I walk into my loft after a long day at work. I immediately go to the kitchen and grab myself a beer. I walk over to my music system and hit play. I sit down on my couch and try letting the smooth jazz of Duke Ellington protect me from the stresses of life. I hear hard droplets of rain crashing against the glass windows. The transfusion of rain and jazz manages to calm me for a brief moment. As I put the bottle to my lips to drown my the remainder of my worries, I hear the violent impact of a fist on my door.
I sigh and put my hands on my knees. I take my time getting up and going to the door. Before I even opened the door, I knew the source of the knocking, from the frenzied rhythm of the knocks. I slowly and reluctantly open the door. Charlie, with a brown paper bag in his right hand, stands there behind the door. His eyes are bloodshot, but whether from tears or the alcohol in his hands, I can’t tell. He’s wearing a bold white suit, which was only worn for special occasions. The suit is wet from the rain and has creases at the seams. The fist not occupied with the healing, clenches roses which stain his hand blood red. Charlie is clean shaven and is sporting a fresh haircut.
He croaks, “It’s done.”
I pull him into the loft and ask, “What?”
“She broke up with me,” Charlie says as he staggers towards my sofa set. He laughs maniacally, “Her ‘principles’, she says. As if that was it. She just used some tiny indiscretion to end it. We all knew she couldn’t love someone broken like me. Who can blame her right? I go to her apartment with flowers, a confession, and an apology, and all she gives in return is her cold damned principles.”
Unsure of how to react I ask, “Oh. I’m so sorry Charlie. Are you okay? I know you really liked her.”
He laughs again, “What’s love? I didn’t love her. I fooled myself but inside I knew I didn’t. She was nothing but a one night stand which extended past the night. Who needs her right? I still have you and I still have my art. I still have my art–”
He spoke as if trying to reassure himself. He spoke his slurred words, pretending what he spoke was the truth. I just look at him and wait. I watch as he mutters to himself then finally he looks at the newspaper which sits on the counter. The article reads about Charlie and his new arm piece, referring to Elaine. I read the article beforehand, it was filled with conclusions on how Charlie’s new pieces were all pieces of his heart that she had managed to break off. I realize now how wrong that was. It wasn’t the pieces it was the whole.
He looks at me with his red eyes and droopy wet hair. He looks like a puppy kicked too many times. He asks, “What do I do?”
These words break him down. He feels weak and not in control. He feels he is at the mercy of a girl who is frugal with her love and in excess with her principles. He drops the brown bag and the glass within shatters to thousands of tiny pieces. The sound makes him jump but also serves as a sobering agent. I watch as he falls to his knees and attempts to pick up the pieces. As he attempts to grab one of the pieces, it cuts him. Charlie’s hand begins profusely bleeding. He begins using his suit to clot the blood, staining the pure exterior of the suit.
“Shit Charlie, why would you try to pick it up,” I say as I run to get tissues. The broken glass and the scene itself shakes me. I struggle to pull napkins from the drawer, dropping them constantly. Finally I manage to grab a handful. I ask him from the kitchen, “Are you okay? Come and wash it out.”
Charlie just sits in his destruction. He just looks blankly at the glass around him. He puts his hands out and stares at the blood on his hands. He then looks down and inspects the blood on his suit. The blood pops against the pure white suit. He looks from the suit to me. He begins sobbing loudly and yelling in agony. The pain is not from the glass which cut his hand.
I go to him and take him into my arms. He’s like a child in my arms, crying into my shoulder. He shakes in my embrace; his shoulders are uncontrollable.
In my shoulder, he mutters, “Her principles. Her goddamn principles. She says because she’s been cheated and won’t be made a fool. She acts as if I’m the constant jester, playing games with her heart for the entertainment of New York. She says she will not be made a fool. She was talking about how I couldn’t commit to her and I wasn’t ready for the responsibility in being in her life.”
I pat him on his back holding him, wishing I could absolve the pain from his heart. I notice The scene reminds me of a father and his child in warm embrace after the child had fallen off his bicycle or fell playing basketball. Charlie had fell too many times and I don’t remember the last time he held. I look through my windows and the towering buildings seem to stare back at the scene transpiring. It’s as if New York had come to watch the fall. It’s as if New York thought this was a pay-per-view fight with life knocking Charlie to the ground.
I speak into his ear, “If she’s your moon, you chase her. You chase her across the stars and past the galaxies. Give everything to touch the moon again. Everything.”
I clean Charlie up and with the help of some white pills he passes out. I look at my watch. It only reads twelve o’seven. I needed a harder drink. Charlie’s snores would last till the morning. I grab my coat and head out. I let my driver go for the night, so I walk to the nearest bar. I walk in and slowly saunter over to the bar.
“Johnny Walker. Straight.”
I look around the bar. The crowd consists of men in loosened ties and rolled up sleeves. Something black catches my eye. It takes me a minute but I recognize what the black.
I pick up my drink and pour it all down my throat. I get up and walk over.
“What the fuck is this?”
Elaine looks surprised to see me. Her company looks more surprised.
Elaine stammers, “Ben, uh, didn’t expect to see you here”
“Who the fuck is this”
“He’s just a friend”
I laugh, “It’s been like a few hours what the fuck are you doing?”
Her company gets out of his seat and puts his hand on my shoulder. I look at it. He looks like a prick. Gelled up hair. Tailored black suit. A strong cologne. He says, “Calm down bro.”
“Fuck you bro. What’re you doing here with another man’s girlfriend?”
Elaine quietly speaks, “We broke up Ben. You know that.”
I feel my fists ball up. I feel rage reach my head. The asshole’s hand still falls on my shoulder and it feels like a heavy brick. Elaine gets up and touches my arm, “C’mon Ben. Go home and get some rest. We can talk about this later.”
I sigh. I breathe out. I don’t say anything. I just turn around and begin to walk away. My anger begins to subdue. I take one last look at the table. I see the prick run his hand through his hair and glance at his watch as he speaks to Elaine.
I turn back.
“Ben did you forget something?”
I grab the beer bottle he was drinking and swing. The glass bottle shatters. Elaine begins yelling. Patrons begin rushing over. I am on top of him. I just feel arms around me pulling me back. I see red on my hands. I feel good. I feel in control.
The Artist 