Recordatio

Recordatio

“The leaves of memory seemed to make a mournful rustling in the dark.”
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The problem with alcohol does not lie in the flavor, or the effects. The problem with alcohol is that many times it will not erase the very memories it is meant to destroy.
The more Ethan drank the more vivid his memories grew. He continued to see it flashing in his head. He heard the gunshots, louder and louder each time. Screams, flashing lights. Smoke, so much smoke. He could not breathe, he could not see, it was all crushing him down. Stop it, dammit, stop it.
Ethan slammed his hand down on the bar, and looked around embarrassed. Then he took the shot-glass the bartender handed him and downed it. He closed his eyes and sat back and let the liquor do its work.
Slowly his mind began to work its way back, remembering even his earliest memories, memories of when he found out his father had died.

Ethan had been six. He remembered being at home drawing on the walls, or some such nonsense that little kids put themselves up to, when the police had come to their door. They had taken his mother with them saying that his father was in trouble and she was needed. She had warned Ethan to stay out of trouble and that she would be home soon. She was not.
Well into the night, after Ethan had already fallen asleep, his mother had come home sobbing. His father was not with her, and she was drunk. When Ethan had come out of his room to find out what had happened to his father she had yelled at him for being out of bed, and then she had beat him.

As he took a sip, from the shot which had been placed in front of him, Ethan rubbed his upper arm where there was still a visible scar from that night. He felt tears nearing his eyes but he forced them to the back and finished his drink.
Ethan motioned for the bartender and ordered a cocktail with lots of vodka. As the bartender brought him the drink he let his mind wander free again.

He had found out the next morning that his father was in jail under charges of second degree murder. Apparently he had been drunk, very drunk.
His father had got into a fight, and somewhere in the fight a knife had been pulled. He had been stabbed twice in the abdomen, not fatal wounds but enough to anger a raging drunk. His father had pulled a gun and shot the man twice in the head. He had then proceeded to beat the dead body until there was blood flowing from all areas of it.

The thought of his father’s rage made Ethan shudder. The comparisons where frightening. However, Ethan knew that he would not go the same way his father had, he would not hang himself in his own jail cell with his own pants. Ethan would not let go so easily, he did not want to grow up to become like his father.
After last night though, he had.
The gunshots echoed in Ethan’s head. Each one resounding in the empty silence of Ethan’s thoughts. He saw the convulsing features of the man before him. He saw the writhing hands, the kicking feet. Another gunshot, another crack. Deafening booms, screams. Stop it. Stop it, goddammit. Ethan grabbed his head his breathing sporadic. Goddammit, why did the thoughts keep coming back, he just wanted to forget, he just wanted to end it.
Somewhere in the hurricane of his mind Ethan found himself back in his old apartment. The one they had moved into just after his father had died. He was ten; it was late at night, and raining. Another one of those men had come to their apartment.
Ethan was supposed to be in bed, but he could not sleep and he wanted some water. He knew that he was not supposed to leave his room when those men came over but this time he decided that he would chance it.
He walked very slowly down the hall into the kitchen. As he passed his mother’s door Ethan heard noises from within, voices. It sounded like the man was still there, but perhaps they were finished and he would be leaving soon. At the idea that someone would come out of that room soon Ethan hurried to the kitchen and quickly got himself a drink.
He had just turned to go back down the hall when he heard his mother’s door open. He turned to duck behind the corner, but it was too late. The man had come out of his room and seen Ethan. He looked at him for a second, shocked. Then he slowly walked down the hall towards Ethan.
Before he knew what he was doing Ethan had screamed and tried to run down the hall past the man. The man was quick though. He reached out an arm and caught Ethan, and then he turned Ethan to face him. “Now, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you little boy. What’s your name?” Ethan screamed again, and this time he kicked out hitting the man in the shin. The man swore and struck out at Ethan, he hit him in the face over and over again.
Just then Ethan’s mother emerged, half-clothed. She shrieked and pulled the man from Ethan. She struck out at him her nails cutting into his face. “You stay away from my boy you bastard!” She shouted and struck at her again.
Ethan’s mother managed to force the man from their apartment, but only after she had returned his money to him. After he left she had turned to Ethan and begun to beat him for causing trouble and losing her money, and a future customer.

He began massaging the scars from that night as he downed the rest of his drink. Then Ethan slowly put his head down on the bar and began to cry. Quietly and calmly.

