Chapter 3: Glass Jaw

Twenty-seven minutes. That’s the amount of time that passes between me looking at my clock for the final time last night and my alarm rudely performing its job in making sure I get to work on time. Agatha is nowhere to be seen.

 

After going through the motions of my morning routine, I idle at the door for a few seconds. “Since you’re probably still here, somewhere, I’m sorry for yelling. If you’re okay with it, we can start over… again. Third time's the charm and all that.” My apartment remains dead quiet, aside from the little quirks I’ve learned to mostly tune out. If the events of last night hadn’t caused the severe exhaustion I’m feeling now, I’d almost think the whole thing was a dream.

 

***

 

“Hey, Milt! We got one more pallet to break before quitting! You need a break before we get this done?” My coworker Lawrence calls to me as he wheels in the last comically oversized collection of boxes and sacks I’ll have to deal with today.

 

“Nah, I’d rather get this over with so we can go home early.” Less time here means more time at home, far away from here. My logic is flawless.

“Heard!” Lawrence releases the jack and the wooden pallet slams onto the ground with an incredibly loud crash. That’s one advantage of working in a warehouse that deals almost exclusively in lawn care supplies. Most of what we’re hauling around are various forms of dirt and shit so there’s no need to be delicate with the lot of it. “Hey, Milt, some of the guys from the loading dock are going for drinks after work, you in?”

 

“Not today, maybe next time!” My coworker and I both say in perfect sync. The big guy with an even bigger beard laughs.

 

“Come on Milt, you’re getting predictable.” Why, just because I’ve responded the exact same way the last thirty-seven times I’ve been asked to hang out after work? That’s not predictable, that’s consistent. “You sure? There should be a few birds out tonight if you’re looking to pull! First round on me?”

 

Damn, he really is giving me the hard sell. And really, what am I hurrying home for? So I can spend an awkward night with a ghost I’m pretty sure is giving me the silent treatment? Besides, it’d sure fly in the face of what the hell Agatha was saying yesterday. Can’t call me a loner if I actually go out and make friends! “You know what? That actually sounds kind of nice. Sure, I’ll go.”

 

“Ahhhh, there he is! Bout damn time. If I’d known you were a cheap bastard, I’d have offered to buy you a drink ages ago!” Lawrence playfully slams his enormous hand on my back, possibly shattering a small portion of my spine. “Well then, let’s hurry this up. Now I can’t wait to get going!” With no further ado, the behemoth I call a coworker runs his knife over the film keeping the pallet together.

 

***

 

As soon as the work is done, Lawrence and I clock out and hop into his car. “Those bastards on the dock always get out first, so hopefully they’re not already sloppy by the time we get there.” 

 

We pull into the lot of a well-known pool hall and Lawrence cuts the engine before turning to me. “So, ground rules since I know you don’t get out much. You’re obligated to at least try to have a good time. If at any point you just can’t take it anymore, I’ll drive you home. Now, this might be a dumb question, but have you ever drank before?” Obviously, I nod. Come on man, I’m almost thirty here. “I mean more than a glass of wine here or a single cocktail at dinner.” Alright, ouch, my answer and head movement shift to the negative. “Alright, three drink maximum for you then, a buzz is fun, throwing up in my car is not. I’ll be our designated driver, so don’t you worry about that. Now it is customary to offer the driver a free appetizer, but seeing as how I’m already buying YOU a drink, I think we can skip that for today. Anything else… right! If the game is on, regardless of your interest, you’re rooting for Liverpool. You keeping up with all this?”

 

Just in case he can’t tell from my obvious deer-in-the-headlights expression, I shrug. “Kind of?”

 

“Good!” With one more bone-shattering pat on the back, Lawrence hops out of the car.

 

I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake agreeing to be here. Upon entering the bar, my misgiving only grow. The place is nearly empty save for a few incredibly vocal individuals crowded around the television. Lawrence B-Lines it to a table with a couple of recognizable faces and I slowly follow suit, trying to take in the whole of this dimly lit, musty cathedral to everything I’ve avoided my entire life: booze, camaraderie, sports, and folk music being played too loudly from the speakers above. While still weaving through the many unoccupied pool tables and ducking under the gaudy orange chandeliers, I nearly jump out of my skin as the crowd at the tv roars with excitement. Guess someone did a goal or something.

 

Finally reaching the table, Oddie, one of our drivers, pounds the seat next to him. “Goddamn, you took so long to get here I thought you got lost on the way.” Sitting in my now designated chair, Oddie grabs the back of my neck and shakes me like a magic eight-ball. Outlook is bleak. “I still can’t believe you got the hermit to come out with us! When Larry here said you were on board I nearly shat myself. Bout damn time!”

