Words I Might Have Ate

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“Good afternoon, you’re a new face.”

“I’m Billie,” I reply slowly, squinting up at the truck driver, a cigarette burning idly in my hand. I cross my arms over my chest against the chilly late morning air and shrug my shoulders. “I just got hired last week.”

“Where’s Rose?” The man asks, swinging down from the cab of his truck and landing firmly on his own two feet.

I nod at the door with my head. “She’s inside getting the paperwork together for you. She’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“I’m Sam,” The man holds out his hand and I shake it gingerly. “Are you going to be doing the truck from now on instead of Ryan?”

I take a hit from my cigarette and nod once again. “Ryan broke his arm and so he’s out for physical therapy and everything. You’ll be seeing me every Monday for the next twelve weeks though.”

The door opens and a short, curvy woman steps out with papers in her hands. “Hey Sam, how’re you today?”

Sam waves as he opens the back of his truck to reveal crates and crates of alcohol. “I’m good, Rose, thanks. How’re you this morning?”

“We’ve been busy cleaning all day for a health inspection in two days,” Rose replies, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her chest. “So things are a bit crazy here at the moment. How much today?”

“Not a lot,” Sam answers as he slides a set of metal rollers out of the truck. It ends just at my feet and I look between the rickety, warped frame and Sam’s retreating back uncertainly.

“Is this going to hold?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth to Rose just as the first case comes sliding down towards me at an alarming speed. I catch it with both hands, my cigarette falling to the ground before setting it down next to me just as another package comes rolling down at me.

“I don’t know how it does,” Rose shrugs. “But it holds every time. Sam’s been delivering our supplies for four years and I’ve yet to see something fall off his truck.”

I bite back the sarcastic reply as another case comes barreling down at me, the bottles rattling together ominously. Sam pays us no mind, his movements smooth and fluid as he sends case after case down at me in rapid succession.

Rose laughs a bit at how red my cheeks are getting before kicking open the door and propping it open. “Just bring all of that in here when you’re done and put it away and you’re free to go for the day.”

“Really?” I ask without turning around. “It’s already one o’clock?”

“One thirty actually,” Rose replies offhandedly. “So you’re free after this, just let me know when you’re leaving.”

I nod and the loading area falls quiet with the exception of my breathing and the steady rumbling of bottles sliding towards me. Before long, my arms are sore from catching and my back aches from moving the crates out of my way.

When Sam pulls his metal contraption back into his truck, I nearly cry with relief. He hops down onto the ground and slams the back of the truck shut firmly before locking it. “That’ll be it. I’ll see you next week, Will.”

“It’s Billie,” I reply in a daze but he’s already pulling himself up behind the steering wheel, his papers from Rose already lying in the passenger’s seat.

As the truck pulls away from the dock, I gaze around tiredly at the mountains of supplies and alcohol that has just been delivered. My stomach rumbles and I’m only reminded of the fact that I’ve yet to eat today.

I can’t quite suppress the sigh that escapes me as I bend down and pick up the first crate before walking it through the back door of the bar. The storage room is empty, which is just the way I like it, so I haphazardly dump the box on the floor before dutifully walking back outside for the rest of the shipment. It takes me only ten minutes to bring everything inside.

As the door slams behind me for the final time and a peaceful silence washes over everything, the swinging door opens and Rose peers around at me. “I’ll have Mark put those up when he comes in this evening. Go on home, Billie. Thanks for coming in early to help us clean and do inventory.”

“No problem,” I answer as I rub at my eyes. Truth be told, I had been a bit loaded when I had agreed to come in early last night-- the after effects of a visit from Tré and his never ending stash of weed. By the time I got home from working the late shift, it was going on two and I had to be in at eight thirty the next morning.

Ten more minutes elapse before I find myself climbing onto the bus and depositing my fare into the box mechanically. My feet feel like lead as I find an empty spot and sink down into it gratefully. It was a beautiful day, the Californian sun was shining brilliantly and there was a gentle, teasing wind blowing through the town but I wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into bed for a few hours of much-needed sleep.

For the four stops that I ride the bus, I amuse myself by staring out the window at the people on the streets. A woman with a kid in each hand walks with her head down low, focusing intently on her two charges. A teenager skates down the street, his Walkman strapped securely to his belt. His lips move a bit as he sings along with the lyrics. I find myself brooding silently over a few random lines in my head, my forehead wrinkling as I struggle to come up with the right words.

I pat myself down for the pen that I know I’ve left back at work and I grumble angrily to myself just as the bus stops for the fourth time. I rise up from my seat, repeating the lines over and over in my head so as not to forget until I can jot them down in my notebook.

Birds are chirping cheerfully in the trees as I turn down my street and stride purposefully towards the apartment that I call home. Down the street, two kids are outside playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, their childish laughter getting carried away in the warm breeze.

A quick glance into the single-car garage that comes with each apartment reveals to me that Mike has already left for his shift at the restaurant. I trudge up the stairs to the apartment, my footsteps echoing dully on the threadbare carpet. My keys jingle in my hands as I sort through the brass and silver for the correct one. I finally get the front door unlocked and I step into my living room, a sense of relief washing over me.

