Another Day

In the moments before sleep stole him away, he would always resolve to do better tomorrow. Every night, or often early morning, he told himself that he would go to sleep earlier, wake up with the sun, and carpe some diem. Sometimes he even fantasized about going for a run or quitting smoking the next day.

Unfortunately, he almost always woke up like this morning, with the sun peeking through his curtains and his head still throbbing from the night before. His fingers moved of their own accord for the nearly empty bottle on his nightstand. With a groan, he glanced at his alarm clock. It was past noon. Just great.

Some alcohol still sloshed around the bottom of the bottle, so he took a swig, sputtering afterwards. He searched for his phone, finding it under his covers after a couple of minutes. Ah, here it was. Every morning he looked eagerly to see if maybe Angie had left him a message, just a “hi” or a “how’s it going?” She hadn’t. How long had it been now? Maybe she was finally moving on with her life. He hoped she was—she deserved that much.

When he finally decided he wouldn’t try to text her, he put on the Rolling Stones’ “Angie” and opened the device’s browser. The world’s knowledge was now at his fingertips, a precedent unlike any that humanity had seen in any previous age. Facebook.

His personal page popped up to greet him, displaying a few notifications. He tapped the little globe like an addict smacking at his arm to raise a vein. What did the world think of his content? His content, hah. It was only a few likes for some posts he’d shared. Mostly, the humble handful of likes were uninteresting. One of the likes, though, was from Allison, a new girl at his work. She had liked something last week, too. Maybe she liked him. The thought almost brought a grin to his lips. She was always down to have a beer after shift on the nights when they worked together. Sure, she had a boyfriend, but they’d just started dating. Hell, she’d been working at the restaurant longer than she’d been with that dude.

After he’d found out what the notifications were for, he set to scrolling. Headlines of jokes, memes, articles from the New Yorker and The Onion alike. He stopped and hovered for a second over one article from CNN. There was a picture of a Syrian man holding two infants with curly hair, their cheeks covered in red, blistering sores. The man had tears in his eyes; the children’s eyes were closed, their bodies limp and lifeless. The heading read: “Syrian Man Loses Twin 9-Month Olds Following Chemical Warfare Attack.” The text underneath went on to say, “Abdul Hamid Yussef clings to his children, who finally succumbed to the effects of chemical warfare in Syria. Yussef has thus far lost twenty family members.”

Shaking his head slowly, he reached for his bottle, groping like a blind beggar after fallen change. When his hand finally found it, soft relief washed over him. He downed the remnants, dry-heaving a little after he did. He fell back onto the bed and clung to the bottle.

“Someday, you’re going to do something big, Davey,” his mother had told him. She was the only one he’d ever liked calling him Davey. He preferred David now, but as a kid he normally went by Dave. He was hardly 7 years old then, his hair still blonde.

They’d been at his uncle’s farm in Duncan. They were sitting on the steps of the porch eating plums and his hands and face were covered in the juice.

“Like what?” Dave had asked. His eyes were as big as saucers and she couldn’t help but laugh at how amazed and bewildered he looked. He shivered then, half with excitement and half from the cool September breeze.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that, sweet one. That’s for the good lord and for you to decide. You’ll know when the time comes.”

She had been so beautiful. Her blonde hair was the color of gold when the sunlight hit it.

Fishing a fresh plum from the bucket in front of them, he took a big bite of its soft flesh and a fresh rivulet of sweet nectar ran down his chin. “But, how do you know I’ll do anything?” he asked through a mouth of the early autumn fruit.

Her blue eyes settled on his and she looked serene. “I simply know, and it’s important that you know and believe it. Someday, if you follow your heart, you will do something special.”

Shaking his head, David came out of his daydream, or memory, he wasn’t exactly sure which. He knew in real life it hadn’t happened quite so perfectly, coloured with the rose aspect of innocence and nostalgia. Even still, there was some truth to it. His mother had told him such things more than once. As he lay now on his bed with sheets that had been unwashed for several weeks, cradling his empty bottle still, and looking at the cracked plaster of his shitty apartment ceiling, he couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t ever going to be anything, let alone anything special.

He dropped the bottle and brought his phone to his face again. He scrolled. Jokes, celebrity news, memes, a family member complaining about their sub from Subway, the occasional mention of the disintegration of the environment, but anything of actual substance was sparse in the A.D.D. sprawl. Everyone was so distracted, in their own little bubbles.