 

“Don’t snap the kid’s neck Odd, we finally got him to show up. Best not send him to the hospital his first time here!” spouts Herschel, another guy from the dock. At least there are only four people here from work (including me) much more than this and I’d probably sneak out back and try my luck hiking back to my apartment. “Anyway, Milton, how do you like our little slice of paradise?”

 

In school, we learn that honesty is always the best policy… yeah, what a load of BS. “It’s real nice.” Oddie apparently likes my fib as he starts shaking me again like it’s some kind of reward and not a way to rattle around my pea brain in its oversized cage. 

 

“Carl!” Lawrence yells at the man behind the bar. “My friend here wants the club special, shaken not stirred, three olives, extra dirty, rocks, with a salt n lime rim.” The fuck kinda drink just got ordered for me?

 

“Tall draft, on the way.” Oh, cool. 

 

The bartender brings out a round of mugs for everyone except for Lawrence, who gets a sprite. “To the loner finally getting pried out of his shell! It took a while, so let’s make the most of it.” Herschel yells, voice echoing in the less-than-crowded room. “Cheers.”

 

***

 

Three drinks in and yeah, I can honestly say I’m feeling pretty good. After going to the restroom, I slowly sway my way back to the table where two of my three new friends are having a laugh at something.

 

“Milt, sit down and look at what walked in while you were taking a piss.” Doing as I’m told, I flop into my seat and look in the direction Oddie is pointing. Across the room from us, a table of women are watching the television with some drinks. I look at Oddie, confused at what the two found so funny and he points to one of the women specifically. “Oh, come on, how thick are your beer goggles that you can’t spot the freak?”

 

And just like that, I sober up completely. One of the women, just sitting there and minding her own business, is recognizably trans. “Looks like he finally put two and two together,” laughs Herschel as he takes another swig. “Yeah, there’s not enough booze in the world to make me jump on that grenade. Right, Milt?”

 

I officially don’t want to be here anymore. Not wanting to rock the boat, I kind of half-heartedly chuckle without giving any real response. Oddie and Herschel seem satisfied with this and start chortling again while Lawrence just gives me a weird look. “So, Milt, what d'ya make of the game?” Oddie asks through slurred words, obviously sloshed.

 

Thankful for the change of topic, I try to remember what Lawrence told me about team allegiance, but my head is still blank from a few seconds ago. “Well, they appear to be playing footy.”

 

Oddie snorts and wobbles on his chair. “Holy shit, you were right, Larry. This one’s fucking hilarious.” Lawrence just grunts in response, still looking at me strangely.

 

A fourth-round arrives, courtesy of Herschel, and I start to nurse the fresh mug, desperately hoping that the night naturally ends soon. “Ugh, one of the girls there is fit. I wouldn’t mind making a pass at her if it wasn’t for the bloke with them. Don’t wanna go catching tranny from him.” And that’s why hope’s a bitch: all it ever does is let you down. Herschel has reached the point of inebriation where volume control no longer exists and I see a couple people from the other table turn to us, including the woman being discussed.

 

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Reaching for whatever confrontational bone I have left in my body after a lifetime of being a go-with-the-flow kinda person, I snap back in an entirely too polite manner. “Hey, maybe keep it down a bit. I’m pretty sure the ladies there can hear you.” Both Herschel and Oddie laugh at my request, which honestly pisses me off. “I mean it. Just leave her alone. Are you both trying to be assholes?”

 

The laughter stops. “Hey, twat, we’re just having fun here. Don’t get all bent out of shape over a couple of jokes.” Oddie growls, still slurring, still holding the back of my neck. “Now come on, have a sense of humor and stop being a dick.”

 

Standing up, Lawrence throws some bills on the table and in a gruff voice tells me, “Come on lad, time to go.” I toss a few notes on the table as well while standing to match my coworker as he starts walking.

 

“What’s this then!? Way to ruin a perfectly good night Larry, you damn poof.” Oddie calls out to the man who’s already halfway to the door. Yeah, I ain’t staying here a moment more either. I take three steps away from the table and hear. “And what the hell’s your problem? Fancy the freak? Didn’t take you for a faggot!”

 

My feet stop moving. The woman across the room is visibly upset. I’m fucking livid. Hershel is laughing it up like one of the Lion King hyenas backing up Scar. Three and a half drinks are floating around my head and veins. I’m not sure which of these factors most prominently explains what I do next, but it’s nice to take stock of a situation once in a while. I turn around and Oddie stands up to face me. He says something, but at this point, I’m pretty much seeing red and don’t give a fuck what’s coming out of his mouth anymore. I take the two sweeping steps back towards him, wind up my arm, swing it wildly for his face, and…

 

…

 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT I THINK I BROKE MY HAND! It feels like I punched goddamn concrete. What the hell is his face made out of? Speaking of his face, there is quite a bit of blood coming from his nose and he doesn’t really look happy. What’s he doing with his hand?

