackout would have been welcomed at this point, but Tyler remained conscious as he sat on the ground with Panama Jack standing above him. Sam got to his feet but he didn’t have time to intervene.
Amanda appeared from the crowd, most of them watching with their mouths either hanging open or creased into a smile, and grabbed the guy by his long hair. He stumbled and fell to the ground.
“No fighting at my birthday!” she yelled as she delivered a high-heeled kick to his ribs. The “oof!” could be heard above the music and then a few of her friends grabbed him before he could move. Another few moments later, he had been tossed out the front door without a word of protest from his cohorts at the table.
“Come here,” said Amanda. She held her hand out to Tyler, who was still sitting on the floor. He held one hand to his nose and reached the other up to her. They walked to the bar and she handed him a few napkins from a plastic container. “Are you okay?” she asked.
His voice was muffled through the napkin: “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For the song. It was beautiful.”
Tyler nodded and smiled, but his mouth was hidden behind the bloody napkin held in his hand.
She looked across the group of people and rested her back against the bar. People had started filling the dance floor and most of them seemed to have already forgotten about the birthday girl kicking a stranger in the ribs. She twisted around and waved a hand to the bartender.
She turned her head to Tyler once the bartender noticed her. “Beer?” she asked.
Tyler thought for a moment. His throat was still burning and his nose was throbbing. He looked back at her and thought about the hot liquor still sitting in his stomach. His mouth started to water and he felt like he might need to go back to the bathroom, and then she touched his arm. It was a light touch, but there was no mistaking it. She was probably trying to hurry his answer along but she succeeded in doing much more than that. She was welcoming him back to the world.
“Sure,” he said.
Josh Rank graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and has since had stories published in The Missing Slate, The Feathertale Review, The Oddville Press, Roadside Fiction, and elsewhere. He lives in Los Angeles where he’s trying to eat his weight in burritos. More ramblings can be found at joshrank.com and music can be found at joshrank.bandcamp.com.
