Stef left the doctor’s office with a heavy heart. She knew what lay ahead of her. She’d seen it first hand and it was not pretty. As a matter of fact, she was having a hard time holding down her breakfast. With this disease, there was no race to the finish, it was long and ugly, and everyone she ever loved would feel some of the repercussions. She did not, would not accept it. The depth of what was to come shook her to the very core. It threatened everything she had planned for her future. It blew the crap out of her timeline. There were trips and journeys, that in her mind would come in increments ten, maybe twenty years from now, but this changed everything.
She was now afloat in an ocean on a raft with no paddle, no rescue boat, and worse than that, no hope of ever seeing and enjoying her ripe old age unless somehow someone found her a cure, a miracle.
Traffic on the freeway was not as bad as she’d anticipated. There’s nothing worse than being pissed off and stuck in a Los Angeles traffic jam! Well thank God for that, she thought. It was one stinking little favor in an otherwise crappy day. At this rate it wouldn’t take her long to get to…where was she going anyway? Going home would just allow her to sit and stew, pout, boo hoo about her diagnosis. She wanted to do something she rarely did. She wanted to drink in the middle of the day. She wanted to get slap down drunk, then fall into her bed and sleep.
She called up her friend Ginger. She could usually always depend on her. That was not her real name, it was a nickname given to her because of her beautiful long red locks. Someone jokingly called her that years ago and it stuck. She didn’t seem to mind because she thought it made her sexier, like the ‘Ginger’ on Gilligan’s Island.
“What are you doing?” Stef demanded.
“Who’s asking?” Ginger snapped back in the same tone.
“Seriously, what are you doing? I need a drinking buddy and possibly a designated driver.”
“What’s going on?” Ginger asked this time with concern in her voice.
“What…I can’t drink?” Stef said. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Well, it is only 1 o’clock in the afternoon!”
“You know what, if you’re not interested just say so. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Where are you? Where are you going?”
“The Hood.”
“On Burbank?”
“That would be the one.”
“I’ll be there in twenty. Oh, and by the way, the Hood is only two blocks from your place. You could just walk home you know.”
"Whatever. I'll see you soon." Stef said.
She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the floor of her car. She wanted to be incommunicado for the rest of the day. She knew her editor was going to be calling but this was one of those drastic times that called for drastic measures. As far as she was concerned the world could simply go fuck itself today. She needed time to digest and ingest. She was not willing to wrap her mind around anything other that the single moment that she was currently in. That would do her just fine.
***
The bar still had quite a few lingerers left over from lunch. With unemployment the way it was these days it wouldn’t surprise Stef if every damn bar in LA was full all day, every day. People needed to drown their sorrows and today she fell smack dab into the center of that category. She needed a temporary band aide for her brain and this seemed like the easiest solution. She didn’t care how busy or loud it was, she welcomed the din. It was noise, public noise, not the noise bouncing around in her head.
She threw her bag onto the bar, pulled up the bar stool, plopped her ass down and ordered a shot of tequila and a slice of lime. No use pussy footing around she thought. She was determined to get the most bang for her buck and do it as quickly as possible.
She scanned the room always on the lookout for interesting characters, someone new she could profile, someone interesting enough to intertwine with one of her future characters in one of her future books, that is, if she was ever going to be able to write a future book.
She had come to this bar often in the past when writer’s block put a lock on her brain. It was one of those local hangs where most who patronized it were from the neighborhood. She came there because it was close to home and, because it was a British Pub, they always had the best happy hours, best dart games, and the cast of characters that showed up were nearly always memorable. She could, under the worst of circumstances, walk home if she had to then come back for her car in the morning. She had always thought every neighborhood should have a local bar for that very reason.