 

***

 

My head… my hand… my head and my hand. A sad desperate sound dribbles out of my mouth as pain interrupts what I’m guessing was a much-needed nap. Wait, why is the world moving? Cracking open my eyes, I see that I’m in a car. This is strange because I do not own a car. Where the hell am I and what the fuck happened?

 

“Oh, shit, up already, Milt?” A deep voice asks from right next to me. I summon all of my remaining strength to roll my head to the side to see Lawrence driving. “Yeah, you might want to take it easy there Rocky.” Rocky? Nobody’s ever called me that. Why would he call me that? “Here I thought you were a quiet little guy and you go and get into a full-on, if not incredibly short bar fight your first time out.”

 

Bar fight? Alright, I’m dreaming. Simple as that. There’s no way, shape, or circumstance where I’d ever get into a –

 

“I punched Oddie!” I blurt out, the entirety of tonight rushing back into my memory. Lawrence just laughs off to the side. “What happened? Am I in trouble? I didn’t kill him, right?”

 

“Kill him? Hah! You broke his nose, and he laid you out. You’re a bit too much of a glass jaw to be confidently swinging at people like that.” Oh, so that’s why my memory ends there. That makes a depressing amount of sense. “Still, didn’t think you had it in you. I’d have done it myself if I’d been at all buzzed.”

 

Not knowing what to say anymore, I use my good hand to prod my face and discover where exactly the pain is stemming from. Everywhere, as it turns out. Everywhere on my face is a minefield of pain and agony.

 

Dropping the humor, Lawrence stops the car and looks down at me. “So… yeah… sorry that your first time coming out went this badly. I understand if you don’t want to join us again.”

 

“Well, you’re right, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I spend time with those two again.” Lawrence looks a bit crestfallen but nods with understanding. “But, I mean, if it’s just you, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink sometime. Assuming you’re not gonna make jokes like those two.”

“Ha! I’d like that. Forget those two arseholes. They root for Manchester anyway. Who needs em?” I laugh like I understand the reference, even though all I know about football is that I’m supposed to root for Liverpool… whoever that guy is.

 

***

 

It is dark and late by the time I shuffle through my door. Bed, my salvation, it has been far too long. Dropping my keys and wallet on the counter, I trudge the unbearable distance to my plush paradise, only pausing my procession at the sight of a poltergeist. “Agatha. Right. Sorry. I know we need to talk, and I’m sorry about yelling, but I really need to sleep this off.”

 

Without a single word, the spirit rushes towards me and wraps her pleasantly cold arms around me. “I saw what happened tonight. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Oh come on, don’t go overreacting. It’s just a punch in the face. If my father’s to be believed, this kind of thing builds character.” Which probably explains how much of a character he is, pop always did have a punchable face.

 

I feel Agatha’s head shaking on my shoulder. “Not that. I’m sorry about what they said.” Not this again. “I know you said it never happened, but it did, and even if you don’t feel that way anymore… I’m glad you’re not like those other two.”

 

The ghost gently lowers me onto the edge of my bed to sit down. “Yeah, not a chance of that.” Agatha sits down next to me, looking at the floor. “What’s up with you, anyway? You seem to care an awful lot about my opinions on the matter.”

 

The woman in white is quiet for a few seconds and still as a statue. She takes in and lets out a deep breath before looking up from the floor and into my eyes. “Well, I kind of have to care. I’d hate to think I was tethered to someone who would have hated me when I was alive.”

 

Hated her? Why would I –

 

“Wait, you –” Agatha nods. “So when I… you knew exactly –” Her nodding becomes faster and more pronounced. “Wow. I had no idea.”

 

She smiles at me, the faintest hint of tears on the horizon visible in the corners of her eyes. “Well, now you do. Which is why I thought you still might be. I thought it’d make sense that I was stuck with you if I was supposed to help you with what I never got to finish.”

I’d experimented a bit before, even come close to actually making some appointments… but I always just looked wrong. Just felt wrong. It was isolating, and painful, and the entire time I was trying to figure out why I just couldn’t get it out of my head I just wanted to scream. So I pushed it down, locked up everything I had bought, and tried to forget all about it. But maybe… if for once life could be like the stories you read online or the movies… maybe. If I had someone who not only wouldn't judge me but actually understood... maybe. If there really is some plan behind the weird shit that happens in life, and warped and wicked coincidences aren't masquerading as some kind of fate... maybe. Maybe I could actually...

 

“I… don’t know,” I respond, in as non-committal a fashion as possible. “Maybe we can talk about this more. Tomorrow. If that would be okay?”

 

Agatha beams at me and throws her arms around my shoulders again. “Of course, whenever you’re ready.”

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