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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Path of Least Resistance” Down in the Dirt (v131) (the September 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

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Keepers

Liam Spencer

    Finally. I could live a little. It had always been something. First, I worked too much. Then I was broke because of a work place injury, and was in too much pain to consider going out.
    I had just made career with my federal job, and had won a case against the IRS who had been garnishing my wages. I had money and had Sunday and Monday off. I planned to go out Saturday night.

    The cruelty of the alarm hit me Saturday at the now usual five AM. I felt like I had died in my sleep. The highs and lows of early December played hell with my sinuses. I made it to work on time, just barely. Everyone was grumbling. The holiday season was cruel for us. Non-career employees were wiped out completely. Their exhaust made them pale, drained, near death. Management sprinted to cover routes.
    My injury was severe. My foot and ankle had been shredded. I lacked stability, and the risk of career ending injury loomed large. I was on light duty, unable to carry mail over uneven ground. I hadn’t yet seen my new route, and had to case it, divide it up for other carriers, and catch hell for them having to carry loads for me. There was nothing I could do about anything. I was a piñata.
    The new supe decided I needed to carry some mail. I agreed. Others wondered how I could. I would find a way. I hated having to depend on others. It was my route. My job. They were going through hells and exhaustion. I was only in pain.
    I raced through casing, got everything ready, and took off with my work, which included three stops before I got to carrying a mere hour on my new route. I was assured that all three swings were flat. They were anything but. I didn’t know my own route, and so made many mistakes and ran very, very late.
    The supes didn’t care. They were delighted to have everything covered. I checked to make sure I had Monday off. A supe I almost always got along with informed me that I did indeed have those two days off. He then mentioned the ODL (Overtime Desired List), if I was interested. I replied that I was, as soon as the injury healed. He made sure I understood the bidding process, eager to have me go to a different route. My route was a killer.
    It was all a relief. There had been talk that management was trying to get rid of me because I couldn’t yet carry my route. This conversation showed that they were keeping me. Whew.
    I took the bus home. My car had been hit while parked on an icy morning. A company that transports wheel chair people had left notes. It was over two thousand in damage on a five thousand dollar Honda CRV. Buses weren’t too bad though, and allowed chances to be around attractive women.

    I would say dating had been hit or miss, but it was ninety five percent miss. The only hit was with a crazy woman who yanked a handful of hair out of my beard while we fucked. It hadn’t gone well.
    I still missed my ex girlfriend, Samantha.
    It wasn’t all the time that I missed her though. For some reason, the feelings hit whenever I came across a woman who I thought there might be possibilities with. It was then that memories would flood, and I would be tempted to try to contact her. Some other things would bring back floods of memories too. Locations, certain songs, some dreams, and so on. I would force those floods back, reminding myself that she and I hadn’t known each other in a long time now. She was with someone else. It was all dead.

    I got home Saturday to my slightly messy apartment, empty and dead. I stood staring at it. My foot and ankle screamed. I had overdone it at work. I hadn’t eaten either. Time had been too tight. I crammed a slice of cold pizza down my throat, opened a beer, and went online. A couple friends posted that their apartment had been flooded with sewage. Great. I offered to help, as did many others.
    A second and third slice went down hard, with a thump. I could barely finish a third beer. Pain and exhaustion gripped me. It was to be my night out, at last, yet I needed a nap. It seemed reasonable. I’d nap for a few hours before going out. It was only four, after all.
    It was after eleven. Fuck. No going out. I went to get more beer from the convenience store that’s three blocks away. The streets were filled with loud drunks. An attractive woman kept running, her heels clopping along, up and down the block. Her face held drama and insanity, as if she wanted and needed attention. I watched her boobs bounce as she approached, and her ass wiggle wildly after she passed. What a great fuck she would have made, maddnesses and orgasms swirling so deliciously. How to actually meet her though?
    I mentioned the insanities to the owner of the store. Full moon, he claimed. He then bitched about the protesters regarding the police killings of black men, saying they’re politicizing things that were just tragedies. He looked like he wanted me to agree. I did not, and skirted the subject.
    I returned to my apartment with beer and smokes. Six beers later, I was snoozing again.

