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The Appointment

Wednesday 5:58 p.m.

“Yes, I can do 11:15. How much will it cost?” I blurt into my iphone with a shaky voice.

“ One hundred and twenty five dollars” the receptionist replies.

I agree and throw the phone on my futon. I head to the kitchen and pour beam on ice. I grab a piece of wheat bread and throw it to the dog. In excitement, his back legs slip on the ceramic tiles, and he falls to the floor. Not skipping a beat, he greedily devours his treat. I plop down on my lazy boy and watch Mad Men on Netflix. I go drink for drink with the ad men. The dog lays on my feet. I scratch his dry nose, but it does not disturb his slumber. I pause the dvd and head to the Turf club. It is packed for a Wednesday. I order MM on the rocks, and I am forced to sit at a table staring at the bar. I convince myself all the women in the bar are lesbians. I cheer to the last thirteen years and smile. Mary walks into the scenery. Two weeks ago, I went to the Turf for last call wasted after a party. She drove me to her place, which was two blocks away. After she introduced me to her neighbors, I woke up in my bed with no details in my head. I stare at her large ass in tight hot pants and laugh at myself. A stool opens up at the bar. Mary beats me to it. She is cold in the interaction, and it confirms my suspicions. Boredom hits me, and I can not face what is in my apartment, so I head to Hamilton’s.

I listen to Hawkwind’s Quark, Strangeness and Charm during my venture. I saddle up to the bar and order pliny the elder. The bar is mostly guys, so my brain amuses me while careful to avoid thoughts of the appointment. Last call. I am herded outside and bum cigarettes. Going with the flow, I wander into south park with two random guys. We stop at a corner.

“What do you want to do?” Mr. Red Shirt inserts

“I don’t know, but I think this guy is a faggot” Mr. Black Shirt replies pointing at me. I smirk and put in my earplugs. I stare at Black Shirt smiling, then saunter home blasting Decemberist’s Crane’s Wife. I wake at 10:13 am. The dog’s eyes twinkle when I grab the leash, but after a crap and whiz, the dog stops walking. I lift the thirty pounder on my shoulder and trek back home. I throw the dog on the futon and playfully slap his belly and muzzle. He giggles. I hit my bed until 1:00pm and logically decide the day is f*cked, and I pour myself a beam and ginger. I finish watching Mad men, then watch True Blood and Breaking Bad in my lazy boy. The dog sleeps at my feet. Flies swirl around his Mighty Dog breakfast. I finish the bottle of beam. It is 9 p.m. and I decide to hit the hay.

I wake up at 2 a.m. to the dog throwing his front legs on my bed. I carefully grab his two front paws and slide him to my torso gently placing his muzzle on the pillow next to mine. We promptly fall asleep until 8 a.m. We yawn and stretch lazily. I start pinching his left ear which leads to a playful bite. We get out of bed and do a very short walk around the block. The dog is puckered out before we make it back to the apartment. I carry him the rest of the way home. After a jog and a shower, I start sending out work emails. From 10 a.m. to 11 a.m., I look at the clock every two minutes, but avoid looking at the dog. At 11 a.m., I grab the dog and jump in the car. I enter the receptionist area and announce I have a 11:15 appointment with a lump in my throat.

“Would you like to keep his ashes?” the nurse asks.

My heart breaks.

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Wednesday 5:58 p.m.

“Yes, I can do 11:15. How much will it cost?” I blurt into my iphone with a shaky voice.

“ One hundred and twenty five dollars” the receptionist replies.

I agree and throw the phone on my futon. I head to the kitchen and pour beam on ice. I grab a piece of wheat bread and throw it to the dog. In excitement, his back legs slip on the ceramic tiles, and he falls to the floor. Not skipping a beat, he greedily devours his treat. I plop down on my lazy boy and watch Mad Men on Netflix. I go drink for drink with the ad men. The dog lays on my feet. I scratch his dry nose, but it does not disturb his slumber. I pause the dvd and head to the Turf club. It is packed for a Wednesday. I order MM on the rocks, and I am forced to sit at a table staring at the bar. I convince myself all the women in the bar are lesbians. I cheer to the last thirteen years and smile. Mary walks into the scenery. Two weeks ago, I went to the Turf for last call wasted after a party. She drove me to her place, which was two blocks away. After she introduced me to her neighbors, I woke up in my bed with no details in my head. I stare at her large ass in tight hot pants and laugh at myself. A stool opens up at the bar. Mary beats me to it. She is cold in the interaction, and it confirms my suspicions. Boredom hits me, and I can not face what is in my apartment, so I head to Hamilton’s.

I listen to Hawkwind’s Quark, Strangeness and Charm during my venture. I saddle up to the bar and order pliny the elder. The bar is mostly guys, so my brain amuses me while careful to avoid thoughts of the appointment. Last call. I am herded outside and bum cigarettes. Going with the flow, I wander into south park with two random guys. We stop at a corner.

“What do you want to do?” Mr. Red Shirt inserts

“I don’t know, but I think this guy is a faggot” Mr. Black Shirt replies pointing at me. I smirk and put in my earplugs. I stare at Black Shirt smiling, then saunter home blasting Decemberist’s Crane’s Wife. I wake at 10:13 am. The dog’s eyes twinkle when I grab the leash, but after a crap and whiz, the dog stops walking. I lift the thirty pounder on my shoulder and trek back home. I throw the dog on the futon and playfully slap his belly and muzzle. He giggles. I hit my bed until 1:00pm and logically decide the day is f*cked, and I pour myself a beam and ginger. I finish watching Mad men, then watch True Blood and Breaking Bad in my lazy boy. The dog sleeps at my feet. Flies swirl around his Mighty Dog breakfast. I finish the bottle of beam. It is 9 p.m. and I decide to hit the hay.

I wake up at 2 a.m. to the dog throwing his front legs on my bed. I carefully grab his two front paws and slide him to my torso gently placing his muzzle on the pillow next to mine. We promptly fall asleep until 8 a.m. We yawn and stretch lazily. I start pinching his left ear which leads to a playful bite. We get out of bed and do a very short walk around the block. The dog is puckered out before we make it back to the apartment. I carry him the rest of the way home. After a jog and a shower, I start sending out work emails. From 10 a.m. to 11 a.m., I look at the clock every two minutes, but avoid looking at the dog. At 11 a.m., I grab the dog and jump in the car. I enter the receptionist area and announce I have a 11:15 appointment with a lump in my throat.

“Would you like to keep his ashes?” the nurse asks.

My heart breaks.

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Comments
8

God, clutter. My heart broke reading this. Very, very effective.

Aug. 10, 2009

"Quark, Strangeness, and Charm" is a kick-a** song.

Aug. 10, 2009

Wow. I really loved the way you wrote this. It was very compelling. P.S. I'm sorry and I hope you are ok.

Aug. 10, 2009

I've read this story three times now. Tears still well in my eyes as I read it again. Very powerful and moving. You deserve first place!

Sept. 4, 2009

I'm sorry for your loss, clutter.

Sept. 4, 2009

That is great writing.

Feb. 3, 2010

man how many times have i had to do this..my sympathy

July 7, 2010

I'd spend a few drunken days, too. I'm betting that you are still in the bottle.

it does get better with time.

  • Joe
July 7, 2010

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