Burnt Orange

Writers get better with practice.

Sometimes it helps a writer to look back at older pieces to see how well he or she has improved.

Sometimes looking at older pieces just makes that writer cringe at their earlier work.

Below is a piece that I cranked out when I was about 19.

My influences at the time were mainly Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, Larry McMurtry, and Breece D'J Pancake.

Looking back, I see a lot of their influence in this piece.

I also see a lot of confusion on my part.

I also see that I’ve improved greatly as a writer. And at punctuation.

The following is as it was all those years ago.

Read at your own risk!

Burnt Orange

The Vodka Collins came to the table but not soon enough for me. The disorder and confusion in my life had gotten to eye level and was rising faster and faster over my head. I started to choke in the turmoil of not knowing and not caring anymore. The answer to all this was past the five-dollar cover charge and further along than the three seventy-five drink price. It lay at the bottom. Beyond the rim of the glass and past the ice cubes.

Miller was asphyxiating on the same thing. He just didn't know it. We had remained stagnate in the same town for twenty-one years. Bryan had one of the largest colleges in the Southwest. And while most people came to our town to find themselves, we had lost ourselves here years ago.

Or so we said as we drank our Fourth of July away in the eccentric surroundings of our least disliked club. It was between summer sessions and none of the students, aside from those who lived there on a regular basis, remained. The streets that night lacked any excitement and were void of any activity. It seemed at that moment that the only other people out, awake, were the ten- to thirteen-year-old juveniles who thought it their duty each year to shoot fireworks off within city limits to celebrate a holiday they didn't understand or care about.

Miller caught one of the little inbreeds earlier that night tying a bang cap onto the door of his mailbox. When he confronted him with the question of whether he wanted an ass kicking or not his reply was, in fact, that he did not.

We didn't, at least I didn't, give kids much thought. There were the usual questions from Grandparents about marriage and family. But I couldn't think about that when I had enough trouble dealing with myself.

The waitress returned, smiling, with our third round of drinks. She held a large wad of gum in the left side of her mouth which she smacked obnoxiously as she placed our drinks on the table.

"I know you!" She said excitedly, facing me. Miller's face gleamed with excitement. He had the same smile that his father did when we were thirteen and he'd ask if Miller could spend the night over at my house.

"No. I don't think so," I said as I lifted my glass upward.

"Yes I do," She insisted. "You used to go by your initials. They were J.C., G.C. or sumthang like that." She smacked her gum a little faster with a look of satisfaction on her face.

I was surprised. Maybe she did know me. But I really didn't care. It was Miller who kept egging her on. He wanted her to remember something about him, but she didn't even know him. He was at the point in his life where he didn't care if she started making things up. As long as she talked to him and that lead to her bed, he didn't care.

"Sit down. Sit down," he said patting the stool next to him. "Just relax and really think, uh, uh. I'm sorry what's your name."

Miller was sly, there was no doubt about that.

"Rechelle," she said. "I know! I know what is! I used to cut your hair. When you were twelve years old. I knew I knew you. I knew I did."

Miller's grin grew larger and larger. He knew me and she knew me. They had something in common. He could talk about me for hours with her. He could see her in the bed at the end of the road.

"You don't say," Miller said. He decided to go for broke. "Well, surely you can't be that old. I mean you look so young, not a day over twenty-five." Rechelle smiled, just chewing her gum a little faster than before.

I put my empty glass down on the table while trying to remember my hairdresser from the past. The pieces came together in a conglomerated mess.

"Didn't you get pregnant?" I ask.

"Yeah, with Bo. My first un. He's fourteen, just turned it. He and my other two, Rechelle Jr. and Angel, they live with their daddy now." Another waitress walked by. Rechelle waved her hands to get her attention. "Jean, bring us another Vodka Collins and a..." She looked over at Miller, chewing her gum.

"Uh, Lite. Another Lite," Miller added.

"What? Yeah. They live with their daddy now cause Bo had some friends over and they started a fire on the rug with hair spray and some matches." She looked over at Miller and opened her eyes real wide.

"Well Rechelle, how old are you now?" Miller asked looking down that road.

"I'm thirty," she said. Miller had a look of addition in his eyes as he subtracted Bo's age from hers.

"I'll see what's keeping ya'll's drinks," Rechelle said as she got up from the table. I sat thinking of my childhood and the correlation between being a hairdresser and being a cocktail waitress. Miller sat and watched her walk around the dance floor over to the bar. It was Jean though he came back across with our drinks. Miller looked down at the table knowing he would have to start all over again.

When the drinks came, he popped right up. I took mine from the waitresse's hand and ordered the next one to be a double.

"Sorry," I say consulting Miller.

"That's all right. She was a little old for me," he said with a smirk.

There was silence until the next round of drinks came and I handed the waitress my empty glass. Miller decided a "Piss was in order" for him so I held the table alone. I sat and watched what little crowd there came into the club, bustle about and then settle in their own little groups.

I slowly drank my double, waiting for the poison to work my system. Like turpentine strips away old paint, I let the vodka clean away my worries and insecurities. Hairdressers, this town, and delinquent kids with explosives didn't seem to bother me anymore. My only concern at this point was how long until the last call?