    The alarm went off Sunday morning at five. Hitting snooze made it eight. Coffee made it nine thirty. I am not a morning person. A beer run made it ten, just in time to catch a Steeler game. It’s tough to catch a Steeler game in Seattle, so I was thrilled. I jumped and yelled as they beat the Bengals 42-21. More yelling had the Seahawks beat the Eagles. Pizza rolls held me over. I was going to treat myself to Sunday night football at one of my favorite bars. It had been a while. I would splurge to eat there too.

    There she was. A cute red head named Melinda that I had connected with years ago. She reminded me of Samantha at the time. We had talked rarely since then. The last I heard, she had found herself a better man, and so was off limits. Still, there she was, sitting at the bar, a real regular, holding sway, laughing and drinking and talking.
    The bar was an anthropological experiment of sorts. A pecking order. The accepted regulars, holding sway, setting norms and morays. The outsiders coming and going. The usuals who were outside of the expected norms. They all knew me, even as I was rarely there. I was known as a real nice, solid guy who didn’t fit their expected norms, and didn’t converse as they did. As usual for me, I was one to keep an eye on.
    I had sipped eight beers before arriving, and was a little too intoxicated for their conversations. I watched the game while waiting for my food, and went to smoke.
    Outside, I remembered the times I had spent there. There were some very tough times I had found myself standing there drinking and smoking. The place had recently been sold, and was soon to be shut down for remodeling. Yet more destruction to the Seattle I had grown to know and love. This might be the last time I am ever there. I looked around sadly.

    My giant chicken sandwich arrived, and I devoured its’ messiness while sitting alone, hearing the lame conversations of the keepers of the norm. They were saying so much more than their words. Pecking order struggles. Uh huh. I wondered how to get the red head. Was it possible?
    She was surrounded by other regulars, the keeps of the norm were in full force. How could I get in to talk with her? It would be a tall order. I bought her and another keeper a drink. He didn’t really like me, but he had bought me a drink to make up for blocking me from her before (she had stood up to him over it). They both waved and smiled. Later, when they went out to smoke, she came over, all aglow, to thank me.
    A short time later, they came out while I was smoking. She began asking me about my job. I couldn’t believe she remembered what I did for a living. She glowed brightly at me. Then she asked if I got random drug testing at work. I replied yes. She looked disappointed, then lit a pipe and passed it around. The smell of crack filled the air, and conversation got livelier.

    Suddenly, there she was, wearing new glasses, and looking sweeter and more innocent than ever. Way outside the accepted norms, but well thought of, and very cared for. Min was often a problem drunk, getting cut off when she became emotional. We had talked many times, off and on, over the years since Samantha and I had split, and we always had great conversations and fun whenever we bumped into each other.
    Min was five foot five and thin, with a drinker’s body. She was very cute, with a beauty that couldn’t be diminished. She didn’t fit in anywhere, and drank to compensate. An outsider. Outcast. Interesting. She, like almost everyone there, worked in bars. For some reason, we always hit it off. For some reason, she was always with some boyfriend who didn’t like her.
    She ordered a beer. We said hello. Our eyes said so much more. I complimented her glasses. She glowed. We left and went out to smoke. We sat close and began talking. We sat closer. People came and went, seeing us as something as a couple. I bought another round, then another. We sat closer and talked. My arm, somehow, ended up around her. She snuggled in.
    She eagerly volunteered that she was actually single...almost. Nothing was final, yet, though. Not yet. We kissed. We kissed again. She snuggled closer. People came out and hushed themselves as though they were interrupting us. We went in to piss.
    I came out of the restroom first, of course, and ordered two beers. The bartender looked at me harshly.
    “I have to see Min first, and make sure she is ok.”
    “Ok. Probably a good idea.” I looked puzzled. What was I doing?
    The bartender smiled at me as he handed me my beer. Min came out and talked with him for a minute. He handed her the beer. We went back outside, and got closer than ever. Kisses happened, initiated by each.
    The door swung open, and out poured the keepers, led by the red head. Melinda gasped.
    “Whoa...”
    Her eyes met mine. She said, “Really?!” without a sound. Other keepers poured out too, but they shrugged it all off as being expected. Before long we were all standing and talking.
    I held my own, keeping people at arm’s length while asserting my spot as a guy not to be taken lightly. I can throw my weight around pretty well sometimes.
    Min struggled to get into conversation with others. They crowded her out, as if intentionally. It almost seemed like they were trying to get her frustrated and desperate so as to say something out of like, to sink her into inferior status. Our eyes met. I smiled broadly and winked. She blushed and smiled. I knew their reindeer games, and how to cut them short. Min sipped heavily.
    As some meandered back inside, a lost drunk came by asking how to get to Peso’s. Melinda and Min answered him with conflicting directions. Melinda was correct, but Min was insistent. Melinda got verbally nasty, snotty. Min looked lost. Her eyes begged support. I spoke up.
    “Hmm..I cannot quite remember...”
    Melinda glared at me.
    “Just because you like her! It’s to the left.”
    She rushed inside, the door closed hard.