When she looked over in the darkest corner she saw the old woman who seemed to be there every single time she’d been there. Old people liked routine she guessed because this silver haired granny always sat at the same table, the one with the big picture of Princess Diana over it, and she could have some anonymity because it was in the shadows. There were always two martini glasses on the table, one empty, one nearly empty. Stef pegged her to be somewhere around seventy-five to eighty years old. There was something about her however that bespoke that she was ready to rumble at any time. Her silver wig suggested that either her hair had thinned to the point of invisibility or she had had chemo recently. Her frilly blouse’s always seemed a little dirty or maybe it was just that they was so old they’d lost their luster. Yet, there was an aura of elegance about her that made you think about who she’d been at an earlier time in her life. The lines that creased the corner of her eyes belied that she had been a worrier, or maybe, even better, she’d been so happy with her life she had smiles these telling signs into her skin. She would file these details away in her memory bank. Oh, wait she thought to herself. I won’t have a memory bank soon. With that thought rolling around in her mind she instead pulled out a little notebook she always had in her purse and jotted down these details just to be on the safe side.
She was now two shots in and feeling a little more relaxed than when she’d arrived. She could see Ginger enter through the back door, and as usual, all eyes turned to scan the buxom red head as she headed towards the empty stool next to Stef. Ginger had always been one of those characters that always seemed to fill the room. She could literally suck the air out of your lungs when she passed by you. People had a tendency to move out of her way as she strode through the crowd, and Stef laughed out loud when she finally plopped down next to her.
“Do you ever get used to that?”
“What are you talking about?” Ginger said flippantly.
“Oh, bullshit! You know exactly what I mean,” Stef said motioning to the bartender for two more shots.
“Girl, you’re already shit faced aren’t you?” Ginger said.
“Not quite, but I’m well on my way,” Stef said picking up both shot glasses. She handed one to Ginger. “Over the lips, under the…”
“Gums…” Ginger added when she saw that Stef had forgotten the old adage.
“Right. Cheers!”
Both girls sucked back the tequila, bit the lime, and then motioned for another.
“So what’s up with you today? Why the command performance?” Ginger asked.
Stef looked at her friend and smiled, and then ever so slowly her eyes filled with tears.
“Steffanie, what is it?” Ginger said pulling her stool a little closer. She laid her hand on Stef knee and then waited but it seemed her friend could not find the words she wanted to speak. This never happened and that worried Ginger even more. Trying to lighten the mood, Ginger smiled at her friend.
“Wow, there’s a first time for everything. You at a loss for words? Holy crap!” Ginger said.
She was now afloat in an ocean on a raft with no paddle, no rescue boat, and worse than that, no hope of ever seeing and enjoying her ripe old age unless somehow someone found her a cure, a miracle.
Traffic on the freeway was not as bad as she’d anticipated. There’s nothing worse than being pissed off and stuck in a Los Angeles traffic jam! Well thank God for that, she thought. It was one stinking little favor in an otherwise crappy day. At this rate it wouldn’t take her long to get to…where was she going anyway? Going home would just allow her to sit and stew, pout, boo hoo about her diagnosis. She wanted to do something she rarely did. She wanted to drink in the middle of the day. She wanted to get slap down drunk, then fall into her bed and sleep.
She called up her friend Ginger. She could usually always depend on her. That was not her real name, it was a nickname given to her because of her beautiful long red locks. Someone jokingly called her that years ago and it stuck. She didn’t seem to mind because she thought it made her sexier, like the ‘Ginger’ on Gilligan’s Island.
“What are you doing?” Stef demanded.
“Who’s asking?” Ginger snapped back in the same tone.
“Seriously, what are you doing? I need a drinking buddy and possibly a designated driver.”
“What’s going on?” Ginger asked this time with concern in her voice.
“What…I can’t drink?” Stef said. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Well, it is only 1 o’clock in the afternoon!”
“You know what, if you’re not interested just say so. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Where are you? Where are you going?”
“The Hood.”
“On Burbank?”
“That would be the one.”
“I’ll be there in twenty. Oh, and by the way, the Hood is only two blocks from your place. You could just walk home you know.”
"Whatever. I'll see you soon." Stef said.
