Propping my cooling banjo on the stool beside me I went to my pocket, removed a note and ordered a beer from Luke as the radio station behind the bar played the last few chords of some early nineties hip hop that could unintentionally encourage a susceptible youth to reignite the bad old days. Reaching over the dark wood bar I helped myself to a clawful of ice cubes which I rested on the back of my neck, suffering as I was, from a three digit heat day and several hours in the Mexico waiting on greens so I could go earn greens.
The first sip went wrong, the second turned me. Something was up. Something wasn't right. My head was light and heavy all at once. My vision faint, balance unsteady. Getting to my feet, careful not to knock over my drink or kill my banjo I steadied myself. Lifting the instrument I made for the front door, moving as straight as a snake.
Outside the perfect blue sat above, the large orange sun staring holes through all of us. Staggering to the Mexico my gut voted against me and spewed; covering the rear wheel, the storm drain and my boots in hard cuts of carrots and dishwater. Such was the violence of my upchuck that I hadn't even noticed her approach, her calling to me, her
concern when it looked as though I was attempting to donate my innards to all the starving baby alligators folklore had flushed down the toilet.
'Doug, hey are you ok?'
Donate.
'Christ,' winced Vera 'are you ok? Are you drunk?'
I shake my head, wiping my chin simultaneously. I've been
drunk, hard to believe but true. I've been blind drunk, black-out drunk, amnesia drunk, happy drunk, angry drunk, teary drunk, drugged drunk but never this. Never fading out on one sip. Doing my best to convince her I'm more than a one-sip-Willie I regained my vertical stance.
'Shit, baby you don't look too good.'
'Charmer.' I replied risking a smile.
'You need me to drive you home?'
Instinctively I shoot for no. Being the oldest boy in an Irish-
Catholic family the words don't be a bother are laser-etched across what's left of my soul. But what were the alternatives? Drive home myself, spew up everywhere, blind myself with tears, pass out, crash, burn and maybe get a bunch of Gas station flowers with a two tone sentiment on a card duct taped to the lamp-post I made smell like
bacon.
Tossing Vera the keys I popped the passenger door and fell in –barely with enough presence of mind to grab hold of my five string as she slid her delicate frame behind the wheel, starting up.
***
Cautiously, Vera took us back to the motel. Every stop sign adhered to, every light given its place. Pulling up into the car-park she told me to wait here before disappearing off into the entrails of her mother's financial burden only to reappear from the fire exit by the side of the building. Smiling, Vera almost skipped back across the motel forecourt opening my door and helping both me and my banjo out of the hot box. Curling one of my arms around her neck she took what weight she could and walked me to the fire exit and from there, my room.
Inside the air conditioning got cranked up full; the windows were shut to keep the desert swelt at bay and she placed me down on the bed, first removing my shoes, then socks, then jeans before easing my boiled cabbage of a brain down on to the cool side of the recently flipped pillow. Disappearing from the room Vera left me to the darkness
and the bursting bubbles of thoughts that seemed to be incoherently popping left and right inside my head. As the room darkens I saw them all. Everyone I'd left behind, everyone I'd lost, everyone I'd decided it's easier to lose contact with than put some poke into it. Breaking the
overwhelming darkness Vera returned with a bucket of ice from the machine and several face cloths.
'I think you might have heat stroke.' she said.
I gargled something in her general direction that could have been anything as she petted at my forehead in an attempt to bring my core down to a manageable level. Against my forehead the ice felt sweet, homely, motherly. My heart slowed, my stomach calmed and I drifted off staring into the rich eyes of the landlady's daughter.