33. Max

I was drunk.

Not for the first time in my life, but definitely the first time in the last few days. I sat at the bar at the ass crack of dawn, drinking my cares away. I made a list and everything.

“Alright, Mike…Let’s…go over it again,” I slurred.

He sighed, tossing his rag over his shoulder. “Max, it’s six-thirty in the morning. Why are you drinking so much?”

“I already told you,” I chuckled, grabbing my glass. Well, I tried to grab my glass. It didn’t actually work out that way. It took several attempts to put my hand around it, and even more effort to get the glass to my lips. The liquid trickled down the sides of my mouth as I half-missed. I wiped the liquor on my arm, then licked it off, finding that method a little easier than swallowing right out of the glass. “What was I saying?”

“You made a list.”

“Right!” The paper had just been in front of me, but no matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find it on the bar. Mike grabbed it and held it in front of me. “Ah! There it is.” I started laughing hysterically. I wasn’t sure why it was so funny, but it was. “Anyway, as I was saying…my cares…”

“Mike.”

I frowned, wondering who spoke. “Was that me?” I asked, jabbing a finger at my chest.

Mike wasn’t looking at me. At least, I was pretty sure he wasn’t. “Scottie. Thanks for coming.”

“Sure. I had nothing better to do at this time of the morning.”

I spun on my stool, which was a terrible idea. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, smacking my head on the stool beside me. “Fuck,” I laughed. “That hurt.”

Arms grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. The whole bar spun around me, but Scottie’s face centered me. “Hey, pal!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Not a thing,” I laughed. “I’m fucking fantastic.” I reached behind me, fumbling for my glass. I brought it to my face, confused when nothing poured out of it. I shook it upside down, hoping something would come out.

It was snatched out of my hand a second later and slammed on the bar. “What the fuck are you doing, Max?”

I looked around the bar—or rather the bar looked around me. I started laughing as I envisioned the walls checking me out. It was fucking hilarious. “I was just thinking…” I had to stop as I was overcome with a fit of laughter. I slapped a hand on Scottie’s chest—mostly for balance. “Imagine…if the walls…were watching me.” I tossed my head back, breaking into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Fuck, I loved being drunk.

“Max, you were supposed to check in as soon as you landed.”

I nodded. And I nodded some more. He was right. I was supposed to do that. “I know, and I thought ‘bout going…but then I decided it was better to come here,” I said, spinning a little too violently with my arms spread out, “and coming here for a drink.”

“Fuck, do you even hear yourself?”

I closed one eye and tried to hear myself, but then I realized I wasn’t speaking. I slapped Scottie on the shoulder as I barked out a laugh. “I wasn’t speaking.”

“Mike, you should have cut him off.”

“I did, and then he snuck behind the bar and grabbed the bottle.”

“He’s drunk off his ass. How did he get behind the bar?”

“Because I’m a ninja!” I said, giving a karate chop.

“I was in back trying to clean up for the night. I closed four hours ago. I should be in bed right now,” Mike grumbled.

I spun around, stumbling into the stool. I really had to stop turning so fast. I leaned against the bar and stared at one of the four Mikes. “Dude, did I keep you up?”

“Just a little,” he grumbled. “Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”

I pointed my finger at him. “Or…or…” I started laughing again, unable to stop for even a second. It was all too fucking hilarious. “Or…We could turn this song into a bar and do it Hawaiian style.” I took off for the jukebox, tripping over a chair leg and running into a table. Why the fuck did they put a table in the middle of the floor?

It took far too much squinting to find the song I was looking for, but I finally found it and inserted a coin into the machine. When it didn’t work, I hit the jukebox. “Come on, man,” I said in a Jamaican accent, “Play the song!”

“Hey, let’s just go home,” Scottie said, grabbing my arm.

“What? No, I need to hear this song. Just once. Just once, man,” I repeated in my accent. “I need my hat. Where’s my hat?”

Sighing, Scottie held it out to me. I slid it onto my head and grinned at him. “Fucking awesome, right?”

