“Well, Jeremy, you’re a good guy. What’s your name?”
“Just relax,” he said. “We’ll be there soon and you can sleep this off.”
“Have you ever been in love, Jeremiah?”
“It’s actually just Jeremy.”
“But have you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve thought I was, but no. Never the real thing.”
“Well, I’ve had the real thing and it’s shit, Jeremy, let me tell you.” I held my hand out in a toast, hitting the ceiling of the car, then staring at my hand. “Where’s my drink?” Then my eyes widened. “Oh, no! I spilled it on you.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I’m so sorry, Jeremiah.”
“It’s Jeremy.”
“Jeez, I can’t even get your name right.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I said, staring out the window at the blackened cement. “It’s never going to be okay again.”
3
Jeremy
I noticed the tall, muscular man with the neat beard and the dirty blond hair long before he came over and crashed our pool game. He was a loud talker with the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Luckily, the jukebox drowned out his complaints as he shouted them across the counter to the bartender who was all over three feet away. When he stood, the barstool fell over with a loud thwack on the linoleum floor and Mr. Tall, Blond and Shitfaced stumbled his way over to us with a full drink in his hand.
“I call next,” he announced, his words barely discernable through the alcohol-induced slur.
“Someone already has next. It’s going to be a while,” I told him.
“I can wait. How about a round, guys? On me.”
I looked him over, surprised to see his blue eyes filled with despair despite his huge grin and flippant offer. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Your hair looks soft. Do you curl it or are those waves natural?”
My mouth dropped open, then he laughed. “Correction,” I said, forcing a laugh. “You have had enough.”
“I’ll have enough when I tell you you’ve had enough. Wait, what I meant to say is enough is enough all right, beardy.”
He took a step and fell into the bar, wincing in pain, then trying to stand up. I rushed forward to catch him as he melted toward the floor. Somehow I managed to get my arms around him and hold him tight. He was limp as a wet noodle and his hands were on my ass. “Whoa, buddy. That’s not okay, all right?”
“What?” His head lolled to the side, then upright, then to the other side. Like a marionette on a string being pulled by a drunken puppet master. It was almost comical, except that it wasn’t. He was wasted and it wasn’t a good look.
When a couple of my buddies laughed, I gave them a stern look. “Is there someone we can call for you?” I asked when he looked at me and his eyes focused for a brief second.
“There’s no one. There’ll never be no one again. Wait, I said that wrong, no one will never be no one not again and no one.”
He started to melt again and I hauled him back onto his feet. “I gotcha, buddy. You didn’t drive, right?”
“My head is splitting.” He moaned, puffing out his cheeks as if he might vomit. I braced myself, but he held it down. “This is crap.”
“I’m sure it is,” I agreed. “What’s your name?”
“Brian. You probably heard it before.”
“I’ve met a Brian or two.”
“Not just Brian,” he insisted, pointing angrily at his chest. “The Brian. Hard-Hitting Hattersly. I’m, like, the most famous tennis player in ever.”
“That’s cool.” I pulled his arm over my shoulder and wrapped my other arm around his waist. “Can you tell me your address?”
“I need to buy the bar a round on me. I’m not ready to leave.”
“Oh, you’re ready,” I said. “You’re already going to be hurting tomorrow. You don’t want to be broke, too.”
“I can’t be broke.”
“That’s why I’m saving you. You look like you need it.”
“You don’t know who I am.”
The truth seemed to devastate him, so I hurried to prove him wrong. “You told me. Brian Hatterson.”
“Hattersly. The tennis player.”
“You have a match tomorrow?”
“No. I injured my elbow. There’s no more tennis for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I understand why you’d want to tie a few on to forget your troubles.”
He stumbled out the door, heavy against me. “It’s not the tennis that broke my heart,” I said. “It’s the ex. He just left me and all I have are these stupid mementos I burned. It felt so good.”
“I bet it did.”
“Have you been in love before?”
“You know how it is,” I told him. “You think you’re in love until you find something better, then you realize it wasn’t real love. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.”
“My ex liked to wash clothes.”
A laughed burst out of me. He scowled. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to be funny.”
He kept talking, but I was only half listening while I used my phone to call a car. “Hey, Brian. Can I see your license?”
He handed it over and I punched in the address, then gave it back. Making sure he didn’t drop it or his wallet on the ground, I helped him find his pocket, then I all but carried him into the car when it arrived.
“I’m never going to find love,” he said, leaning against me in the backseat of the car.
The driver verified the address I’d uploaded and he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.
“You will find love someday,” I assured him. “There’s someone out there for everyone.”
“Not for me. No one wants a washed-up tennis player.”
“Sure they do. I mean, some of us don’t even watch tennis.”
He turned, mouth opened in shock. “You don’t like tennis? It’s, like, the best thing ever. What’s wrong with you?”
I shrugged. “Just not my thing. I’m more into music.”
He rolled his eyes and leaned back so far I thought he was going to pass out. Then he blinked and looked around. “How did I get here?”
“I’m going to make sure you get home. You’ve had way too much to drink.”
“Did I black out?”
“No. You’ve been talking nonstop this whole time.”
“Wow.”
I patted him hand. “You’re pretty hammered.”
“I feel awful.”
“I’m sure you do.” Not as bad as you’re going to feel in the morning, I thought.
“It hurts.”
“I know, Brian. I know.”
“You’re a good guy. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy.”
“Well, Jeremy, you’re a good guy. What’s your name?”
It took everything I had not to laugh when he asked me again. He was towing the line between hilarious and pitiful, and I was struggling to keep a straight face. “Just relax,” I told him. “We’ll be there soon and you can sleep this off.”