Dave finally got up when he had to piss. Shuffling to his toilet, head spinning from a combination of the drink and getting up too quick, he surveyed the little apartment he called home. There was stained gray and brown carpet in the living room and bedroom, the kitchen had a linoleum floor, the bathroom had the same but in a different design, and all the walls were painted the same beige tone. After he was done he turned the tap on to take a drink. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he examined his reflection and didn’t like the way the bags under his eyes had grown over the last few years. He splashed water on his face, but he could hardly feel the cold. Nothing, numb. He splashed his hands underneath the tap and dried them on his boxers.

Back out in the main living area he looked around at his messy apartment; clothes, garbage, DVDs, and even books were strewn about the place. He peered out at the mess of a world outside. It was not a bad or dreary Victorian day. The all too usual grey had given way to sparse, puffy cumulus, and much of the sky was blue. 

He walked back into the bathroom and fished a pill bottle out from the medicine cabinet. Shaking the bottle next to his ear, he listened for the rattling of the twenty or so pills inside. Like the chatter of a rattlesnake’s tail, the pills clattered about in the bottle.

He remembered the last time he’d done something so drastic, it hadn’t been prescription meds then, though, had it? He hadn’t thought that he could get that many Tylenol down, but he did. One after another until the bottle was done. The shame of his father discovering him still echoed in his ears. “You’re such a pussy. So goddamned weak. I’m glad she isn’t here to see you like this.”

That angry, disgusted voice in his memory always pierced his chest like a knife. It also made the booze churn in his gut. He thought for a moment he might upheave, and he stepped toward the toilet. When the feeling passed, Dave clenched the pill bottle tighter in his hand.

His dad had taken him to the hospital the last time, but he’d never picked him up. Had it been four years already? Would his dad even care when he got the call that he’d finally done it?

Dave stared at the bottle some more, running his thumb along the edge of the lid. Shaking his head, he tucked the pills back in the medicine cabinet and went to get ready for work.

* * *

David worked in the kitchen at a burger joint called Crate 7. It wasn’t his first restaurant job and it wouldn’t be his last. The first burger he’d ever flipped had been at a Burger King when he was a teen. This place was a bit better; they served a full menu and had a bar and a tip pool for the cooks. Back when he was engaged to Angie he had been an apprentice sous-chef at the Empress hotel. He’d fucked all that up though. He could never tell if he felt so shit about his life because of his job, or if he had his shit job because of how he felt about life.

David’s boss Lou was a short and portly man with bad teeth but exceptional hygiene. The second Dave walked into the restaurant he could see Lou gravitating towards him. Dave had walked into the service aisle and was just pouring himself a tepid cup of coffee. “David,” Lou said, sidling up beside him, “I need you to start as soon as possible.”

He had come in fifteen minutes early hoping to ease into the whole thing. Planning on a coffee and a smoke before performing in the shitshow. He had also wanted to be free from the temptation of the pills. “Why’s that, Louey?” David asked, sipping his lukewarm coffee.

“Both Ross and Cindy called in sick today, it’s just Graham and Paul in there right now. You guys are going to be short tonight too, so I need you to stay a bit late,” Lou said, placing his hands on his hips and locking Dave in a stare. Lou was short, with a big gut that hung over his belt. He had slicked back, black hair and just the slightest indication of an attempt at a mustache.

David wasn’t surprised by the news. That Ross kid was going to quit before the week was through, third new hire they’d lost in a month. Cindy was just a flake and they’d never fire her. He made a dollar more an hour than either of them and it had been over a year and half since there had even been a mention of a raise, let alone the intention materializing into any more money. “Can I just have a minute? Need a smoke.”

“I need you in there now, Graham is drowning in bills.”

“Okay, I’m on it,” he said with a sigh, trudging off towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Dave, you haven’t been drinking, have you?” Lou asked, sniffing loudly.

“Last night, just a bit hung today,” Dave said.

Lou squinted at him. “Right, well, get to it then.”

Work was hell, more so than usual. Being short-staffed meant that Dave had to do the work of two people that night. So, while ordinarily he would take care of the grill, or the plating station, or the fryer, or salads, he now had to take care of two. Tonight, he had to be on grill and fryers—well, fryer because one of them wasn’t working. It had stopped working three days ago and Lou was supposed to get someone in to fix it. The entire night they were waiting on fried items. Fries were fine—he kept a bowl just full of them the whole rush—but anything weird threw him a curveball.

