I cranked this out as fast as I could. I don’t think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written, but it’s okay. Now I’ll tell you what I tell my friends when they read my stuff: Don’t be too harsh, or I’ll melt into a puddle of my own tears. (I mean I’ll be totally fine yeah, “sure”).
I’m pretty sure that this story has a lot of problems, but if I don’t keep practicing, I’ll lose my knack for fiction altogether.
Here you guys go
-Ellie
Theo sat at the bar, shivering and restless. He dialed his phone again and again, only to slam it on the countertop in defeat. Everyone around him was falling asleep in the red shadows.
The bartender had been polishing a glass and watching Theo with a distant sort of concern. His shoulders were straight, gripping his polishing rag so tightly his knuckles were pale. All the dull light in the room cast a greasy shine on his white eyes and reddish hair. He looked unhealthy and withdrawn, even as he put down his work and walked over to his distraught patron.
Theo’s curly blond head was face down on the bar. He thought no one had noticed him and he’d hoped he could remain like that until he had pulled himself together.
The bartender tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, you’re not going to stay like that are you?”
Theo lifted his head, but did not look the bartender in the eye. He straightened in his seat and pushed his overlarge glasses to the bridge of his nose. The bartender looked at Theo and a flash of instant recognition lit up his face, today was the day.
“Who was that on the phone?” the bartender said, his grin spreading. His hands trembled apprehensively.
“That’s my sister’s voicemail. It and I have gotten well acquainted.”
“You could use a drink. I give free drinks to starving artists, want one?”
Theo looked perplexed.
“Come on, holes in the seams of your clothes, easily pushed to despair, used to charity, you’ve got artist written all over you”.
The bartender got down on his hands and knees and pulled an armful of bottles from under the bar and set then in front of Theo.
“Now I’ve got one question for you first.”
“What is it?” said Theo.
“Are you planning on going through with it?”
“Go through with what?”
“I’m not talking about a commission here. Are you going to jump?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Stop worrying for one second artist boy and tell me. No free drinks otherwise.”
“Yes, I was planning to jump.”
“Why jump?”
“You have a rather morbid interest in this.”
“Do tell, you’ve got it in you.”
“Because I live in a very tall apartment building that I have roof access to.”
“That’s a boring reason; you’re an artist you can do better.”
“I want to feel like I’m flying, satisfied, or do you want to hear about the pain that drove me to this point?”
“No there’s nothing I want to hear about any less. Now pick one of these bottles.”
Theo studied them and then pointed to the huge amber-colored bottle with the long thin neck.
“What does that one taste like?”
“I haven’t tried any of them, how should I know?”
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were bad at your job,” Theo said.
The bartender poured out the bottle into the glass he’d been polishing.
“Now you’re sure you’re going to jump?”
Theo nodded. The bartender handed him the glass filled with clear liquid which Theo sipped slowly.
“Don’t drink it like that!” The bartender said with an air of authority.
“Really?” said Theo, raising his eyebrows.
“You have to drink it all at once or the effect is lost.”
“My mother taught me to drink it this way; she said if it took you less than thirty minutes to finish a glass of wine, you were doing it wrong.”
“How do you know it’s wine anyway?”
Theo hung his head.
“How did your father deal with this sort of thing?”
“He drank hand over fist. He couldn’t finish a coherent thought in thirty minutes.”
“That’s more of what I was going for.”
Theo sighed and downed the glass in one mouthful.
He could feel the sun all around him now. He blinked. He could see the ocean through the open windows. Canvases were stacked around the floor and on easels and hanging on the walls. One of the models from the art studio was sitting across the room with a book in her hand. She looked up suddenly.
“Are you done darling?” she said.
Theo glanced over his shoulder. Behind him was a fairly good rendering of a sunrise.
“It looks done to me,” said Theo.
The model stood up. She had posed for him recently, what was her name though? Claire, Clara, Clarisse? He had no idea.
“Aren’t you going to give me one of your speeches? About how nothing is ever finished? How if you don’t get that sunrise right this time, you might as well throw yourself off a building? There aren’t any buildings around here that are tall enough anyhow.”
“No, I think I’m just about finished,” said Theo.
“Oh thank goodness, we need some new material around here.”
She came over to him and threw her arms around his waist. He patted her on the head affectionately. What was her name? Could it be Claudia?
She had short, thick, black hair and pale eyes. He thought she was pretty, in an old-fashioned kind of way.
“Oh look who’s here,” she said, pulling away from him.
His sister stood in the doorway with a little child on each arm; a tiny redheaded boy and a blond, blue-eyed girl. She set the children on the ground, she was smiling. Theo hadn’t seen her smile in a long time.
The children ran up to him and grabbed him around the knees, tilting up their huge, adoring eyes to meet his.