I kick off my shoes and toss my keys onto the table before tugging my Ramones shirt up and over my head. I drop it to the floor and undo my buckle as I pad through the living room and kitchen. As soon as I reach my room, I drop my pants and step out of them before collapsing onto my bed, bringing the duvet up around my chin comfortably. My body protests initially at the sudden change in posture before relaxing slowly.

The pillow is cool against my cheek and a content smile finds its way onto my face as I find my eyelids growing heavy. There’s a soft padding from the hallway and Zero stalks into the room, her yellow eyes trained on me. She leaps up onto the bed and curls up on the empty pillow next to me. I reach out and scratch behind her ears until she purrs happily.

Just as sleep is about to claim me, my eyes land on the book that’s lying on my night stand table with the bookmark still on page eleven. An enormous yawn escapes my mouth and I find myself mumbling a soft promise that I’d read when I woke up from my nap later.

-X-

I am brutally brought back into reality by a rough hand on my shoulder, shaking me back to consciousness. My eyes crash open and I gaze up at Mike with confused eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waking you up because Tré’s here and we’re heading out to a party. Do you want to come with us?” Mike asks, the light from the lamp by my bed casting an unflattering shadow across his face.

I sit up slowly, rubbing at my tired face. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” Mike answers after a quick confirmation glance at the clock on my wall. “What time did you go to sleep?”

“Two,” I reply, stretching my arms above my head. “Whose party?”

“One of Tré’s friends. Their parents are out of town for the week and they’re throwing a huge party. Two dollars to get in and it’s all sorts of alcohol. Tré has three kegs in my car already. Are you in?” Mike asks again, watching me as I swing my legs out of the bed and stand up.

“Yeah, sure. Give me a few minutes to get dressed,” I request, already glancing over the piles of clothes in my room for a suitable outfit for the night. Once again I find the worn little novel on my table and my stomach does an uncomfortable lurch inside of me as I realize that going out to this party means not reading once again.

I brush it aside easily. It’s not like I’m not going to read the book. I don’t meet with David until Wednesday night and it’s only Monday. I have time to get a few more chapters in before our study session. I can cram in a few hours of reading before work tomorrow and a little bit more Wednesday after my shift at the bar. I’ll get to my reading later, just not now.

With newfound energy, I squat down and root through a mountain of t-shirts that Mom washed for me a few weeks ago. There’s bound to be at least one shirt in here that doesn’t smell too funky.

I grab a white Misfits shirt and sniff it once before I pull it over my head and wriggle into a pair of loose black Dickies. I find a spiked belt and tug it through the loops on my shorts before strapping it firmly around my hips. A quick trip to the bathroom and a thorough teeth brushing later, I’m ready to leave. My fingers run through my messy bed head a few times to calm my hair down before I enter the living room, my keys and ID already stashed in my pocket for safekeeping

Tré is sitting on the sofa, watching some old sitcom rerun with a fast-food hamburger wrapper sitting in his lap. He looks up at me and smiles brilliantly despite the half chewed food in his cheeks. “Are you ready?”

I nod, looking around the otherwise empty room for my bassist. “Where’s Mike?”

“He went to finish loading up the car; we spent the rest of his check on booze for tonight.” Tré answers, clicking off the television and balling his trash up.

I take a drink from a lukewarm bottle of water that’s been sitting on the counter for a few days now before making a face at the off taste. “And so why aren’t you helping?”

“I was instructed to stay out of his way after I opened the second case to drink instead of loading it up.” Tré is annoyingly cheerful as he watches me pull a frozen burrito from the freezer.

I laugh as I push the wrap into the microwave and hit heat. Trust Tré to already be a bit drunk at eight o’clock in the evening. “How much have you drunk so far tonight?”

Tré screws up his face and the kitchen goes eerily quiet as he thinks. “Three beers.”

“Just warming up than, eh?” I mumble as Mike steps through the door.

“Ready?” He asks, his eyes twinkling merrily as he rubs his hands together. “The car’s ready to go.”

The microwave beeps at me and I fish my dinner from the glass plate, throwing the burrito from hand to hand as I burn my fingers repeatedly. “Just about,” I throw the burrito onto a paper towel and blow on my stinging fingers. “Can I eat this in the car?”

Mike nods, opening the door and waving his hands pointedly. “Yeah, sure, fine, let’s go. We’re late.”

“Since when do you care about being on time?” Tré drawls loudly as he stumbles out of the apartment and crashes unceremoniously into the wall.

“Yeah,” I chime in as I step out behind him. “You’re never on time, Mike. What gives?”

Mike rolls his eyes as he locks the door and herds us down the steps and into the garage where his car’s waiting. “Nothing, I just want to be on time.”

“You do realize the party started at like six, right?” Tré asks, throwing himself into the backseat and sprawling out with his legs hanging over the driver’s seat.

Mike pushes his legs down from around the headrest so he can climb in. “Yeah but we don’t want to miss any of the good booze—“

“Bullshit,” Tré crows, his voice sounding strangely muffled. “My friends are experts in two things in life, my friend, and that is girls and alcohol. And they would never, ever serve their guests anything but the best.”