“Where are my onion rings?” Allison shouted at him in the middle of the rush. The rest of the order was good to go, but there were still four minutes left on the rings he’d just dropped. Sweat dripped down his back; he was on the grill cooking up five burgers, a steak, and chicken breast.

“They’re coming!” Dave yelled back.

“Why are they taking so long?” she asked.

Dave growled back at her. “I’m down a fryer and doing two jobs right now.”

“Just get me the goddamned onion rings!” she snapped and stalked off with the rest of her order.

Bitch. He hoped she didn’t like him after all.

He was kept until close, and by then it was too late to pick up a bottle of booze from the liquor store.

He tried to catch as good a buzz as he could at the end of his shift; he was worried it wouldn’t work out to be a very good one. It was possible for the staff to get after-hours drinks, but that always depended on the mood and inclination of the closing supervisor. Tonight the closing supervisor was Devon—a 20-something girl with blonde hair who always wore scarves or chokers. She poured Dave his first beer easily enough, and he downed it in less than five minutes.

“Can I get another one, Dev?” he asked.

“No, I want to get home,” she said. She never wanted to stay late.

“C’mon,” said Randy, the dishwasher, lifting his still nearly full beer. “Just another round, please?”

“No, you guys. I’m not going to pour any more beer. I need to get home, I have class at 10 tomorrow.”

“How about a shot or two?” Dave asked. “It’s my day off tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, you fucking alcoholics, a shot and then we’re going.”

“Thank yoooou.” Randy grinned. “Tequila for me!”

“Make mine a double—no, a triple. Please, Dev. Spiced Rum.”

“A fucking triple? You have a problem, Dave,” Devon said. God, they had been through this so many times before. It always ended up the same way in the end though, and they both knew it.

“I know, don’t judge me, just pour the shot.”

She poured his shot and shook her head. “A single for you, Randy?”

“Yah, that’s fine, Dev. Don’t need your judgment,” Randy replied, winking.

“Cheers, to the wonderful life we lead,” Dave said, clinking his glass against Randy’s and then on the bar before drinking.

“Okay, now finish your beers and let’s goooo,” Devon said, hopping from foot to foot.

Randy still had most of his beer left and he set to drinking it, but not with any particular haste. Dave had an empty glass in front of him.

“C’mon, Dev. You know that I can finish another beer before this slow ass.”

“Hey!” Randy said.

“You know what you are.”

“That’s true, Dev. I’ll drink this as quick as I can but you know Dave can slam if he needs to.”

“Fine!” Devon said, and she grabbed Dave’s glass and poured him another Analogue 78. She crossed her arms in front of her and watched them both intently.

Dave grinned and took a swig of his beer. “Did you see that thing about Syria and the chemical attacks?” he said to Devon.

She nodded. “Yah, I did. It’s crazy. Did you hear the latest?”

“What’s that?” Dave asked.

“The USA’s fired a bunch of cruise missiles at different targets in Syria,” Randy said.

Dave shook his head. “No way.”

Devon nodded. “It’s true. But it’s just a bunch of saber-rattling bullshit.”

Randy sipped his beer. “I’d be more worried about the threats from Korea.”

“South Korea would never hurt a fly,” Dave said, taking a drink, and they all chuckled.

Devon swatted at him playfully. “North Korea, you dummy.”

Dave took a drink and shook his head. “Talk about saber-rattling. There are bigger threats to world peace than Kim Jung-Un. Don’t get me wrong, he’s crazy and definitely a threat, but sometimes it seems even that’s played up.”

While Dave spoke, Devon grabbed herself a Sommersby Blackberry Cider and filled a glass with ice. “Yah, everyone wants to fight with each other. Meanwhile, scientists say we just passed the point of no return on atmospheric CO2 levels.”

“C’mon now, most likely it’ll be some sort of antibiotic-resistant bacteria that kills us all,” Randy said with a chuckle.

Devon filled her glass and took a liberal drink. “So many delightful options. We’re really a positive bunch, aren’t we?”

Dave scratched the back of his head. “Really, the thing is that it could all happen or none of it could happen, but we are bombarded with the possibility of it happening all the time.”