    Min and I stared at each other for a moment, not sure what to make of it all.
    “I’m sure it’s to the right.”
    “Actually Min, it is left. Sorry, but it is. Straight up this street is the convenience store I buy my beer at. I live two blocks past that.”
    “No, you’re wrong. I know it’s to the right. TO THE RIGHT.”
    “It’s only a few blocks, Min, we can walk there. We’ll see. Besides, we’ve smoked my last smokes. I can buy more at the drug store.”

    As soon as we left, Min grabbed my hand tight. We glowed and smiled at each other. As we neared the intersection, Min mumbled that Melinda had been right. She was upset. I changed the subject, mentioning getting smokes at Bartell’s. Her hand tightened around mine.
    “What do you smoke?”
    “American Spirit, yellow.... and a bottle of vodka.”
    Min’s hand gripped mine. She leaned in for a kiss.
    “What kind? Go ahead and tell the clerk.”

    We kissed again outside the store. The bottle was in my pocket. Min offered a twenty.
    “No no, think of it as a first date gift. More drinkable than flowers.”
    Min smiled and blushed.
    “Why do you like me so much? No one does.”
    “Because you’re Min. Need I say more?”

    The bartender was relieved to see us rolling back in, hand in hand. The tab would be paid. One more round of beers while Min and I stayed outside holding each other. Close to closing, the area was flooded by keepers needing to smoke. Melinda glared with a smile. Min shrank until I kissed her. She glowed.
    I mentioned I needed to get beer before two. Min spoke up, mentioning that we had vodka. My hard on was rock. Min smiled, grabbed my hand, and led me away from glares. She glowed. I followed.

    We passed by a building called “Twin Birches.” The giant sign makes it look like “Twin Bitches.” Samantha and I used to laugh about that. Min and I now did too.
    Everything looked familiar somehow. We walked into a parking lot and up one flight of stairs. The door opened. A smell hit. We walked in. the smell hit harder. A cat greeted and looked at me strangely before rubbing it ass against me.
    “All I have is old lemon juice. I hope it’s safe. We can mix with water.”
    She fed the cat on the kitchen counter.
    “The only glasses I have are in there. Let’s see what we can use.”
    The dishwasher opened. There was one actual glass. The other was plastic. I poured both with vodka, added lemon and water, and handed her the actual glass.
    “WOW! How nice of you! Normally, they give me the shitty glass.”
    “Cheers!”
    Our glasses clanked.

    The place was a mess. Clutter and dirt everywhere. Uneaten food. Glasses and measuring cups as ash trays.
    “This is clean for me. Really. Believe me.”
    “It’s alright. Really. When I am too busy with work or injured, my place is the same.”

    She walked over and held up what looked like holiday decorations. The letters spelled out “MISS GREG.” Min teared up a bit.
    “Yeah. ‘cause I do.”

    We went out on her balcony. There was an amazing view of the sky line and Space Needle. It looked all too familiar. Way too familiar.
    “What street is this?”
    “Second Ave N”
    My heart dropped a bit. Samantha’s place was nearby. We had lived there together, loved there together...
    “My ex lives like right down this street. Wow. Eerie.”
    Min shot me a look. How dare I?

    We shared moments out there, holding each other and kissing. As I went to her neck, she stopped me.
    “I’m not doing anything like that tonight.”
    “Ok.”

