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TITLE (EDIT)
Drinking Alone With Company |
DESCRIPTION
A lonely man downs a bottle of whiskey while walking around his neighborhood at night.
[718 words] |
AUTHOR
Jacob Freer |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[February 2013] |
Drinking Alone With Company
Jacob Freer
My night had just started as I sipped a pint of cheap whiskey on my front porch. The sun had receded a couple of hours before, and the night slowly grew colder. The empty house behind me was all but welcoming. It was a constant reminder of the lonely life I’ve come to live. A dim light from the living room came through the broad windows, lighting up the porch just enough for me to read the warning label on my bottle over, and over again.
I found myself drifting into a daze, a mere five or six swigs into my night. Nervous that I wouldn’t be able to finish my whiskey before passing out on the porch, I slowly got out of the chair and made my way to the wide steps, and stared out into the night, clutching my trusty bottle. As I descended the steps I took a large gulp from the bottle and wondered where I should walk. Without any further contemplation I reached the sidewalk and went right.
It was a cool sixty-five degrees, which the whiskey turned into a comfortable seventy-two, and the recent rainfall created a thin fog that drifted over the road ahead. Every fifty feet a bright streetlight lit up the road. They were rather loud, giving off a steady hum of electricity, much like a bug zapper. I noticed a bit of a stagger in my steps and paced myself as I took another swig, careful not to spill a drop. The light breeze was refreshing, and the way the street looked as if it never ended gave me a feeling of destination.
The neighborhood was quiet. I could see some families watching television together in their comfy homes. A quarter mile down the road an old Lincoln sat near a streetlight, half in the shade, and half in the brightness. The windows were very foggy, and the car moved ever so slightly on its suspension, back and forth. I couldn’t tell if the movement was the car, or if the whiskey in my blood was screwing with my equilibrium. As I approached the car, I discovered that it was both.
My pace slowed as I came closer, curious to see what I might find. I could make out two figures through the fog. There was a large spot that had been wiped recently that provided a clear window. I looked closer to get a better picture. I felt a bit nosey, and wondered why these people would choose to park directly under a streetlight to fool around. I made the excuse that they must be into voyeurism or some other fetish and continued to watch.
I could see a female figure. Her fare skin reflected through the darkness revealing a pale hourglass figure. Her movement was inconsistent; no doubt that of a young, inexperienced woman. Suddenly the male figure came into view. His scrawny body couldn’t have been more than seventeen years of age. Both of them rolled around like puppies at play, kissing, touching, petting, and exploring. I remember the freedom of bench seats in cars like this one. They almost invited lust and passion.
I had forgotten about my bottle of whiskey and brought it to my lips to take a gulp. As I did it knocked against the front fender of the car, alerting the two young lovers to my presence. They both stopped immediately, and the girl let out a small scream. I made eye contact with the young man, and without thinking twice I gripped my bottle and took off down the road toward my house. I figured that maybe voyeurism wasn’t one of their interests, and that parking under a streetlight was just the dumb mistake of a young couple out looking for a place of freedom to express their lust and love for each other. I thought of my own childhood and teen years. Of all of my memories, those lustful ones are the most vivid.
I sat back down on my porch after the long jog back and took a long swig of my bottle. It no longer burned at all, which meant I was almost finished. Just then, that same Lincoln slowly moved down the street in front of my house. I chuckled quietly, took one last drink, and moseyed into my empty, dark house.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2013 Jacob Freer |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
February 2013 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1435
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