BooksBarbecue
Back At Dawn
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
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  39. Copyright

I drank a third beer, which left me with three dollars. I thought of ordering a fourth, but the bartender had been nice and looked as though she’d have more use for the tip than I would the beer, so I left the money on the bar and walked home. The apartment was empty. I called Carolyn and it went straight to voicemail, which meant her phone was off. I left a message, then kicked off my shoes and walked to the desk. On the way there, I stepped on a piece of glass and cut the shit out of the bottom of my foot. I hopped around while hollering like some deranged Indian doing a rain dance, and then sat on the bed and pulled off my sock. The shard was half an inch thick and still lodged in my foot. I pulled it free. Karma’s a bitch, I thought.

My foot was bleeding pretty badly. I walked to the bathroom, leaving behind a trail of blood. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet even though I knew I wouldn’t find any gauze or Band-Aids. Instead I lined the bottom of a sock with toilet paper and pulled the sock over my foot. The blood seeped through but the paper and sock sopped up enough so that it didn’t drip. Then I hopped around picking up the glass. Satisfied, I poured another whiskey over ice. I stacked all the pillows at the bottom of the bed and lay down, propping my foot on the pillows to keep it elevated. A little while later Carolyn came home.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I stepped on a piece of glass.”

She laughed spitefully. “Serves you right.”

“Piss off.”

She went to the fridge and made herself a drink.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Great. I love you, too, babe.”

“Stratton, you shattered a glass against the wall. Then you left without telling me where you were going. Do you know how upset you’d be if I did that?”

“I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Bullshit,” she said, scanning the floor. “Did you clean it all up?”

“I tried to.”

“Look at all this blood.”

“I cut the hell out of my foot, okay? What do you expect?”

“You to wipe it up, for beginners.”

“Well, excuse me if I was more fucking concerned with stopping the bleeding first.”

She sighed. “Great, more profanity.”

“Fuck you.”