    We went back in and began smoking and drinking. Out came her laptop. Youtube. Signing and laughing, drinking, and talking. My arm stayed around her. We kissed frequently. She glowed, but stopped everything from going further. “MISS GREG” was still out there.
    Min sang her beautiful voice to love songs, eying me and licking her lips. We’d kiss. She’d put on the brakes. She’d sing again. We’d kiss. Brakes on.
    We talked relationship. No one liked her. I corrected her. She glowed.

    I came back from the bathroom. Min had her feet up on the coffee table. Her eyes were slits. Her face was pleasure. Pleasing noises came from deep within her.
    “I’m scratching my rash. I have exhema. It flares up when I get nervous. Gawd this feels so good.”
    “Hell I thought you were masturbating. Now I have a giant hard on. Damn.”
    “Here, look. Can you really be with someone with this?”
    Sure enough was a very bad rash, midway between her bellybutton and pubic hair. She scratched it all just right. Pleasure sounds continued.
    “Damn Min, sounds like that just make me so damn hard. I mean, you already turn me on so bad, and then making those sounds?!”
    “Even with these gawd awful rashes?! Gross!”
    “You still turn me on, Min. Make of it what you will.”
    We kissed again. Then tongues. Then breathing.
    She stopped me again.
    “Time for bed. It’s seven AM.”

    There was the largest bed ever. It could fit ten people and a cat. Gadgets filled half of it. We climbed in, fully clothed. Coins were scattered. My arm was under her. She cozied up. My left arm went over her. It was a great fit. Snores took minutes. The cat slept on her hip. Then it slept on my hip. Min reached down, petted the cat, kissed me, smiled, and rolled over.

    “Morning” hurt. Monday. My head had got hit by a thousand buses. I groaned and gagged. I chugged water after pissing. I was no longer used to party nights. I sighed as I made coffee. Was this growing up or growing old? Great times were had, even with no sex, yet I felt like I died in my sleep. I used to eat up nights and days like these. What happened?
    I meandered out to the patio. Fresh December air helped me cope. I looked around. The old neighborhood had changed. An old house and apartment building were boarded up and fenced in, ready for demolition. Hmm...they look awfully familiar...
    The bad coffee began working. That old house was where a band practiced. It was nearly right across the street from where I lived. Sad to see it go down. Memories. Chances. History.
    Slowly, so slowly, it dawned on me. I had lived a half block south from Samantha and her sister Faye. If that house was at the corner...

    I was standing on the balcony of an apartment in Samantha’s building! In fact, I was one floor up, and one apartment over from her apartment!
    My eyes shot wide open, my jaw dropped. I looked down toward Samantha’s patio, ready for memories to flood...

    There she was! She was standing there, staring at me, in just as much shock!

    Oh, how I must have looked! The same as I used to after each of those nights with Samantha...hair messed up, steaming coffee, bloodshot eyes, struggling to be back to human. She probably thought I had a wild night of drinking and fucking. In her building. Our old territory. Our old love.
    She eventually walked past, shaking her head, as though I was a mere mistake in her past. My heart fell 19 stories into hell. Not like this, I thought. No!

    I walked back inside. The cat was ready to make love. Min was snoring. I had one last coffee. Eying the last cigarette. Better to leave that one to Min.

    “Good morning Beautiful.” I kissed Min on the side of her mouth.
    “Good morning.” She groaned.
    ”Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
    “Ok.”
    “Can I call you tonight?”
    “I have to work.”

    Coldness, sudden.

    “After work then?”
    “Umm...ok. ok.”
    “Have a great day.”
    “You too.”

    I took pictures off the balcony before I left.
    I might never be back.

    I petted the cat. He smiled at me, welcoming me back. Hopefully, Min will too.

    The apartment manager saw me leave. His expression wondered how I did it. I lived with two smoking hot sisters for over a year in one apartment, and now I was leaving the apartment of a different smoking hot woman in the same building. He hadn’t realized that I hadn’t lived in between.

    I walked through unfamiliar streets on purpose, not wanting to be further haunted by what might have been.
    I bought beer and smokes at the convenience store, went home, and began writing this story.

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