Binge Drinker
the lonely chapter
He walked through the dingy aisles of Sal’s Liquor World. The familiar smells of salt, old booze, and cleaning solution wafted up to his nose, bringing life to his tired his. He passed the aisles with the fancy stuff; champagne and wine were for celebrating. Beer was for bingeing, and that’s exactly what he planned to do. Ever since he was 19, he had gotten into that shit. He knew it was bad for him and all that bullshit, But Evan had just stopped giving a shit.
His whole life before then, he had been perfect, a mother’s dream, a father’s pride. But it never got him anywhere; all it did was ruin his life. He knew he was a worthless sack of shit. Everything he did he messed up. Evan checked out the whole refrigerated section dedicated to beer and only beer. He scanned the brands. Coors light, Blue Moon, Bud light, Sam Adams. After imagining the taste of the cool beer sliding down his through, he grabbed a twelve pack of Sam Adams and headed to the check out.
The obvious 40 year old virgin stood at the dusty check out. He was the only other person in the store besides the old lady in a power scooter looking at expensive booze, you gotta love old alcoholics, they got good taste. Evan looked at the familiar store. It was two years to the day.
The cashier rang him up, and Evan had barely scanned his debit card before he was off in his beater car. He looked at the clock as he ran an abandoned red light. 2 AM, now it was two years to the hour. He sped down the highway with the few lonely cars that were wrongly placed outside at that ungodly hour.
Evan took a right in the cemetery. He parked at the front of the cemetery and winded his way through the gravestones. He walked for ten minutes until he reached it.
Jericho Kirk Doornick
June 1st 1990 – November 15th 2008
Loving friend and brother
Tears swelled up in Evan’s eyes has he slowly uncapped his first beer, still slightly frosty from the store refrigerator. Two years he had been doing this, three days after his funeral it had begun. Even though he was dead, Evan still had to keep him company and drunkenly apologize again and again night after night about how he was sorry. It was all his fault. He had been driving, he should have paid more attention. There were a million things he could have done differently that would have saved Jericho’s life, but he didn’t, and now Jericho was dead, turning to skeleton beneath his very feet.
So Evan drank another beer and talked to his dead friend, his dead best friend, his dead twin. He rambled on about the world and continued to drink, doomed to live this way the rest of his life.
His whole life before then, he had been perfect, a mother’s dream, a father’s pride. But it never got him anywhere; all it did was ruin his life. He knew he was a worthless sack of shit. Everything he did he messed up. Evan checked out the whole refrigerated section dedicated to beer and only beer. He scanned the brands. Coors light, Blue Moon, Bud light, Sam Adams. After imagining the taste of the cool beer sliding down his through, he grabbed a twelve pack of Sam Adams and headed to the check out.
The obvious 40 year old virgin stood at the dusty check out. He was the only other person in the store besides the old lady in a power scooter looking at expensive booze, you gotta love old alcoholics, they got good taste. Evan looked at the familiar store. It was two years to the day.
The cashier rang him up, and Evan had barely scanned his debit card before he was off in his beater car. He looked at the clock as he ran an abandoned red light. 2 AM, now it was two years to the hour. He sped down the highway with the few lonely cars that were wrongly placed outside at that ungodly hour.
Evan took a right in the cemetery. He parked at the front of the cemetery and winded his way through the gravestones. He walked for ten minutes until he reached it.
Jericho Kirk Doornick
June 1st 1990 – November 15th 2008
Loving friend and brother
Tears swelled up in Evan’s eyes has he slowly uncapped his first beer, still slightly frosty from the store refrigerator. Two years he had been doing this, three days after his funeral it had begun. Even though he was dead, Evan still had to keep him company and drunkenly apologize again and again night after night about how he was sorry. It was all his fault. He had been driving, he should have paid more attention. There were a million things he could have done differently that would have saved Jericho’s life, but he didn’t, and now Jericho was dead, turning to skeleton beneath his very feet.
So Evan drank another beer and talked to his dead friend, his dead best friend, his dead twin. He rambled on about the world and continued to drink, doomed to live this way the rest of his life.
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