Writings / Fiction: David Tasker

“Karen, what’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning towards her.

“Nothing is wrong, I just miss my family,” she replied, finally turning to look at him.

“Well we can talk about this later.  Are you almost ready to go?”

“No, not yet.  I want to stay longer.”  She looked at me when she said this and smiled, and I smiled back.  The booze was swirling through my head, making me feel slightly dizzy.  She was starting to look rather attractive in a dark, desperate, gothic, suicidal sort of way.

Craig suddenly came out of the concert hall, and I saw him and called him over.  He was sweaty and breathing heavily and I introduced him to Karen and Ramesh while he stood beside the table, lighting up a cigarette.  He shook both their hands, apologizing for his sweaty palms.

“Were you not having fun in there?” he asked me.

I told him it was great but that I had needed some air and Ramesh and Karen had been kind enough to offer me a drink or two.  He said he understood and that free beer could distract me from the end of the world.  Everyone laughed, and I invited Craig to sit down in the empty chair beside me.  He accepted, and when the waitress came out I told her to bring another pint glass out.  Ramesh gave me a weird look, which seemed to ask why I thought I could offer away his beer, but I blatantly ignored it.  The booze was making me feel bold and in control and I was now looking at Karen far more than I was looking at Ramesh.  He seemed to notice this, and asked me what I did for a living.

“He has a very interesting job actually,” Craig answered for me.  “Do you know those tags that are used to keep bags of bread closed?  Well, John here,” Craig slapped my back, “is the lucky guy who gets to put those tags on.  It’s one of the most important jobs in the world if you ask me.  Without him, bread would be falling out of bags everywhere.”

I laughed and lit up another cigarette, and Karen was laughing too.  Ramesh seemed to be trying to decide whether Craig was being serious or not.

Craig began talking to Ramesh about the differences between Canada and Pakistan, and I turned my head towards the street, smoking my cigarette and getting bored.  I took another gulp of beer, and noticed that my vision was beginning to blur.  The streets were looking hazy, and the glare off the puddles from the streetlights made me squint.

“So I just want to thank you for putting those tags on the bread,” Karen said.  I looked at her and noticed that she was now leaning halfway across the table, her arms crossed in front of her.

I looked into her dark brown eyes and told her that she didn’t need to thank me; I was just a regular guy doing an extraordinary thing.  I asked her why she didn’t want to stay in Canada with her husband, speaking softly so Ramesh didn’t hear me over his conversation with Craig.

“I love the Czech Republic, and I don’t remember why I wanted to leave.”

“Oh.  I’ve never been over to Europe.”

“Yes, you said that already.”

“Hmmm…yeah I probably did.”  I smiled, and drank some more beer.

“I think I may have made a mistake,” she whispered.

“What?”  I could barely hear her; the band had begun playing another cover of a classic.  It sounded like Walking on Sunshine but I couldn’t be sure.

“I said I think I made a big mistake coming here,” she repeated.

“Oh,” I mumbled.  “Well those kinds of mistakes can be fixed easily I guess.”

“I guess,” she said, looking down at the table.

The conversation was becoming a tad depressing, and curiosity got the better of me, so I asked her if I could see her arm.  Craig and Ramesh had stopped talking, and they were both looking over at me.  Craig looked confused.

Karen didn’t blink. “Sure,” she said, and I gleefully noticed her embarrassment as she rolled up the sleeve on her right arm to reveal the dark red scars streaked across her wrists and forearms.

“Oh God.” Craig moaned.  “Jesus Christ.”

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with such hideous scars?” I slurred.

Karen blushed.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh come on, what happened?” I asked.

“I used to be screwed up I guess.”

“Used to be?”

“Well, maybe I still am.  I don’t know.”

“Hey, we’re all a little screwed up, don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe a little.  I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re still beautiful.”  I leaned back in my chair and downed the rest of my pint, and then refilled my glass with what was left in the pitcher.