“That’s because that’s what keeps us scared and buying shit,” Devon said, and she downed more of the cider.

Randy laughed. “Well, look at us. Like so many others before us, we’ve managed to solve the world’s problems over a few drinks.”

“We all know that things aren’t supposed to be the way they are, but where do we even start in fixing the shitstorm of a world we live in? The world is fucked,” Dave said.

“I don’t know. It really is. Randy, hurry up and finish your beer,” Devon said, finishing her glass of cider.

Randy took a big gulp of his beer. “Yup, world’s fucked, but hey at least we’re safe here.”

“Yah, it’s just our souls that die here,” Dave said. “Hey Dev, before you ring us up for this, can I grab another triple?”

“You are a fucking alcoholic,” Devon barked, her face flushing. “Fine, whatever, but that’s it.”

“Right,” Dave said. “On that note, the one of me being an alchy and that being it, wanna do an off-sale for a bottle of wine?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Devon said, but just like every time before, she did as he asked.

* * *

He took the long way home, meandering up Blanshard and up to Cloverdale. He stopped by Rutledge Park, and sat on Rutley, the pink Elephant, drinking his wine. It was winter in Victoria, and the mostly clear skies of the afternoon had grown dark and been covered by a thick blanket of cloud so not even the stars or moonlight could shine down. A gentle rain fell and the drops created a soft pattering rhythm as they struck the Earth. Dave drank from the bottle until it was as empty as him, and then he set it beside the garbage for one of the homeless to find. There would be one along soon enough.

He stumbled back home along Inverness Road until he got to Quadra Street. There were only a handful of lights on in the Lord Harley apartments, and he couldn’t help but wonder what those people were doing. Were they lonely souls like him, or just forgetful folks who had left their lights on and dozed off in front of the TV? Maybe both.

He shambled down Tolmie and finally came to his apartment building, The Colonial at 900 Tolmie Avenue. The building still bore a distinct 90s style, and the outside was covered in white siding and brick. There were worse places to live, but better ones to die.

Back inside his apartment he sluffed off his coat. He didn’t bother hanging it; there’d be no point. He thought briefly about leaving a note, or maybe writing one and leaving it on the manager’s door. It was kind of inconsiderate to not let somebody know. They wouldn’t be expecting him at work for a couple days, and by then he would stink the place up to high heaven. There was no way he’d get his damage deposit back. He laughed at the thought. Fuck it, no note.

He went to the bathroom to fetch his pills but stopped for a leak. He would smell badly enough without relieving himself more than was necessary once he shuffled off the mortal coil. Leaving a note was too much trouble, but he could still be somewhat considerate.

What happened next was the sort of thing that occurs to almost anybody who has ever thought of doing something so drastic: he began to second-guess himself. He wondered if perhaps he was being foolish. He got a glass of water and went to sit in his armchair. There, pills in one hand and the water in the other, poised to upturn the whole bottle into his mouth and then begin to down them with as many gulps of water is it might take, he started to wonder if perhaps it was worth throwing one more effort out for the fates.

The water and pills he clenched in both of his hands for a moment before setting them on the table beside him. Fingers tapping on his knee, he pulled out his phone, lifeline to and protective bubble from all of humanity. He did a quick Google search for a chatroom. He decided that he wouldn’t talk to a professional, or even a volunteer. There was a suicide chat in BC—he had been low before and talked to them—but he didn’t want to give the fates that good of a shot at stopping him. He teetered now between two points, an end and a future, and although he was open to being pushed in one direction or another, he thought it was fair to give an even chance to either eventuality.

So, he went onto a random chatroom. His login name was supersuicidaldave420.

Supersuicidaldave420: Anybody in here?

There were three other users in the chat. No reply.

Supersuicidaldave420: Im feeling pretty shitty, thinking about doing something. If anyones around…

Still, there was no reply.

Fingers still tapping on his knee, he looked at the vial of pills sitting on his side table. It was a sign. He had thrown caution to the wind, given the universe one last chance to redeem itself, and this was it.

“Quit being such a fucking pussy, David,” he said aloud. He sounded so like his father for a moment that he put his phone down and grabbed the vial and lifted it to his lips.

He could hear him yelling the words, clear as if he were right there in the room. “She would be ashamed to see you crying like such a goddamned pussy, David!”