“Aunty Emmeline took us swimming,” said the little girl.
“Daddy, did you finish your painting. Aunty said you were taking a long time to finish it on purpose,” said the younger boy without taking a breath.
Emmeline wandered around the front of the easel.
“Theo, I think you’re improving.”
“The impossible has happened then,” said Theo.
The sun started to fade away and the bartender’s face came into focus in front of him.
“Did you like that one?” he said.
“How old do you think I am? That tasted like sugar-water. I’ll bet there wasn’t even any alcohol in it,” said Theo.
“Well, how old are you?”
“I’m, um, twenty-four.”
“You had to think about it.”
“I did not have to think about it. How old are you if you’re so clever?”
“I’m a quarter of a century old.”
“You’re an ass, no matter how old you say you are. Do you have any more of that drink left?”
“Nope, that’s it. I poured this while you were out. You should have seen your eyes by the way; they got even bigger, if that’s possible.”
Theo took the shot glass between three fingers and drank it down as a bit of sadness crept back into his expression. He could just barely see the stars and right then he felt he could fix everything in his life that had gone wrong.
“Well?” the bartender said.
“It tastes like lipstick, but not in a bad way I guess. I’m not going to get any more am I?”
“Your free ride ends here artist boy. I’ve got a beer for you, but you’d have to pay for it.”
“Then I’ll have to pass,” Theo said, getting up.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
“To jump?”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
“I hadn’t forgotten. You promised me you would. If you don’t jump, you’ll ruin everything.”
(And he added to himself: I’ll ruin you).
“I don’t know if I should jump. Maybe I decided too soon.”
“Go on artist boy, Carpe Diem, jump off your apartment building.”
“I’ll think about it, okay? Goodbye.”
“Bye artist boy.”
Theo left the bar, phone in hand. He called his sister again. She didn’t answer. It was really far too much to hope that things had suddenly changed. He elbowed people out of his way as he walked home in the rain. Everyone was dressed the same, in their dark coats and hats. He could hardly tell people apart, or himself apart from them.
A dark-haired young woman ran up to him. She was red-faced from the cold. She shook his hand vigorously. Theo gave her a blank stare. She noticed and promptly dropped his hand and introduced herself.
“Theophane, it’s me Claire, from the art studio remember? I thought your stuff was just great. I’d be happy to sit for you any time, you know?”
“Yeah, sure, I know. I’ve got to get home. Nice seeing you.” He hurried past her and left her standing alone on the sidewalk.
He took the stairs all the way to the top of his apartment building and stood on the roof, staring down at the street below as perspiration and rain gathered on his forehead. The people he’d just stood next to seemed smaller than ants from this height. He called his sister again. He was going to apologize, even if it was only in a voicemail, for all the money he’d had to borrow from her, for all the horrible things he’d said about her husband, for never being there for her when she needed a couch to sleep on, and for blaming her for just about everything.
The phone rang once, twice, three times, and she picked up.
“Hello, Theo is that you?”
“Yeah Em, I’m sorry for everything, I just wanted you to know that. I love you and you’re a great sister and all that.”
“You need money don’t you.”
“Well,” he paused, hating to mess up his apology so severely, “Yes, I always do,” he finished.
He heard someone behind him. Turning, he saw the redheaded bartender.
“Sorry Em, I’ve got to go. I love you okay?”
“Why is it always money Theo, I love you too, but could you just visit to visit someti-
He dropped the phone on the ground.
“Artist boy, you still haven’t jumped.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“You made your decision and you can’t take it back, you’re jumping.” That might only be mostly a lie, he thought.
He walked up to Theo and put his hands on Theo’s shoulders. Theo shivered.
“I just wanted you to know what you’re missing, so it hurts more when you hit the ground. You have to understand that. Theo, you only ever cared about yourself and how perfect your art could be. I watched my whole life go by once already. You grew old in front of a canvas before she’d aged at all. You were a terrible father to your kids. You jumped off a building because a painting didn’t go right. I don’t care if you thought we drove you to it, but your kids needed you. I’m sure as hell not going to let you break my family again. I’m not going to let you even start. Bye artist boy.”
Theo lashed out at him kicking and shouting, but the redheaded boy was stronger; he knocked Theo to the ground. Blood seeped into Theo’s hair. The redheaded bartender kicked Theo over the edge of the roof. He watched as Theo’s fall intently.
“I can fly!” Theo screamed.
“Yes, dad, you can finally fly.”
Like father like son Sebastian murmured, both dying in an elaborate suicide made for two. He’d had to live out his old life and appear in a new one just to end like this. He hoped he’d made his mother proud. He would miss that house by the sea. Sebastian’s eyes filled with water and then he vanished and never was.
cutelittleface 