“Can you put a machine in the quarter? I wanna hear dis song, man.”

I slapped him on the shoulder and started dancing around the bar as Somewhere Over The Rainbow came on. I strummed my imaginary ukulele as I sang along. I closed my eyes, which I never did when I sang, but this song hit me right in the chest.

“You know…this song reminds me of her.”

“Of who?” Scottie asked.

“Frista.”

“Who the fuck is Frista?”

I opened my eyes and stared at him, then started laughing again. “Dude, her name is Whista, not Frista.”

“What?”

“What?” I repeated.

“The woman you’re seeing?” he asked.

The man was so tense. He looked really pissed, but he had to learn to let it all go. We were in Hawaii. It was a place of calm and peace and…singing. “Don’t stress, man. Feel the music,” I grinned. “Mike! Another round!”

I spun toward the bar, nearly falling over again, but Mike wasn’t there.

“Where’s Mike?”

“He went home.”

“But…it’s his bar,” I whispered, then started laughing.

“Can we leave now?”

“No, no, no,” I said, frowning at him. “I need my jam.”

“You just listened to it.”

“I know, but I want to play it over and over again.”

“You can listen to it in the truck.”

I snorted at that. “The acoushtic...acou…the things with the music…they aren’t nearly as good as in a bar.”

“You’re listening to it on a fucking jukebox.”

I snapped my fingers at him. “You’re right. We need a record player!”

“You need a nap,” he said, grabbing me by the arm.

I yanked it away. I wasn’t ready to leave. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was having the time of my life. “Who would want to leave this paradise?” I asked. “We’ve got music and Hawaii and drinks…this is paradise.” I rushed over to him, grabbing his hand. “Did you know I used to live in paradise?”

“Yes, that’s where we met.”

“In paradise,” I sang, though I was probably a little off-key. “Man, I miss it there. There were no jobs where you see shit like we saw. No women nagging me to be in a relationship.”

Scottie pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh. “So, she wants you to commit.”

I snorted. “No, why would you think that?”

“Because you just fucking said—” He stopped and took a deep breath.

I totally got it. “Yep, that’s what this place does to you. You can’t breathe without getting angry. But in paradise…everything was so chill.”

“And you were alone.”

I nodded, slumping down in a seat. “I was all alone. But I was sort of happy. I mean, I had my cigars—where are my cigars?” I looked around for them and came up empty. “See? No fucking cigars. And all the alcohol I wanted. It was magical.”

“You were a drunk. You still are.”

I nodded sagely at him. “And you know whose fault it is?”

“Whista’s?”

I chuckled at him. “No, silly. It was your fault. You kept getting struck by birds and falling out of the sky. If it weren’t for you, I’d be on my beach right now.”

“You’d be drunk off your ass.”

I nodded, my head wobbling on my shoulders. “Yep. Do you think she’d be with me?”

“Fista?”

“No, Whista,” I mumbled. I rested my head in my hand and slumped on the table. “She’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. And she’s like…really good in bed.”

“Qualities every man should look for when they only want to get laid,” he agreed.

“Yep. But here’s a secret.” I wiggled my pointer finger at him, urging him to come closer. “I don’t want to get laid.”

“Really.”

I nodded again. “She’s like…” I sighed heavily. “Yeah, you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“Exactly. I think I like her. Like, really like her. You know what I mean? I like her.”

“You want to build a fire with her.”

I popped up and nodded. “Totally. You get it!”

He smirked at me. “You’re looking at the original fire starter.”

“Dude, good work, man.”

“But here’s the thing,” he said, leaning forward. “You’re not gonna build a fire with her by getting drunk all the time. Women need someone who will be there for them.”

“Like a fireman.”

“No, like a reliable guy. You’re drunk too often. You need to change.”

“By becoming a fireman,” I reiterated.

“No, by not drinking so much,” he snapped.

“Geez, calm down. I can go out tomorrow and do the fire department thingy with the hose.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Man, he was really stressed. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe you should become a fireman, too.”