Just as he was about to upturn the pills into his mouth, he caught the slightest bit of motion on the screen of his phone. Lowering the vial, his hand flinching a little, he looked. Cuttykitty53 had joined the room.

Cuttykitty53: Is anyone here?

He looked at the phone, then at the pills. He set down the pills and grabbed the phone.

Supersuicidaldave420: Yah, Im here

Cuttykitty53: Hi

Supersucidaldave420: Hey, hows it going?

Cuttykitty53: Not good

Supersuicidaldave420: Whats wrong?

Cuttykitty53: I kinda need to talk to someone

Supersuicidaldave420: Im someone

Cuttykitty53: I guess you are

Supersuicidaldave420: I mean, Im kind of a no one but yah

Cuttykitty53: No you’re not, you’re someone.

Supersuicidaldave420: Whats going on?

Cuttykitty53: I guess it’s something you know all about. Nice name. I want to kill myself, too. I think I might do it.

Dave took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. His head was spinning but it wasn’t from the drink. He facepalmed and ran his hand down his face, groaning. He had wanted a sign, hadn’t he?

Cuttykitty53: Are you there?

Supersuicidaldave420: Yah, Im still here.

Cuttykitty53: Sorry, I shouldn’t be bugging you with this.

Supersuicidaldave420: No, no… Im glad you did. I don’t want you to do anything crazy.

Cuttykitty53: I… I’ve been really down lately.

Supersuicidaldave420: I know, and it sucks but thats not a reason to kill yourself

Cuttykitty53: I don’t think it’s going to get better. It’s not just me. The world is fucked.

Supersuicidaldave420: Yah, it really is. But theres still good in it too

There was good, good people like his mom and like Angie. He remembered the time he had told Angie about when he had almost done it before. He had tried when his mom had died. He didn’t have prescription sleeping pills then though, that’s why it had been a whole bottle of Tylenol. He hadn’t been sure if he should tell Angie or not, but it had spilled out one day. She held him so tight then, and when she whispered, “I’m glad you didn’t,” he could tell she was crying. Even after they broke up, she had still checked up on him, and she would remind him that she was glad he was still there.

Cuttykitty53: I don’t see too much of that. There’s a lot of fucked up stuff going on, there’s always been fucked up stuff, but nobody cares.

Supersuicidaldaver420: I care, people care

Cuttykitty53: most people don’t

Supersuicidaldave420: you seem to care enough to kill yourself

Cuttykitty53: It’s not just that, I don’t want to hurt anymore

Supersuicidaldave420: noobody wants to hurt, but life hrts

Cuttykitty53: I don’t want to hurt anyone else, or the world, I’m just sick of it all

Supersuicidaldave420: I know, but its not all pain… besides, Im sure you’d hurt someone by going wouldn’t you?

Cuttykitty53: maybe

Supersuicidaldave420: definitely, no matter what, there will be pain… thats just how life is, you hurt people by being there, by not being there, by trying, by giving up, all we can do is our best

Cuttykitty53: I don’t want to keep going, year in and year out.

Supersuicidaldave420: Im not asking you to, who knows what the future will bring. Can you keep going for another day though? Just another day?

There was a pause before she started typing again.

Cuttykitty53: I can probably manage another day

Supersuicidaldave420: Good, look my email is davethebrave1999@hotmail.com, you should email me. Do you still have msn messenger at all?

Cuttykitty53: msn messenger? Does anyone still have that? That was popular when you made that account I would say, lol

Supersuicidaldave420: get it if you can, I’ll do the same, you can email me or talk to me on there, check in from time to time. I know it sucks, but things can get better

Cuttykitty53: You’re a nice guy, Dave, I will email you, and I promise to hold on for another day. Thanks for talking to me, this gave me some hope

Supersuicidaldave420: no problem, it gave me some hope too

Cuttykitty53: I’m going to go now, but I’ll email you tomorrow, I promise

Supersuicidaldave420: Okay, bye kitty

Cuttykitty53 has logged off

There still wasn’t a word from the others in the chat. Dave wondered if they were watching the whole convo, or maybe they were afk, or asleep at their keyboards. It was 2:49 am.

The vial of sleeping pills still sat on his side table, and his head still felt woozy from the wine. He got up, walked over to the bathroom, and dumped the pills in the garbage. He thought about dumping them in the toilet, but he decided not to do anything too drastic. Who knew how tomorrow was going to go.