I sit down in the passenger’s seat and slam the door closed behind me before taking a bite of my wrap. “He speaks the truth.”

Mike rolls his eyes once again as he shifts into reverse and pulls out of the garage. “I have someone to meet, if you must know.”

“Ooh,” I yell, a broad smile lighting up my face. I reach over and punch my friend lightly in the arm. “Mike’s getting laid tonight!”

“Shut up, I am not!” Mike laughs, pushing my hands away. “How do you even know it’s a girl I’m meeting? I never said it was.”

“Because,” Tré’s head pops up between our seats, his eyes wide. “You put on cologne.”

There’s a bit of a silence that follows his statement so I lean over and sniff Mike’s shirt cautiously a few times. I can’t remember the last time either of us did laundry and I’m not about to lose what little I’ve eaten of my dinner so far over some rancid smelling laundry. But true to Tré’s announcement, Mike smells alright. I sit back up and grin widely. “It’s a girl.”

Poor Mike flushes once again as both Tré and I yell childishly, teasing him mercilessly about this mysterious girl. He flips us all the finger before glancing over at me. “Dave called while you were sleeping earlier.”

“Oh,” The guilty sensation is back in my stomach but I ignore it by pulling a crumbled pack of cigarettes from my pocket and pushing in the lighter on Mike’s dashboard so it can heat up. “What’d he say?”

Mike pauses, his eyebrows coming together as he thinks. “He wants to know how you’re doing so far,” He looks over at me just as the lighter pops out. “What’s he mean by that? You two haven’t been particularly close all these years and you’ve never called each other just to check in before.”

I pull the red-hot coil out and bring it to the end of my cigarette before inhaling deeply. I blow the smoke out my open window before replacing the lighter on the dash. “Two brothers can’t just call each other?”

“Not two Armstrong brothers,” Mike retorts smoothly. “I lived with you for how many years, Billie? And I’ve been your best friend since the fourth grade. I know you and I know your relationship with your brothers. Calling each other just to chat hasn’t always been high up on your priority list.”

I pinch at the skin on the back of my neck nervously, an agitated groan rumbling up from deep within. Sometimes I hate how well Mike knows me, it makes lying a lot more difficult for me. I pass the next couple of moments by taking a few hits from my cigarette. Mike’s still waiting patiently for my answer and I know that he’ll lock me in this car until I give him a straight reply.

“We’re working on something together,” I reply eventually, tearing my gaze away from my open window. “We started that night he came down to Gilman’s to meet with me.”

“What is it?” Mike asks curiously, taking his eyes from the road to look at me. “I didn’t know you and David had anything in common. David was always…” He trails off, searching for a proper adjective to describe my older brother.”

“A prissy, tightwad,” Tré supplies helpfully from the backseat, reminding us that he’s not quite as baked as we previously thought.

An attractive snort of laughter escapes me and I shake my head, rubbing the bridge of my nose gently. Leave it to Tré to break the awkward tension in the car with a well timed one-liner that instantly put everyone at ease once again.

Mike grins manically from next to me and nods his head. “Well that’s one way to put it. Thanks Tré.”

Tré burps loudly from somewhere behind us and I get a whiff of beer and French fries. “No problem.”

“Dear god,” I wave my hand around my head to clear the air. “That’s foul.”

“Better out than in, I always say,” Tré declares proudly as Mike pulls into the bottom of someone’s driveway. The entire driveway is already full of cars and as the engine goes silent, I can hear the music pounding from somewhere within the house.

As Tré clambers out from the backseat, a cheer goes around the yard. “Yes, I’ve brought reinforcements,” Tré shouts, throwing open the trunk and showcasing the cases of beer that Mike’s packed away. “Hey fuckers, someone help me carry this in!” He grabs two cases and marches towards the front door.

Mike pockets his keys and looks at me from across the car. “You know I still want to know what you and David are working on later. You’re going to give me a straight answer.”

“I know,” I reply calmly despite my churning insides. I can feel myself beginning to panic as I try to find a suitable explanation. “I’ll tell you tomorrow morning.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Mike nods, grabbing two more cases from the back of the car. “Grab those last cases and close the door.”

I take the last of the booze out and kick the trunk shut before following Mike across the slanted yard towards the front door that Tré disappeared behind only moments earlier. As I step into the front hallway, I’m overwhelmed with the scent of alcohol and pot. I catch a quick glimpse of a girl walking around in her underwear and a tank top, her lips seemingly permanently attached to a bottle of beer.

A wide smile spreads across my face at my sudden revelation. Mike can’t get a straight answer from me if we both have the hangovers from hell tomorrow morning. I throw the beer down onto the kitchen floor, next to the table that is positively groaning under the weight of the assorted liquor already.

I crack open an inky green bottle of Heineken before grabbing another bottle and tossing it to my best friend. Mike catches it and twists the cap off before I hold it up to him, a mischievous grin dancing on my lips.

“Cheers, man,” I say with a wicked glint on my eyes as our bottles clink together.