The snow had lingered time enough to accrue all all manner of impurities. The passing of the days allowed layers of snow to dance towards the earth and initially dust, then blanket the town and loose the purity of the silence with which it had fallen. The impurities crushed and solidified by the feet, tyres and ploughs of a town determined by the importance of all menial and meaningful activities and engagements.
The workers in the hospital car park hurled grit with shovels in defiance of the cold and in anticipation of the rising sun. The perpetual struggle of keeping the hospital accessible, in spite of the unheard onslaught of the snow, was appreciated and exhausting.
A trail of that blood weaved along the footpath told of a struggle to walk on the glassy pavement. It rounded a corner and meandered towards the entrance of the Accident and Emergency department. Once at the door, the succession of droplets morphed into a narrow path of freshly mopped linoleum, announced by the customary “Wet Floor” sign.
In the waiting room Alex sat in a stained coat and hat, emanating an acrid combination of smoke and alcohol. He sat in contrast to the glittering Christmas decorations festooning the wall. With his eyes cast to the floor and the rag pressed against the gash in his cheek he slumped torpidly into his melancholy. He needed to get the wound seen to but a combination of guilt and shame thrust a fear into the prospect of seeing anyone.
Alex felt the accumulation of alcohol penetrating every cell in his body. His stomach gurgling and the blood in his veins burning from the whisky. He felt the weight of his body more acutely and moved as if he had suddenly gained several kilos. His mind blundered through his thoughts with a comforting arrogance. How had his friends changed and settled down? What happened to them for them to become so uptight and submissive to the whims of the women in their lives? Just because they decided to settle for the clichéd route through life did not mean that he had to behave as they now did!
Alex was the type of person who used to inspire strangers to approach whichever group his was part of to point out what a character their mate must be. A character he was, but a character not unchanging and permanent. Life affected him daily, and he was a not the same person on waking up as he was when he went to bed. The rigours of clutching at a life blurring by pickled his character in a stew of drugs and alcohol. As the weeks and months passed Alex became more dishevelled, unreliable and objectionable. Most of his friends began to break contact with him fertilizing the self pity and bitterness that had long since taken root and grown into a repugnant bloom, slowly covering his respectable façade. The two or three people that did still speak to him did out of a mistaken belief that if they fought hard enough, screamed loud enough, they could prevent the coming tide from drowning him in a cocktail of alcohol and self destruction.
Alex was not constantly drunk, but when he was drunk he committed to debauchery with all the ferver of a religious fanatic. He would consider the best drink to start the night with, usually a cask ale, pale ale or something light was favourable. Once he begun to feel his stomach bloat it would have to be spirits and mixer. When it came to spirits he was not the most discerning, it was the mixer he cared more about. If he was drinking rum or whisky it had to be ginger beer and not ginger ale. He was particular about this to the point of rudeness when ordering at whichever bar he was not yet banned from. As the night stumbled on he would forgo the mixer all together and usually be slouched at someone's house swigging cheap home brand spirits till he upset the host and was kicked out...or drank himself unconscious.
Picking the best drink to suppress the grogginess on a morning was cause for much deliberation. The decision made more difficult by the gathering storm clouds of the impending hangover within his head. There were variables to be considered. If he knew he was not going to feel like moving and making effort for the day he would get Guinness. It was smooth, soothing and heavy and would indulge his desire to exert himself as little as possible. If he was not feeling too sick or acidic in his stomach he would go for White Russians. If he felt like affecting delusions of healthy drinking he would go all out and make Bloody Mary's. These were the three that were most common but by no means the only thing he ever drank on a morning.
When not engaged of some depraved debauch, the Alex that everyone knew of old was still there. He would surprise the few of his friends that were still taking to him with some unexpected gesture. A cake he had made, or some eccentric twist on a countryside jaunt. Not content with a simple walk he would have looked up some abandoned railway tunnel and acquired costumes so they could take some surreal photographs. But with his clear issues with alcohol these moments felt more like glimpses into the past, an unattainable memory experienced in a cruel and vivid dream.
The first person he noticed a more judgmental attitude directed at him was from Pete. Initially it was the occasional roll of the eyes, but before long it was garnished with a reprimand or sly insult. Alex had never noticed the growing resentment Pete was harbouring. He simply assumed Pete was as drunk or high as he was, and it was the inebriation conspiring to provoke Pete's temper. Alex was totally oblivious to the antipathy until a family hosted barbecue for Pete's engagement.
