Well, this is the fourth draft of this short story that I just started working on again. I originally put it together in September. It seems beautiful to me, but I wanted more opinions.
The Alley Man
The deflated family sat, missing his company. There were books in the house that lay unread. Nobody bothered to read them. There were games to be played, but they remained unplayed as the energy of the family just wasn’t there. So they sat alone in their bitter and pessimistic thoughts. Seated on the lounge couch, husband and wife were together in melancholy. It seemed to be such a surrealistic situation, and they felt surreal themselves, not sure how to feel about anything. The thought popped in both of their heads from time to time, ‘How did he leave so fast?’ It felt like yesterday that he’d left, yet the memories of him paled as if they barely remembered how exceptional life was with him.
All feelings and thought aside, the reality remained the same. He was gone, and they yearned for his companionship.
Sam and Eleanor had been married for twenty-three years. In the dead air of their home, they leaned on each other, faces devoid of any actual emotion. Their only son, Billy, had left to go overseas. That was four months earlier. They hadn’t the energy to even change the calendar, for it stayed on December of 1917, the month that Billy had left. He was only seventeen; nothing but a mere boy.
That mere boy was what kept the family together. Sam and Eleanor would always bicker amongst themselves, but it was usually Billy who made them get along with each other. For the two parents, it was worth it to have the happiness of their son. The great thing about Billy was that he was such a happy kid, always bringing hope and optimism to the family. He was overseas, and the only thing the couple could do was work and wait. The walls colored a dull grey, and the carpet matching its static misery, the room coincided with itself in thorough monotony. Dust covered half of the furniture in the house. Certainly the atmosphere of the place didn’t help the way the two were feeling. Sam always felt indifferent. He just didn’t know who to blame for the way things had gone in the war. Emotionally let down by the circumstances, the once happy father felt anger at the fact that he couldn’t do anything about the now inherent void that existed in the depths of his soul.
Sam stood up solemnly and slowly. Eleanor cast him a slow, tired and weary glance.
“Where are you going, Sam?” she asked.
He replied, “ I’m going out to visit some of the fellas again.” Eleanor releases a cold, hard stagnant sigh. He was going out to ‘visit some of the fellas’ every night, and coming back drunk off of his ass and miserable. She absolutely despised it. Turning his back to her, Sam started his way towards the door.
“Wait, Sam!” she interrupted, halting him in his tracks. Sam turns to the side to see his wife. “Why don’t you just stay here? I don’t want to be doing this every night. I hate seeing you like this, Sam. Stay here with me, please.” She was pleading with him, hoping that he might listen. The only reaction was the increased bitterness of her dear husband.
“There isn’t a god damned thing for me to be doing here. I’d rather bore a hole in my skull than to continue to sit in the silence like we’ve been doing.” He stepped away glumly, dragging the door open before snapping it shut behind himself.
Meandering down the steps from his apartment complex where he and his wife lived, Sam started to hurriedly walk on the sidewalk down the street. It’d been almost an entire day since he’d had a drink, and he didn’t want to wait another minute to hit the booze. New Ford cars whizzing by him on the street, Sam comes to a stop to wait for an opening in traffic. After a few seconds had passed, he’d slipped through a narrow opening amongst roaring automobiles. He was then on the other side of the street, facing a city building built of sad maroon bricks. There was an old and crusty sign hanging up above the doorway that said in ordinary, weather worn letters, “The Drinking Hole Salon.”
As if he were just clocking in for another hard day of work, Sam wearingly pulled open the door and walked in. Dimly lit, the room was furnished with tables occupying the area before the bar, which was located in the middle of the left side wall. Cheerily standing behind the bar was Jack, the bartender. Considering Jack a very close friend of his, Sam always told him about the woes of life during his evening drinking sessions. If he were sober, he might have noticed that Jack didn’t bother to even pay attention to what he’d ramble on about. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared, and just needed a person to talk at. Looking up from a few of the usual customers, Jack spots him on his way up to the bar.
“Sammy boy! Back again for some funky juice, are ya? Should I start you off with some good old whiskey?” Jack was always friendly. That’s why the bar always kept afloat, because the drunks took a liking to the guy.
Sam hardly displays any emotion at all, saying, “I don’t really care, just give me something that’ll make me see three of you.” They laugh together, but without Sam feeling the hearty effects of what a laugh should give oneself. The cheery Irish bartender set up four shot glasses, quickly filling each of them to the brim with golden-brown, bittersweet, and harsh whiskey. Not wasting a second, Sam slammed them down his gullet, eyes watered up from the burning sensation in his throat. He didn’t know it, but a large shady man was studying him from the corner of the room.
Over the following half hour, Sam drank five more shots and consumed three beers. He was getting pretty tipsy. Looking around the room, he dizzily observed the large man approaching him. He was inches taller than most men and had a thick body frame. Sporting a thick, well groomed handlebar mustache, the man was interesting looking indeed.
Looking at the bartender, the man says, “Hiya, Jack. If you don’t mind, I’m going to help this guy to a better place.” He spoke with a hearty deepness in his voice that was simply downright jolly.
“Certainly not a problem, fella.” The bartender was only too happy to get rid of Sam, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to handle much more alcohol. Sam was barely paying attention to his surroundings, and only realized what was happening after he was gently led out of the bar by the strange man.
“The hell do you think you’re doing? I was happy in the bar by myself. Leave me be!” Sam slurred out his proclamations, hoping for the man to let him drink. The man only smiled.
He spoke in a soft, soothing voice, “It’s okay, buddy. Come along with me. There’s plenty to enjoy where we’re going.” As inert as he was, Sam didn’t want to go. Yet, it sounded good to him. So he allowed himself to be pulled in to the alley across the street. In the dark, damp alley, the strange man found a door. Sam had never noticed that door, and it rather surprised him. Springing the door open, the man led Sam behind him.
Bookmarks