When Miller returned, he suggested we go up to the bar as we'd have a better view of what was going on. I didn't care so I followed him over. As I got up, there was a shift in my head, a sense of unbalance and I knew the euphoria had begun. We stood at the bar, leaning against it, looking across at our reflection in the mirror. My reflection became blocked by a rather large bartender.

"What can I get you boys?" He asked.

"I want a vodka shot, Absolut," I said. He pointed at Miller who gave his "not yet" nod. I anxiously watched him prepare the shot and then cringed as he slid it down the counter. Miller stopped it short and then handed it to me.

With each drink came a certain realization. A certain understanding. The answers weren't coming to me, just more questions and more confusion. My thoughts were interrupted by Miller patting my arm to get my attention.

“Hey, I want to pay the tab. Shelly wants to go get something to eat." He said. I wasn't aware he was talking to anyone, let alone anyone who's name he would know. I looked on the other side of him. Shelly smiled back.

I pulled out my wallet and handed Miller all the money I had. I suddenly felt weighted down with a feeling of insecurity. I felt alone.

"Ya'll just drop me off. I don't want to get in the way you and Shelly," I said.

"Quit being a dumb ass. We're only going to What-a-burger." He said trying to ease my uneasiness. "Do you want to ask Jenny if she wants to go?"

I was stunned momentarily but then I remembered what he was talking about. Jenny was a girl I dated five years ago. She was the first of my old girlfriends to get married and consequently she was also the first one to get divorced. Miller was referring to he and I seeing her at the grocery store that day.

We were buying beer, while I can't remember what she was buying. It was only the second time I had seen her since she moved back to town. I felt distant talking to her and I gathered she felt the same. I felt as though there was something I wanted to tell her but couldn't figure out what it was.

"Call her," he said. "She told you to call her. So call her." Miller had his arm around Shelly's waist and he pulled her to his side. Shelly looked as though she had nothing in common with Miller, but they hung onto each other like they did.

"I think you should too. Call her, here's a quarter," Shelly insisted, acting as if she knew what was going on.

I took the coin from her and started for the front, for the phone. Her phone number was written the receipt for our beer. I dialed her number all the while wondering why.

One ring. I found it a little hard to stand erect, so I leaned against the phone. Two rings.

"Hello?" Her voice was deep.

"Jenny," I said nervously.

"Hey! I didn't think you'd call. It's 12:45," she said. She sounded as if I just woke her up.

"Yeah, I know," I said looking downward at my watch. "I'm at the Yacht Club on University. Can you come get me?"

I felt regret with every word, asking myself if I sounded dumb. In the back of my head I hoped she would say no. I started wondering if I wanted to see her, anyone, or if I just wanted to try and forget everything. Just go to bed and try again tomorrow to figure everything out.

"I'm in my pajamas. Can't you come over here?" She said with a deep moaning sigh. I was generally confused about things but sounded pretty laid back about it whereas Jenny always sounded like she just didn't give a shit.

"I'll be there in a minute. Don't change," My voice went from being indecisive to being commanding. Sounding like I knew what I wanted, but I didn't.

Miller and Shelly waited for me at the bar. He looked like he did earlier when he was talking to my ex-hairdresser.

"Ya’ call her?" He asked, looking like he wanted to get rid of me.

"Yeah, can ya'll drop me off over at her place?" I asked.

"Sure, but I want to get one more drink. Ya want one?" He said looking at me. I nodded yes.

The streets were even deader than before. The traffic lights were turned off at around eleven so there were only yellow blinking lights down the street. I sat in the back seat of the car wondering what I was going to say when I saw Jenny. Her name tasted sweet but the thought of her was mixed with bitterness.

"Third one on the left? Right?" Questioned Miller. I pulled myself between the front seats to tell him “Yeah."

"Wow, I know somebody that lives in this complex," Exclaimed Shelly to Miller who only rolled his eyes in a mild sort of disgust.

I waved good-bye as I walked up to her apartment door. It was open and she stood behind it, only her head and shoulders were visible.

"Have fun?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, my hairdresser was there. Well not my current hairdresser." I said sarcastically.

The light from the next room highlighted her figure in the dark entrance way. She stood in men's boxers and a too large t-shirt, but she was beautiful. At that moment I didn't care about anything else, only her. The words to compliment her entered my head but were jumbled, in disorder.

Her skin was polished white, like the sun had never seen her. I ran my hand over the sides of her face, back towards her hair. It was thick and spiralled downward with hues of apricot and burnt orange.

As I ran my hands over her, she became the answer. She was the poison I wanted more of. The alcohol seemed senseless. She was real. She made sense. I wanted to run my hands over all of her, I wanted more of her.

When we kissed, I felt the shift in my head, the sense of unbalance. Everything else seemed trivial, nonexistent. She was the turpentine stripping away the confusion and insecurities. Like the drinks before her I wanted to consume more. I wanted to increase the feeling.

And like the alcohol within the drinks the feeling wore off. I awoke to see her sleeping close to me, her head on my chest. The illusion was gone; everything was exactly where it was before. The feelings of confusion and insecurity remained. My throat began to swell on the feelings of not knowing and not caring. I held her in my arms and tried to forget about everything.

I'd try to figure it out tomorrow.

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