It was a party, and Alex was never one to need an excuse to plunge into bacchanalia. Alex was well liked for he jovial disregard of decorum. Or at least he was when surrounded by his familiar cohorts. However, ranting away on the futility of marriage, divorce statistics, and the debilitating effect a wife has on ones freedom and personality was not received as he assumed it would be. Certainly the presence of Aunties, Uncles, and even some of younger cousins failed to endear him to the party. The slurred speech, hints of venom, and his diatribe becoming more voluminous, while everyone in attendance fell slowly silent, failed to paint him as the lovable rogue. It all mixed in a cauldron of disgust, embarrassment and anger that boiled over and scalded the atmosphere of the celebration.
Only sensing the slightest perturbations in the mood of the gathering, Alex sauntered across to the table where all the drinks sat. His nonchalance abruptly vanished as he tripped and smashed into the table. The flimsy table collapsed in protest against his graceless mass. The Champagne sparkled in sun as a result of the broken glass glittering the puddle. A few minor cuts were not enough to invite sympathy with Alex's argument that it was not he, but the pole protruding from the lawn that was to blame for his “minor” mishap. The pole would normally house the washing line, but not being plush with the lawn caught him unaware, and threw him off balance.
Fueled by embarrassment, Pete was the most vociferous in his righteous anger. While his parents were more diplomatic, Pete, constantly growling, dragged Alex out of the garden, down the street and shoved him into the nearest bus stop.
“You pathetic drunk! You made me look like an idiot! And that makes you worse. I just know you. You have to live daily being you. Sort your shit out!” spat Pete. The last words he had said to Alex since that afternoon.
Alex conceded to himself that he may have gotten a bit too drunk, but that was certainly not to blame for him falling into the table. His friends would have been inclined to agree had they not witnessed the preceding rant. They didn't like to hold it against him too much as he was still a fun person to party with. But events similar in nature and always with the same result slowly alienated more and more of his friends.
Now, sat in a hospital waiting room, aching with tense frustration Alex ran over the evenings events in his head. He relived the whole thing, repeated the conversations with himself, played all the parts, desperate to prove that he was not in the wrong.
Alex spent the first few hours of the evening drinking brandy infused mulled wine with Tom. Tom was someone who was not quite a friend. It was an association cemented with a mutual predilection for excess that allowed them to act as enablers for each other. Interests, world views and background were not shared but they were able to find enough to talk about to avoid any awkwardness before they were drunk, by which time it no longer mattered. Once the festive tipple had the desired effect, the decision was made to venture out into the winter night to find a more lively place to continue drinking.
Under foot, the ice and snow crunched in the crisp air. Despite buzzing and glowing, the two florid-faced revelers remained silent for most of the walk. Tom and Alex channeled energies on avoiding some comical slip and tumble that had befallen so many people since the snow and ice had draped the town in a seasonal inconvenience.
They stopped in a pub that occupied a basement in the centre of the town. Grimy, and thick almost to a point of viscosity with the stench of stale beer and sweat, the pub's unpretentious ambience comforted Alex. He tended to have a natural aversion to anything and anywhere even vaguely upmarket, and such people and places usually reciprocated this attitude. The fact that this particular pub had been the first place he was able to get served while under age meant that ten years worth of drinking had lead him to feel very at home, as if the other patrons were guests in his filthy living room.
Having ordered a couple of cheap, sugary rum and gingers, Alex and Tom situated themselves in a small alcove not too far from the jukebox and began to drink. Progressively they moved from speaking to jovially yelling at each other. Tucked away and consumed with drinking Alex, did not immediately notice the arrival of an old friend, Rich and his fiancé, and they too had a few drinks ignorant of his presence.
Rich and Alex were old school friends. Rich had moved away a year or so earlier with his now fiancé Olivia. Rich felt that small town life was a bubble that incarcerated you in a routine, gossip and stagnation. He was offered a job in the nearest city and jumped and the chance to liberate himself and Olivia from the struggle of enduring the tedium. He was back to visit friends occasionally but favored them coming to see him, which they did regularly. Alex was the exception. He would be too drunk, or have some excuse as to why he could not make it over this time or that time. It was because of this Rich had not seen Alex for long enough to not seen him at his worst and most unbearably drunk. He had been told about it by various people but could not imagine such a caring, gentle soul acting in such a way and put it down to hyperbole for the sake of a better anecdote.
