My Name Is Jimmy and You Better Not Wear It Out

I finally stopped drinking. Instead of buying booze I invested money in a coffee maker.

The congregation finally got the hint that I wasn't talking to them anymore and they finally left the club out of sheer boredom. I'd see them on the street sometimes and they'd look at me hopefully, but I'd just keep walking.

I couldn't help them with their problems. My ways of doing things weren't what they needed to fix their lives.

Pretty soon they just started glaring at me whenever they saw me coming. I could hear them whisper as I walked past.

"Here comes Saint Jimmy."

"What kind of saint is he? He never really did anything for us."

"We could've figured this all out by ourselves."

That was a blatant lie, but I never said anything.

At least they weren't directly bothering me anymore.

October starting coming to a close and I had to invest in longer shirts and warmer jackets. I started lighting fires in the trashcan by the window, lighting cigarettes on the flames and thinking about Gloria. Thinking about Tunny, hoping he would write me back.

Wondering about the Saint. I hadn't been taking my pills, and he hadn't been around since September.

Maybe he was gone.

Probably not.

You never know.

I spent my days working, doing the best job I could, paying off my debt to Reggie and the landlord for all the booze I drank. Honestly, my tab was huge. I even did extra jobs to make sure everything was paid off.

I was actually kind of shocked when I started getting a pay check again, the first one of with a note from Reggie. No more booze from our bar, y'hear?

Halloween came and went. I spent it staring out the window and smoking, feeling the bass line of the night's band reverberate through my floor boards as the singer sung incoherently into the dull roar that was the crowd. They must be good.

I hoped some drunk fuck up didn't mess it up for them.

And I hoped that if some drunk fuck messed it up, that it wasn't one of their friends.

And if it was, I hoed that they didn't leave him here with nowhere to go.

'Cause I've been there. And it sucks.

I really should've just said that I would stay home, finish up school. maybe I would come along on the next tour.

but I knew that if I had done that, I would've gone insane. I probably would've brought a gun to my head and full out shot myself. Not like I would've been missed or anything, but honestly, life is life. Shooting yourself would kinda suck.

November rolled in and practically all the grass died. A few patches of green tried to stay alive, their bright splotches feeble against the surrounding brown, but eventually were gone. Early coverings of frost fell every other day, and my trashcan fireplace didn't feel like it was enough to keep back the cold. So I spent the colder nights at the bar closest to the club and watched the TV and whatever was on. Sometimes it was the news, sometimes it was some sports game, mostly it was Spike TV. I didn't really care, I was just glad that they agreed to serve me coffee instead of booze and let me smoke in peace.

I didn't talk to anyone, no one talked to me. I just sat in the corner, content to be in the warmth of the bar, thoughts smothered by the constant buzz of drunks talking to one another about the game or some girl they slept with or work.

I didn't hear from Gloria.

I didn't see the Saint.

Tunny hadn't written me back as far as I knew.

I was cut off from everyone.

And there was only so much of that I could take.

So one night at a pay phone I reached into my pockets while I reached into the deepest parts of my memory and retrieved a few coins and Gloria's phone number. I picked up the receiver, pushed the coins into the slot, and dialed. It rang once, barely even a full ring. Then the machine picked it up.

"Nobody likes you, everyone left you, they're all out without you having fun."

I almost wished that she had suddenly decided to come back and buy a phone just so she could pick up for this one call. Of course that would never happen, I knew that. A guy could dream right?

The beep that told me to start speaking jolted me out of my silence.

"Gloria-Gloria, it's me. Jimmy. I know that you probably won't ever get this message, and if you do you won't try and answer it. I just wanted you to know that-"

God, what exactly did I want her to know?

That I missed her?

I loved her?

I wanted her to come back home, to me, so we could start over?

"I wanted you to know that I'm going home, back to Shitsville."

Where the hell did that come from? I barely even recognized the words that just came out of my mouth as fully formed thought.

"Well, I'm not sure, I might not-No. No, yeah, I'm going back to Shitsville. Nothing here in the City is the same with you, and...well I guess I should tell you that I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I fucked up, and I shouldn't have slept with Emily, and I should've told you sooner and I should've done something to really keep us going, y'know?"

I felt like I was starting to ramble, but I couldn't find any other way to really keep my conversation with her answering machine going.

"I'm sorry, I guess that's what I wanted to say. I'm sorry and I love you and I miss you and I wish things could've gone differently. I just wish I knew where you were so I could say this to your face."

And then I hung up.

And I sat down on the sidewalk for a long time.

And I just thought about her. How much I missed her. How I missed everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes could betray her if she was acting happy but was really upset.

I truly wondered where she was. The envelope said NEW YORK, but for all I knew she could be long gone by now. She could be in Washington, she could be in Austin, she could be in Ontario, she could be in Vegas.

And she was with what's his face, Nate, so she definitely wouldn't be thinking about me. And if she was thinking about me she was probably thinking about how much she hated me and how I had gotten her pregnant and how that was the worst mistake ever.

Then the reality of what I had said really washed over me. I said I was going back home, to Shitsville. Why would I say that of all things I wasn't quite sure, but it sounded right. And it felt right, like I really should go back to Shitsville. See my mom, get my car back from Ruthie, finish up high school.

But how in the hell was I going to get there?

Nov 10
I fell asleep while watching Spike TV after 10 cups of
coffee and you're still not here. Dreaming of a
song when something went wrong, but I can't tell anyone
'cuz you're not here. LEFT ME HERE ALONE
WHEN I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME After 10 cups
of coffee I'm thinking. Where'd you go?
NOBODY LIKES YOU EVERYONE LEFT YOU
They're all out without you havin' fun
EVERYONE LEFT YOU NOBODY LIKES YOU
They're all out without you, havin' fun
WHERE'D YOU GO?