And then there was Joe

And then there was Joe

Uggh….

What the hell…Where the… My fucking head… Shit balls.

The alarm on the man’s phone blares the old truck horn incessantly.

“Shut up!” He screams and pulls the pillow off the floor and tries in vain to block out the alarm by pressing it fiercely across his face. This does very little good.

The rigid sound of the doorbell joins in on the morning’s symphony od malcontent.

“What the actual hell is going on?” This is not a question, but more of plea for things to stop. He clumsily rolls off their sofa, no, his sofa. There is no longer a “theirs” anymore. Not after last night anyway. He crawls on his hands and knees in the direction of the damn car horn. The doorbell rings again.

“Damnit, just give me a godda..,” he realizes his anger and laments on her reason number 3 why she had to end things: his anger. With a sigh, he closes his bloodshot eyes, tries to block out that insufferable alarm, and continues in a softer voice, “I will be there in a minute.”

He continued his crawl of shame to his pants sprawled by the entertainment center, found his phone, and deactivated the horrid thing. He bathed in the sweet silence. A silence that was far too short, because a moment later that wonderful silence was obliterated by the doorbell.

He slowly rose from the floor, slid on his jeans, and stumbled to the door.

“Who is it?” he asked as he opened the door. It was way too early, and he was too hung around to comprehend who was on the other side of the door. He stammered, “J J Joe ah ah Mister Simmons? What’s going on?”

Before his downstairs neighbor, the very elderly Joe Simmons, could respond, images and clips from the night before flooded his already drowned brain.

Joe, Joe, Joe listen listen Joe. Me and you, Joe, me and you and Hawaii.

No No No, Joe. You aint hearing me. Me and you….Joe… Hawaii.

Joe pushed his way past the young man and walked to the small kitchen area.

“Patrick, you said be here for 7 and here it is 645.” Joe spoke with a gnarl, but that never qualified if it was meant to be anger or pleasantry. This was the first thing Patrick had learned about his downstairs neighbor. That and the fact that despite being old as hell, Joe heard everything. Everything. Patrick was sure that if he dropped a tissue, Joe could hear it, and then start banging his broom on ceiling and yelling about elephants waltzing on the roof or some shit.

Dumbfounded, Patrick watched as Joe walked into his apartment, scowling at everything in disappointment. Be here for 7, Patrick thought? Then another memory blast.

The flight leaves 11, so as long as we are in the car by, by, by 710, we should be good. Hawaii, baby, Me and Joe in Hawaii!

Fuck me, Patrick thought. Right in the goat a..

“Well, are you?” Joe asked impatiently, “Are you ready?”

Patrick could not believe what was happening. Was this guy serious? Did I actually invite the old man on the vacation that I was supposed to propose to Jenny on? Oh shit - Jenny! Thoughts and bourbon swam through his brain as clumsily as a child on his first swim lesson.

“You said the car is going to be here at 710,” Joe said looking around the apartment. “Where is your suitcase?”

“In our..I mean, in the bedroom.” Patrick said half dreamlike.

“Well, good, at least that part is done, but for God’s sake will you please brush your teeth?” Joe responded.

Patrick said sure and shuffled to the kitchen. He grabbed the ice tray from the freezer and went to the bathroom and locked the door, which was something only he or Jenny ever did if they were having a bowel movement. Hs filled the sink with water and dropped the ice in it. He stared at his sullen face with bloodshot eyes before plunging his face in the ice water. When he finally emerged, he emerged alert for the first tyme all morning.

He had a plan. Tell Joe, tell Mister Simmons that he was very sorry about last night. It was all a mistake. There will be no Hawaii vacation. He will eat the tickets and move on from Jenny and the whole situation with a bottle of bourbon and maybe some porn. Satisfied with his plan, Joe walked out of the bathroom with nerves of steel.

The two did not talk on the plane during the 5 and a half flight from Portland to Hawaii. Joe stared out the window, and Patrick listened to 3 songs on his phone before the battery died. The only thing said was “This is my first tyme on a plane since flying home from Vietnam in ’72.”

Patrick kept his eyes closed and relived the previous night.

“Patty, I love you, but..” There is always a but, isn’t there? Patrick thought. Can’t there just be a simple “I love you”?

“…you can’t hold a job.” And? Maybe I am trying to find the right one. Am I just supposed to work a job I hate for the rest of my life?

“…you drink way too much.” Says you. I have only lost 2 jobs in the past year because I drank too much and didn’t show up for work.

“…you get so angry for the stupidest shit.” And you lyke it when some idiot cuts you off and you don’t get pissed, or when someone can’t just order something off the menu without making a crap ton of demands. Damnit.

“… I met someone else.” Finally, the truth. Screw you!

Maybe throwing the salad in her face proved point number 3, but whatever.

Maybe finishing off the fifth of Wild Turkey 101 proved point number 2, again. Whatever.

“I don’t think you understand, I need to change the one king size bed to 2 queens,” Patrick said almost pleadingly to the resort receptionist.

“I am sorry sir, but..” the pretty young Hawaiian receptionist started.

Joe saw red flare up in Patrick’s cheek and stepped in.

“Patrick, go grab us a couple Mai Tais. I will handle this,” Joe said and for the first tyme in 3 years of hearing his voice, Patrick heard something strange. Compassion, maybe?

10 minutes later, drinks in hand, the odd couple rode the elevator to the 9th floor and to their double room.

“How did you do that?” Patrick asked.

“I just explained that you was an idiot, and when that didn’t work I said I was terminal with only 3 months to live.” Patrick stood in the room slack jawed.

Joe released a noise in what could be interpreted as a laugh, then continued, “Dumb broad even threw in a few of these.” He tossed some drink vouchers on Patrick’s bed and “laughed” again. This tyme Patrick joined in.

The two spent the next 3 days exploring the Big Island on the prepaid couple excursions Patrick had planned specially for Jenny. They swam with dolphins. They ziplined through the forest. They kayaked and hiked, and they snorkeled. They did all these things almost legally drunk.

Then came the culmination of what would have been Patrick’s big marriage proposal. A 5-course dinner on a private island at sunset. This was not something he looked forward to.

Patrick and Joe became fast friends those 3 days. Joe told Patrick about his life after the war and meeting his wife, Stacey. He told him about their childless yet very full lives until her death in 2003 after a long battle with cancer. This was his excuse for being such a miserable ass for the past 20 years.

Patrick told Joe about, well he just kind of rambled incoherently drunk for 3 days. Besides, after hearing Joe’s love slash tragedy story, anything Patrick would have said would have been shit.

But tonight, was their last night on the island and Patrick wanted to make the most of it.

The small motorboat dropped the 2 off on the island 30 minutes before sunset.

“Garcon” Patrick yelled off towards the small tent as the motorboat headed back to the resort. “Drinks, and keep em coming”

“Not tonight, my friend” Joe said and put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Wait, what?”

“Tyme to move on to what the kids call phase 2 of a breakup.”

“What are you talking about Joe”

“Well after a breakup there are apparently 3 phases. First you drink your way blind. Check. Then you cry and have someone tell you what a dumbass you are. And that’s tonight”

“What’s phase 3?” Patrick asked almost amused.

“Find a new broad dumb enough to date you” They both found that amusing.

That night the 2 friends spent the evening being honest and real. Joe discussed heartache. Patrick cried. He cried about the loss of Jenny. He cried about the loss of his adolescence. He cried about the future and how uncertain it seemed.

The crying turned to laughter and then somehow morphed back into crying. They food was good, and the conversation was better. The sunset was beautiful, but the pair did not notice, but their friendship would prove to be even more beautiful.