All the Christmas decorations had been taken down from inside the bar, and it wasn’t nearly as warm and cozy as it had been on the night Carolyn and I had met. The music pouring from the jukebox was a little blurry. I missed the ambiance created by the strings of Christmas lights; the bar seemed brighter now even though the lighting itself appeared hazy. I continued to sway on the stool.
“Wow, I’m smoked,” I said to Carolyn as she ordered another round of drinks.
2
We went to several other bars after the Lamplighter, and some hours later, when we finally made it home, Gene was outside throwing trash into one of the garbage cans. I was absolutely shit-canned. My arm was draped over Carolyn’s shoulders and she was supporting most of my weight.
“Gene!” I yelled. “You cocksucker! How the hell did the date go?”
He smiled. “Christ, kid, you’re wrecked. What happened to you?”
“Been doin’ a little boozin’,” I said, feeling myself sway.
“I would never have guessed.”
“So, come on, man! How’d it go?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Halfway through dinner, she tells me she’s married. I stood up from the table and left, right then and there.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Jesus, did you at least let her blow you first?”
“Ugh,” Carolyn groaned. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s get you upstairs.”
3
I woke at ten the next morning. I felt surprisingly good. I lifted my head and squinted at Carolyn sitting Indian style at the foot of the bed watching the muted television. The screen was fuzzy, more static than picture.
“I think I dreamt of Gene,” I said.
She turned. “Yeah? What did you dream?”
“He told me he had a date but the girl was married so he got up in the middle of dinner and left.”
“That wasn’t a dream. He told us that when we got home last night.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
I dropped my head on the pillow. “Huh. I was even drunker than I thought.”
“I believe smoked was the word you kept using last night.”
I laughed. “I must have been then. I only use that word when I am.”
“You always use that word.”
“That’s because I’m always smoked.”
“You’re dumb,” she said, and turned back to the television.
4
There was something else about that day.
When I finally woke up for good, I went to a café to write for a few hours, and when I returned, Carolyn was feeling restless from being pent up in the apartment. It was midafternoon and we went for a long walk with no destination in mind. It was snowing. Despite being from Iowa, Carolyn had the least tolerance for cold weather of any person I’d ever known, and I was certain she wouldn’t last long without the refuge of a cozy place in which to warm up.