Jose Rodriguez - Snapshots of Modern Love

I look at the piece of paper she gave me, with its round and childish calligraphy. I drove by the place, just out of curiosity, and what a dump it is. One of those dives that cater to the local alcoholics and unemployed, to the spent and rat race dropouts. Well, what the hell had I expected? A damned yuppie bar in a fancy location with a parking lot full of Lexuses? That' s Debbie, a street creature, as gritty as dry coarse sand paper, and she feels at home among her people.

The day I left her standing on Dallas, I didn' t leave her because of her past, because of her capability to pull a trigger and empty a gun in a scum bag who was trying to kill me. I ran away from her addictions. A junkie is two people, the one you love and the one who tries to destroy both you and the person you love. It' s a deadly love triangle where the addicted persona has the upper hand. The only way out is to kill the addicted persona, and the one you love may not have the will to do it, and if she tries, it may cost her her life. I' m sorry, but that' s not living. I’ m too much of a coward and that day in Dallas I ran out on her. Regrets? I don’ t know; perhaps it was the right thing to do, but the what if question has never ceased bothering me.

That was over twenty years ago. Debbie is still alive and is holding two jobs that I know of. A junkie cannot last that long, cannot hold a job. Holding two, even if one is serving drunks at a dive, is beyond a junkie' s capability. She has to be clean, or maybe she has reached a compromise with her addicted side and somehow both manage to survive in the same body. That wouldn' t beyond Debbie because I have to admit, she is tough and she isn' t dumb.

I don' t know why I worry. She is not my problem and it is obvious that she doesn' t see me as anything other than a dolt who came out of nowhere to startle her. I drive my truck in circles. I stop at the gas station' s Taco Bell and sit on a booth until my butt feels the pain of supporting my fat head. The paper she gave me is getting dogeared. I ran my fingers over it as if I could feel her skin under my fingertips by doing so. I smell the paper and it smells like paper. Surprise. Still, I want to catch the smell of her hair, that smell mixed with salt and wind.

I' m a dupe. I' m not a kid anymore but here I' m, acting like a pussy whipped teenager, chasing after memories that no longer held up against reality, that never did. She is probably laughing at me now, or wondering how she can get rid of me. I think that I should head back home, but I don' t have a home. I have a house with a woman in it who is the mother of my son, but that is not home. If this thing is a joke, may as well see it to the end and maybe I can make sense of the punch line. I suspect the joke is going to be on me, but I don' t care.

She did gave me the paper, so maybe she does want to see me again, perhaps more out of curiosity than anything. Knowing Debbie, she would have told me to go to hell on the spot if she really didn’ t want to see my mug again. The more I think about these things, the more confused I get. I' m going back to the Springs to take care of my business. I will come back later tonight to stop by the Night Owl. Or maybe not. I truly don' t know what the fuck I' m doing.

Ken walks into the bar not knowing what to expect. His landscaping crew could blend with the rough looking patrons and he is not surprised at that. It is Debbie that worries him, that intrigues him. Is she going to give him the cold shoulder? Is she gonna have the bouncer kick his ass right back to the parking lot? Is she even here?That would be a good joke, give him this address and she doesn’ t working here. At least it is not a gay bar, from what he can see so far. That would have been a good one too.

The ambiance light come mostly from garish beer signs hung over all walls and the Rockolla that is now playing ZZ Top. There is no TV but plenty of smoke and subdued conversations and the occasional laugh. It has been a long time since Ken has been in such a place, too busy making a living to live a life he thought he had left decades ago.

She is behind the bar filling two mugs from the tap. Once done, she carries them to one end of the bar where two biker guys are sitting. They don' t look like accountants posing as bad ass bikers but are the real thing. Ken is sure they even smell bad, like rancid leather. So far so good; she wasn' t bullshitting him. Ken sits at the opposite end of the bar and watches as Debbie is talking with the bikers, getting their money and coming to the cash register. She sees him and her pretty smile flashes and Ken feels he' s melting on his stool. Damn, he thinks, that smile, he gets shivers up his spine. It is like he has regressed twenty years and… his common sense tries to reign upon his memories. Don' t be such a fool, he tells himself. She' s just trying to be polite.

Her back is now to him because she is giving the bikers their change. Skinny she is, and her little ass looks firm. Perhaps there is more sag to her shoulders than he remembers, but everything, even her hair, looks the same. Ken' s member starts to swell in his pants and he is both embarrassed and incredulous at his physical response. That' s what he needs, he thinks as a sarcasm, his dick doing the talking for him. He is still wiggling on his stool when Debbie turns around and walks toward him.

"Hi there," she says. Ken can now see her smiling dimples.

"Hi Debbie." He smiles too, but he' s not sure if he is doing a good job of it.

"I was wondering if you were going to show up."

"And I was wondering if you were going to be here."

They look at each other, as if double checking that they were who they claimed to be.

"Anything to drink?" asks Debbie.

"A Bud will do."

"Tap or bottle?"

"Tap."

While Debbie fills the mug, Ken notices that his hands are shaking. What a fool he is, he admonishes himself; she' s just an old acquaintance, one who went to bed with him many a time, one who shot a man to save him, one that looked at him with eyes that spoke of a desire he doesn' t understand. Stop, he says to himself, don' t be such an idiot. Debbie comes back with the full mug. They make small talk, what have you been up to lately, where do you live and so on, polite conversation that skirts what they want to say to each other but they don' t know how. Debbie goes off to serve customers and to take care of the waitresses. Ken is glad for the breaks that let him gather his thoughts, and Debbie is too. Ken cannot see any needle marks on her arms. Debbie noticed his eyes inspecting her for needle scars. I thurts her but she understands why; nobody wants to deal with a junkie. With a whore and a murderer it is not a problem, but with a junkie, it' s not worth the aggravation.

"Are you married," asks Ken.

"Nope. Was twice but that is history." Debbie remembers Billy and her stomach turns. "How about you?"

"Yes," says Ken. "Yes and no."

"How' s that?"

"My marriage is just in paper. We sleep in different rooms and don' t talk to each other."

Debbie rolls her eyes. She has heard this sob story so many times from so many losers, about the horrible wife at home and how getting laid by a mistress would be so good to their self esteems, and the story tellers all look at her as the purveyor of that self esteem booster. So this is what all this is about? Glyn had said to her," I love my wife and I' m very happy with her, but I like you too."And he got laid because he had been sincere. Debbie cannot stand bullshitters.

"Sorry to hear that," says Debbie in a flat voice. Ken shrugs.

"You know how it is, you try to do the right thing but it blows up on your face."

"Tell me about it."

Ken restraints his urge to reach across the counter and take her hand. She would probably jump away as if he were a leper, he thinks. Still, Debbie can see that desire in him, and she doesn' t know what to do about it, doesn’ t understand what it means. Is it just a middle age lust for an affair? Is it a true desire for her? Come on, nobody ever had such a feeling for her, and would a man who knew her as a whore and a drug queen? Yet, he looks at her like nobody else has ever done. She feels uncomfortable at the same time she feels a sort of pride, at being wanted. She is glad when the bikers ask for another round and she can move away to gather her wits.