Karen drank down half of her pint and then looked at me smiling, her eyes glossy and slightly bloodshot.  She thanked me for the compliment.  Ramesh leaned onto the table and told Karen that he thought it was time to go.  She told him it wasn’t, and that she wanted to stay.  I looked over at Craig, and he seemed to understand that I was really enjoying the situation and that I wanted to keep it going.  He offered to buy Ramesh another pint and told him he should stay for a while longer.  Ramesh relented and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, pouting.

“You know, I know what you’re going through.  I was there once,” I said to Karen.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.  Well, I didn’t cut my wrists.  You know.  But I was sure close to it.”

Craig had become uninterested (or disgusted, I couldn’t tell) with my conversation and was asking Ramesh what he thought of the weather.  Ramesh was answering him, glancing at me periodically.

“You were depressed?” Karen asked as she leaned in towards me, her glassy sunken eyes fixated on mine.

“To be honest, I was.  I have had a hard life I guess.  Maybe not harder than some, but I haven’t handled it very well.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, and she began to roll down her sleeve.  I leaned forward and took her wrist in my hand before she could cover the scars completely, and in the corner of my eye I saw Ramesh looking at me coldly.

She asked me what I was doing.  She didn’t try to pull away.  I told her I didn’t want her to be embarrassed by them, and I ran my thumb over the protuberances, telling her that it was something I understood, something I could relate to, something I knew all too well.  Craig and Ramesh were looking at us, but we were only looking at each other.  When I finally looked over at Craig and Ramesh, my hand still around Karen’s wrist, Ramesh looked more apprehensive than angry.  I turned back to Karen, who had been saying something.

“What?” I asked.

“I said can I have a hug?”

“Oh, sure I guess so.  Did you want to ask Ramesh if it’s ok?”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“Yes, you should,” Ramesh said.  “Karen, you’re drunk.  We should go.”

I looked at Karen’s glass and noticed it was still half full and that she probably was drunk.  She ignored him and turned back to me, asking me for a hug once more.  I said I didn’t mind, and in unison we reached across the table and embraced.

“You smell so good,” Karen breathed into my ear.  “Can you take me with you?”

“Where?” I asked.

And then the hug was over, and we both sank back into our chairs.  I lit up another cigarette, quietly enjoying Ramesh’s discomfort with what just transpired.

“Karen,” Ramesh stretched out her name now, pronouncing each syllable carefully.  “Let’s go.”

His Pakistani accent suddenly sickened me, and the thought made me smile for some reason.  I looked at Craig, who was also enjoying watching the drama unfold.

“I said no,” Karen snapped at him, her speech slurred.  “I want to stay here with John.”  She looked at me with a smile.  “You can go.  I’m staying.  Just go.”

I smiled back and told Ramesh that he should go and that I would take care of her.  He didn’t answer me and got up and told Karen that they were leaving.  She again declined, and he grabbed her by the arm and tried to pull her up. She was pulled half out of her chair before standing on her own accord and flinging his hands off her.

“No!” She screamed.  “I don’t want to go with you!”

“We’re going!” He screamed back.  She picked up her half full pint and emptied it into his face.  He slumped back into his chair.  The beer glistened as it beaded down his face, leaving squiggled streaks on his cheeks.

I began to laugh loudly, and my laughter grew and grew until tears welled in my bloodshot eyes.  Craig looked at me bewildered, and Ramesh’s eyes now swelled with anger.  He took a cell phone out and dialed a number, muttering something about me being sorry for something.  This made me laugh even harder, and I buried my face in my hands.  I heard Ramesh giving directions to someone, and I again heard how sorry I would be.  My stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

Craig was on his feet and was dragging me away from the table.  Through vision that was blurred with tears (and probably drunkenness as well) I was able to see Ramesh and Karen arguing, and then I was spun around and walking quickly down the street, away from the gothic girl and her Pakistani husband.  The band was belting out I Believe I Can Fly, a cover of a hit R and B song.  As my laughter turned into giggles, and the music faded as we walked down the street, and I began to hum the tune when it became inaudible.  I heard Craig talking about not wanting to stick around to meet Ramesh’s friends, whoever they were.

I was too drunk to care, and half an hour later I was at home in bed, giggling to myself softly as I faded into a drunken slumber.

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