The Almost-Man (version 1)

The Almost-Man

I was sinking into my mattress, swimming in my sheets, gracefully drowning while trying to find my way to a place called Dreaming. Catching a short moments rest, I heard a noise. The delicate clumsy sounds of clinking glasses tugged me away from my struggle with sleep. I pried my tired eyes awake and my chest began to burn and ache just like an old star. At my desk there happened to be a small, sad, insignificant Almost-Man taking endless shots of sharp and foul liqour for every lie he had ever told somebody he cared about. I was half afraid he'd drink himself to death. Towers of bottles and those little glasses surrounded him, almost like a castle. A spectacular castle keeping him safe from everything outside himself.

He told me not to worry, but his unexpected voice sent his grand fortress crashing down. Crystal clear vodka rose steadily, steadily to our knees, flooded us out the window. This Almost-Man helped me carry my old body outside and we stretched out in the sun to dry. I could suddenly hear every word I'd ever said, the most awful ones the loudest. My ears bled slowly while the sun washed out my eyes and cleared out my mind until I was clean again. It was as if God reached down and painted me with something that felt a lot like clarity.

I listened to the Almost-Man talk about the most disgusting things he'd ever done; it was a tipsy comatose conversation about the mistakes the both of us had made. Believe me when I say I tred to comfort him, but I've never been much good at making people feel better, especially the Almost-Man. He told me I was a good girl and told me not to end up like him, but I wasn't sure who he was.

His face was a kind of distanced familiar you can't put a name to. His eyes played me songs and he had burns on his chest, the kind only a hungry heart can leave behind. His dry and calloused hands told me wild stories I'd heard before. I realized I was looking at an old picture I'd once had memorized a long time ago. He smelled like late summer late nights. I breathed him in.

We walked then, our bodies sun-dried but out clothes and hair still reeking of foul alcohol. It was like you could smell us coming, a beautifully worn out Almost-Man and a girl with sorry sandbag limbs at his side...