When he turned sixteen Ethan’s mother had invited a “friend” over. Her name was Katrina, she was about thirty years old, had ugly bright red hair, and large breasts which burst from the dress she was wearing.
She was a favor from his mother, the first birthday present Ethan had ever received.
It had not been the experience Ethan had expected. He had always had the idea that when someone lost their virginity it would be sensual and exciting. This felt dirty and almost offensive.
Katrina had been very aggressive. She had simply walked into his room, removed her clothes, told him to remove his, and then she threw herself on him.
Ethan shuddered as he remembered the way Katrina had grabbed him, and pulled him towards her. She had pressed her body against his, and she had rolled him over and over. It was neither pleasant nor sensual. He had nursed his scars (both physical and psychological) for months afterwards.
To give him the real sense of failure and depression, two days later Ethan had found out that Katrina had been shot and killed by another client who had refused to pay her.
Ethan rubbed his stomach and raised his head from the bar. The bartender was looking at him strangely. “Hey pal, you alright? Maybe you’ve had too much.”
“No, no I’m fine. I’m just a little tired that’s all. Why don’t you bring me a beer or something else soft?”
“Sure thing.” The bartender turned and filled a mug with Bud-light. He put it down in front of Ethan and then leaned over the bar. “You feel like talking? It’s a slow night, and I don’t have much else to do.”
“No, no thank you. I just need a few more drinks. All I have left is forever, it can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, sounds like you’ve got some stuff on your mind, but let me tell you something first, there is no forever. Diamonds don’t last forever, alcohol doesn’t last forever, and love sure as hell doesn’t last forever. There’s only one forever that we can count on, and that’s death.”
“Ha! Whatever. I don’t need your philosophical shit right now. If you want to help just keep the drinks coming. Okay?”
“Okay. My name’s Oscar. Oscar Phelps. I spent eight years in the D.C. pen for possession and trade of marijuana. I didn’t ever want anything to do with drugs, but sometimes it’s something you have to do in life, just so that you can stay alive. But you know, sometimes it doesn’t keep you alive.”
“What the fuck are you blabbing about?”
“Well you don’t really seem to want to talk, so I figured I would talk. It’ll keep your mind off of your miseries.”
“Whatever floats your fucking boat. Say whatever the hell you want, just keep my glass full. You fucking got it?”
“Yes sir. Just let me finish my story before you blow your fucking lid again. Anyway, a friend of mine got in too deep. He promised some people he could deliver, and he never did. A couple of guys hunted him down and beat him up with a crowbar. They left him for dead in an alleyway. He was in a coma for six weeks, and then he died.”
“Damn it. Doesn’t anybody have any cheery news?”
“You’re in the middle of downtown, in the seediest bar you could find anywhere. The soul purpose of this place is for people who are fucking miserable to come and forget.”
“That’s a cheery thought. Bring me some more beer why don’t you.”
Oscar smiled and turned to refill Ethan’s mug. “So, you want to share your problems?”
“Not really. No.”

Two days ago Ethan had been returning home. He was walking down a side street, which in hind sight was a poor decision. However, he was very drunk and he had no sense of judgment.
As he walked Ethan thought that he heard footsteps following him, but it was raining and he figured it was just the alcohol having an effect on his brain. He had been hearing the footsteps for almost ten minutes when he finally stopped and turned around.
He saw a shadow fall back into the shadows of a recessed door. But had had seen many shadows in many recessed doors. Many old men, many invalids, many homeless victims. But this shadow was up to something. Stop it! It’s just another person looking for somewhere to sleep.
Regardless of his thoughts Ethan’s hand had tightened around the switchblade in his coat pocket. And when he heard the footsteps following him again he placed his thumb over the switch.
Very calmly Ethan began to slow his pace until he heard the man come right up behind him. Ethan tightened his grip on the knife in his pocket and quickly whipped around, drawing the knife, and depressing the button letting the blade click open.
Ethan grabbed the dirty little man by the lapel of his top-coat and he placed the tip of the knife blade against the man’s throat. “What’re you doing? Why the fuck are you following…” Before Ethan could get the rest of the words out the man had knocked the knife from his hand.
With amazing agility the man hit Ethan hard across the stomach, took two steps back to avoid Ethan’s counter attack, and then the man drew a gun and pointed it directly between Ethan’s eyes.
Somehow Ethan got hold of the gun. Once he had it in his hands the man lunged at him grabbing for the gun. Ethan struck out at him, then he heard a loud report and he felt the gun jerk back in his hand. The man let out a gasp and then his hands went to his stomach.
The man sagged.
He shot the man, twice, three times. Each time he saw pain whip through the man’s face. Each time he knew what he was doing, but he just kept pulling the trigger feeling the gun jump in his hand.
Even after the man was on the ground writhing and screaming in pain, Ethan still fired. He emptied the entire gun into the man at his feet.
Ethan had hidden the body in a dumpster and dropped the gun into the sewer.
Two days later, the cops found the body, and they found Ethan’s fingerprints everywhere. When he received the news Ethan had gone directly to the seediest bar he could find.

Oscar had finally walked off to converse with the other customers when Ethan’s language had become too slurred for anyone to be able to make out the different obscenities.
Once in peace, Ethan had downed two more shots, and another beer. He was now so drunk that he could not focus on anything, and he barely had the state of mind the move the glass to his lips.
When the next burp burned his throat Ethan decided it was time to go to the bathroom. He stumbled into the nearest stall he could find and had barely fallen to his knees before he had thrown up all over the toilet and the floor.
He spent the next ten minutes in the bathroom throwing up and moaning. Then he very slowly rose to his feet and stumbled from the bar out into the rain.

Rain. Just like the rain two nights ago. Pouring down, soaking everything it touched. Gunshots, screams, the writhing body of the poor man before his feet. Blood, rain, thunder, screams. He could feel Katrina’s hands grabbing him. He could feel his mother striking him, his blood burning as it came coursing out of his wrists. Gunshots. Stop it! Stop it. Goddammit, just end it. Fall over, pull yourself into the alley. Get out of the rain. Just close your eyes. Silence the screaming.
Ethan crawled up against a dumpster and closed his eyes. The darkness overcame him before he could even say a final prayer to cleanse his soul.