She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the floor of her car. She wanted to be incommunicado for the rest of the day. She knew her editor was going to be calling but this was one of those drastic times that called for drastic measures. As far as she was concerned the world could simply go fuck itself today. She needed time to digest and ingest. She was not willing to wrap her mind around anything other that the single moment that she was currently in. That would do her just fine.
***
The bar still had quite a few lingerers left over from lunch. With unemployment the way it was these days it wouldn’t surprise Stef if every damn bar in LA was full all day, every day. People needed to drown their sorrows and today she fell smack dab into the center of that category. She needed a temporary band aide for her brain and this seemed like the easiest solution. She didn’t care how busy or loud it was, she welcomed the din. It was noise, public noise, not the noise bouncing around in her head.
She threw her bag onto the bar, pulled up the bar stool, plopped her ass down and ordered a shot of tequila and a slice of lime. No use pussy footing around she thought. She was determined to get the most bang for her buck and do it as quickly as possible.
She scanned the room always on the lookout for interesting characters, someone new she could profile, someone interesting enough to intertwine with one of her future characters in one of her future books, that is, if she was ever going to be able to write a future book.
She had come to this bar often in the past when writer’s block put a lock on her brain. It was one of those local hangs where most who patronized it were from the neighborhood. She came there because it was close to home and, because it was a British Pub, they always had the best happy hours, best dart games, and the cast of characters that showed up were nearly always memorable. She could, under the worst of circumstances, walk home if she had to then come back for her car in the morning. She had always thought every neighborhood should have a local bar for that very reason.
When she looked over in the darkest corner she saw the old woman who seemed to be there every single time she’d been there. Old people liked routine she guessed because this silver haired granny always sat at the same table, the one with the big picture of Princess Diana over it, and she could have some anonymity because it was in the shadows. There were always two martini glasses on the table, one empty, one nearly empty. Stef pegged her to be somewhere around seventy-five to eighty years old. There was something about her however that bespoke that she was ready to rumble at any time. Her silver wig suggested that either her hair had thinned to the point of invisibility or she had had chemo recently. Her frilly blouse’s always seemed a little dirty or maybe it was just that they was so old they’d lost their luster. Yet, there was an aura of elegance about her that made you think about who she’d been at an earlier time in her life. The lines that creased the corner of her eyes belied that she had been a worrier, or maybe, even better, she’d been so happy with her life she had smiles these telling signs into her skin. She would file these details away in her memory bank. Oh, wait she thought to herself. I won’t have a memory bank soon. With that thought rolling around in her mind she instead pulled out a little notebook she always had in her purse and jotted down these details just to be on the safe side.
She was now two shots in and feeling a little more relaxed than when she’d arrived. She could see Ginger enter through the back door, and as usual, all eyes turned to scan the buxom red head as she headed towards the empty stool next to Stef. Ginger had always been one of those characters that always seemed to fill the room. She could literally suck the air out of your lungs when she passed by you. People had a tendency to move out of her way as she strode through the crowd, and Stef laughed out loud when she finally plopped down next to her.
“Do you ever get used to that?”
“What are you talking about?” Ginger said flippantly.
“Oh, bullshit! You know exactly what I mean,” Stef said motioning to the bartender for two more shots.
“Girl, you’re already shit faced aren’t you?” Ginger said.
“Not quite, but I’m well on my way,” Stef said picking up both shot glasses. She handed one to Ginger. “Over the lips, under the…”
“Gums…” Ginger added when she saw that Stef had forgotten the old adage.
“Right. Cheers!”
Both girls sucked back the tequila, bit the lime, and then motioned for another.
“So what’s up with you today? Why the command performance?” Ginger asked.
Stef looked at her friend and smiled, and then ever so slowly her eyes filled with tears.
“Steffanie, what is it?” Ginger said pulling her stool a little closer. She laid her hand on Stef knee and then waited but it seemed her friend could not find the words she wanted to speak. This never happened and that worried Ginger even more. Trying to lighten the mood, Ginger smiled at her friend.
“Wow, there’s a first time for everything. You at a loss for words? Holy crap!” Ginger said.
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