The Empty Bottle

The Empty Bottle

He took the last beer out of the refrigerator, twisted the cap and walked over to the chair in the middle of his living room. His house was pretty bare, just the stereo and TV stood before him, an old battered coffee table to his side. One picture hung on the wall, a poster he created himself, of a mobster in a mobster movie. A yellow floor rug, with a faint stain, a reminder of a late night out, lay on the floor beneath him. He knelt down by the window and lit a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he buried his head in his hands and groaned.

He cracked open his beer bottle and took a lengthy first swig from its beveled edge. He could feel the alcohol warming his body as it drained down his throat all the way into his chest to his arms and legs, his fingers and toes. He looked towards the TV, which was showing an old cartoon, something from his childhood. He couldn’t follow the plot. His mind was somewhere else.

He glanced out the window and saw a boy walking a chihuaha outside of his home. They were running and laughing, yet their happiness saddened him. He slowly shook his head and reached over for the brown glass bottle that was sitting on the glass coffee table beside him. Sweat was now beading the glass, his brow.

The phone rang. He looked over at it and then back at the TV. On the third ring he walked slowly over and picked it up. It was her. He knew it would be. He talked. He listened. And then he agreed. She would be arriving shortly.

He hung up the phone and walked over to the kitchen for some food. He located a bag of pretzels in the back of the cabinet. Although they were a little stale, the salt tasted good on his tongue. He looked at the dirty dishes stacked on the counter and the overflowing garbage on the floor, but then shrugged it off. He then sat back in his chair and laughed out loud.

He picked up his beer that was now nearly halfway empty and gazed into it’s container. As the sun danced against the glass, the bubbles and liquid created abstract shadows throughout the bottle. Abstract shadows in his mind.

The doorbell rang and she entered before he invited her in. She stood in front of him and looked deeply into his eyes. He knew that she knew. There was nothing he could say. He sat in his chair, nodded to her, but did not hear a word she said. She began to cry. Long, hard sobs. He apologized and walked over to her and held her in his arms. They stood that way for a long time and when he released her, she looked up at him, down at the bottle and walked away. When the door slammed behind her, he grimaced. He took a deep breath and headed back over to the table where his beer was still sitting.

The bottle nearly slipped out of his hand from the perspiration it had acquired, but he held on to it tightly. He took one long, last gulp and then stared absently out the window. The boy and his dog were now long gone, the cartoon mouse just ran off the screen chasing the cartoon cat. His world was now empty. Just like the bottle that lay sideways on the table beside him.