After some time Alex noticed Rich and Olivia, and with his well practiced ability to obscure just how drunk he was strolled over to greet his friends. Their warm beer buzz was mirrored in how they greeted Alex. Hugs and sincere assurances at how good it was to finally be able to catch up lead to conversation flowing like the drinks that Alex sank at twice the rate of Rich.
Alex had totally disregarded the fact that he had come to the pub with Tom and no doubt Tom would soon find someone else to spend the evening with. Such was the nature of their relationship.
Alex had managed to maintain a rarely achieved level of decorum as the old friends sat delighting in the effortless badinage. Rich's enjoyment plunged unexpectedly as he saw Pete heading down the stairs into the pub. He saw Alex roll his eyes in petulantly, oblivious of the potential souring of the night.
“I'll just go and say hi.” Rich said, patting Alex on the shoulder as he set off across the floor to speak with Pete.
Left alone with Olivia, Alex sat expecting to have to force conversation and resolved to ease the prospect in the only way he could think of – buying another round. The ease with which the conversation continued stretched his credulity. Olivia's kind brown eyes radiated an acceptance which immediately disarmed him. Alex was aware that he was heavily inebriated but felt that he was managing to balance a witty, vulgar charm with the risk of over stepping the line of social conventions.
Rich had settled at a table, saying much more than just “Hi” to Pete. Olivia and Alex were getting on like life long friends who had wild adventures to regale each other with when Alex realized that he had gone without a cigarette for longer that he usually would and quickly rolled one.
“Just going out for a quick cig. Wont be long” he told her as he reached for his coat.
“Could you roll me one?” Replied Olivia, her tone implying more of an instruction than a request and using her wide, flirtatious eyes to say please.
Once outside the winter night bit into Olivia. Her upper body went rigid and she lightly bounced from one foot to the other, grateful for pub's proprietor insisting on the outdoor smoking area being shoveled clear and salted. As she finished her cigarette she nestled up to Alex and he embraced her with one arm, firmly rubbing her upper arm. Olivia pressed her head into Alex's chest either ignoring or, miraculously, unaware of the matured stench that clung to his coat.
Alex finished his cigarette with a deep toke. He slowly exhaled with measured control and extended his arm and flicked the still glowing butt as far as he could. He directed his eyes towards Olivia and was about ask if she was ready to go back inside when, without warning she raised herself onto her tip toes and began passionately kissing him. Alex's initial instinct was to kiss her back, enjoying the first embrace of a woman for a long time. Better judgement was on the cusp of overruling his actions when Rich began spitting vitriolic rage at Alex.
“You fucking back stabbing drunk! I have just spent an hour defending you to Pete while you try and fuck my fiancé!”
“She kissed me! Come on, calm down and lets talk about this!”
“Fuck the both of you!”
Rich turned to go back into the pub to get his coat and Alex quickly pursued him, failing to reason with him. Rich had reached the bottom of the stairs while Alex staggered at the top, the dose of fresh air having made him feel noticeably suddenly more drunk.
“At least you now know you are too good for her, I have done you a favor by showing what a cheap slut she is! And she. Kissed. Meee......” Alex pleaded, slipping on the wet stairs. He frantically reached for the banister but just brushed it with the side of his hand, shifting his balance is such a way that he fell diagonally down the stairs. His vision flashed white as the side of his face bounced off the corner of the step, leaving him oblivious to which way was up, until he finished rolling down the rest of the stairs.
To most, this bloodied, disheveled drunk, heaped like a pile of dirty washing would have invited pity from casual passers by, but the vicissitude imparted on Rich by his encounter with Alex only bread visceral fury.
“Keep drinking Alex. You don't deserve anything more than self destruction!” He said, rasping through gritted teeth.
Rich spat on Alex's face and thundered away up the stairs. The bouncers asked Alex if he was ok and suggested they call an ambulance. Alex shoved them away and took his shame and wounded face and walked up the stairs and towards the hospital, sipping Scotch from his hip flask on the way.
A surge of emotion swelled within Alex like a balloon filling with water. He fought against the pressure as he heard his name called by the on duty doctor. Clenching his jaw and breathing deep, controlled breathes.
“So what happened here then?” Inquired the doctor.
Alex licked his lips, inhaled ready to recite a selective version of events but was consumed by a burst of emotion convulsing through his whole body, tears stinging the raw wound in his cheek.
“I need help.”
