Page 36 of Backslide
Ah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.
“I hear you’re getting hitched,” he whispers.
At first I don’t know what he means—there’s so much roiling through my brain and home feels so far away. But then I play catch-up. Understand. Cara must have mentioned Alfie. So, I smile. And nod.
What’s one more lie?
“Too bad,” he says.
“Is it?” I whisper.
“Maybe not,” he reasons, a glimmer in his eye. “There’s always time for a last hurrah.”
I look up at him with profound confusion or maybe it’s disgust—because on what planet? Certainly not Planet Nellie.
But then doubt creeps in. Is he talking about Noah? Or himself?
There’s no time to find out. Which is probably for the best.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen—and women and those that identify as… well, Roman people,” says Ben.
He has definitely had too much pinot. His purple-tinged teeth are a tell.
I throw back the rest of my wine. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
I will my focus to Cara’s shining face as she stands to the side, looking adoringly up at her husband. Even in his silly state.
This will all be worth it for her, I tell myself as I exchange my empty glass for a full one from a server’s passing tray. She’s got so much on her plate. She’s seemed so stressed lately on the rare occasions that she can make time to talk. She deserves to let loose.
I can bask in her joy. And, if I’m lucky, the rest will be a blur.
When I wake up the next morning, there’s tempered light relaxing through my gauzy curtains. Like it’s just so damn mellow.
Good. For. You.Sunshine.
I am also seeing things through a hazy filter. So there.
But I am not weightless or airy. Nope. To the contrary. Everything in me weighs ten tons.
My head, sure. That’s heavy as hell from too much wine.
Reality coming to call. That’s plenty leaden.
But, above all else, it’s my shoulder that I quite literally cannot move.
Damn.
I can’t help but see it as the physical manifestation of my current mental state. Frozen in place. Unable to move forward. Mired in a portion of the past that I would much rather forget.
For a minute, I just lie there and let my eyes close again. The rest feels like an uphill battle.
Eventually, I blink my eyes open again and use my good arm to reach over and grab the itinerary from my bedside table. Today reads: “Day 2:Out on the town!” Apparently, we’re taking a day trip to “wander quaint shops” and, if we choose, stay for a “craft brew tasting and organic pizza feast.” I scan the code for today’s song. Not surprisingly, it’s another throwback—though a bit mysterious considering the plans. “Pack the Pipe” by the Pharcyde.
Now I have to play the part of the adviser
Because the bud is just a tasty tantalizer
The bud, not the beer, ’cause the bud makes me wiser
