Time Wasters #1

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Time Wasters #1 - book excerpt

Story One:

Love or Low Places? Super Short Prelude to Love

Based on a true story, this super short tale of love offers a harsh, humorous, and yet somehow touching glimpse into what could possibly be the norm for young couples today. The Time Wasters Series brings about several Super Short Prelude Stories (names have been altered to protect identities) In Love or Low Places: Dana is young, wild, careless and free, that is until her entire world is turned upside down by a man she meets at karaoke night. Is there really such thing as love at first sight? You be the judge.

The liquid in my glass peeks up me with its rank whiskey scent and its tempting golden bronze shimmer. The time is creeping up on midnight and I’m slightly drunker than usual for this hour. Despite my argument to stay in, my roommate Lynn lays on the pressure pretty thick.

“Dana,” she snaps a finger between my fixated eyes and the spot on the wall they’re staring at. “Pay attention.”

“Ugh.”

I may be growling, but trust me, it’s in a fun, loving way. I accept the shot of Jägermeister that she eagerly slides across the counter at me. It’s swallowed in one gulp and chased by the last lingering drop of watered-down Jack and Pepsi in my other hand. I shudder, gag, hold my breath to stop the forming puke at the base of my neck, and then giggle a little. That was a close one.

“Wow, Lynn, you’re like a gnat,” I tease.

“Well, my God. My kids are with their dad, and I don’t have to work tonight. We don’t even have to go to our bar; we can drive to different one.”

I mull her proposition over carefully. There aren’t many other bars around. We’d have to make the thirty-minute drive to the county over and, even there, the options are limited. It’s a Wednesday night, meaning there’ll be karaoke at the tiny little hotel bar inside the Holiday Inn. There’s usually a decent crowd at karaoke night. No matter how stiff my intentions start out to remain at home, I always manage to have a good time when we go out. The bulky, beaded purple and silver watch on my wrist reads 11:50 P.M. and last call is always at 2:00 A.M. This means if I kill another thirty minutes, then we’ll only have an hour to drink at the bar once we get there. It also means Lynn will be slightly irritated and on the pissy side for the majority of the ride over, so it’ll give me something to poke fun at.

“I don’t know, Lynn. Just not sure I’m feeling it.”

I’m lying, I know full well I’ll go.

“So, what should we do?” she pushes. “Have a couple more shots, stare at each other, and then pass out before one? I’m bored as shit, don’t be an asshole.”

I can’t help but to laugh at her. She smirks an unintentional grin and then lowers her brows on purpose, making an awkward effort to glower.

“You can go if you want. Don’t let me hold you back,” I insist.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Nope,” I say as I make my way to the fridge to grab another beer. “I’ve had enough as it is. I don’t think I can handle much more alcohol tonight. I’ll just stay home and finish off this last beer before bed.”

It’s working, only a few more minutes of making her wait and I’ll go. Soon, she’ll be good and irritated, and I’ll be drunk enough not to spend any money at the bar. The stool I plop myself back down on sits directly across from her, so I have a very close view of her body growing in need of a tantrum: flexed arms are folded across her chest and there is a slight vibration in her hips. It doesn’t matter that her legs are hidden by the wrap-around kitchen bar between us; it’s clear that she’s tapping her foot like a five-year-old. I chuckle while she shakes her head and pours another shot. This time she keeps it to herself, no sharing her bottle, and no more pushy words (yet). I slowly take another very small sip of my beer. Wait for it … wait for it

Then she snaps under pressure.

“Damn it, Dana. Please!” She unsuccessfully tries to keep control of her raising voice. “Please don’t make me go by myself. You can’t even tell me no without laughing. You’re just wasting time to be a dick!”

The jig is up, I guess she has me all figured out. I take another slow sip before my reluctant agreement to go. “Okay, okay. Just let me finish this one beer first.”

The ride is as expected. The first half is full of loud music and stiff torsos, both of us staring blankly ahead. The second half we’re finally able to joke about our late start on the night and share a few completely inappropriate memories and jokes to lighten the mood. By the time the slow-moving wheels of Lynn’s car very cautiously find a space in the hotel parking lot, we are both laughing to the near point of peeing our pants. Then it hits. My stomach completely flips before I can even step out of the car. A whoosh of drunken nausea works its way from my head to my toes and leaves the seat to swirl beneath me.

“Shit Lynn, I think I’m gonna puke.” I reach for the car handle and lean out.

“What the hell? We haven't even went inside yet.”

She hides her growing smile with a closed fist and chuckles under her breath at my stupidity. Ever so patiently, she sits in the driver’s seat, just waiting for her partner in crime to pull herself together.

With one foot on the spinning pavement and one still in the car, I lean into the fresh air and wrap an arm around my stomach. Nothing. No throw up yet. I think I might be okay. The sound of her pitchy chuckle rings through the car. It bounces off the windshield and slams me in the face.

“What the hell is so funny?” I manage to ask. “I started hours before you did.”

“You should see your face.” She no longer hides the chuckle; instead she lets an overbearing laugh escape her. “I think your lips are actually white.”