I Don’t Have to Stay Here.
It was on one of those relatively normal drinking days when I wandered off on my own. Since he had a job and was working to keep the beer constantly flowing, Larry had left me at the bar and gone to bed.
Sitting there in the dark, singing along to the jukebox in my head, ignoring the handful of old men laughing at their table, I realized: I don’t have to stay here. Barry’s Bar was closing soon, Larry was gone, and I could do whatever I wanted.
So I used the restroom, finished my beer, put on my leather jacket and walked outside.
I wandered up the street, staring at its emptiness, absorbing the quiet. I listened to my boots clomp like horse’s hooves on the ground. I noticed the lights of the gas station – the only brightness I could see – and guessed that the person inside might be the only other person in the world who was awake but not at Barry’s Bar.
I walked up into the neighborhoods of Pitcairn, staring at the dark houses, wondering who lived there, wondering when they were getting up, wondering what reason they had for going to bed so early. I imagined living in Pitcairn forever, decided I’d rather be a gypsy. I walked and walked – and eventually decided to go “home” to the Pitcairn Hotel.
I walked and walked and eventually got back. I tried to go in the hotel’s front door but it was closed – and locked. Until that moment, I didn’t even know the hotel had a front door. We always just strolled up the front steps and into the dark hallway.
But it was very, very late. There must be limits to the open door policy, I thought.
I walked around the building – which is harder than one might imagine. The buildings were squashed together in the front, so there was no space between them. I had to walk all the way around the block to get to the side of the building – at which point, I decided to throw rocks at our window.
I picked up rocks. I stared at the side of the building. There were half a dozen tiny windows, all identical.
Ours was somewhere in the middle.
If ever I had a need for a cell phone, this was the moment. Unfortunately they weren’t yet invented.
So I threw rocks at all of the “middle” windows. I played softball in my youth, and had a great arm. Or so I thought.
I was too wasted to hit any of them. Eventually I started throwing whole handfuls of gravel at the wall, which didn’t travel nearly as high. I started tossing bottle caps and smashed cans and things I couldn’t identify, trying to hit the right window. A couple of things hit glass, but not many – and no one appeared to let me into the hotel.
I hoped the noise of rocks on bricks would wake Larry, but it did not.
The back door faced the alley, which was well traveled for an alley and large enough that cars could drive through the potholes and avoid the town’s one red light. My last ditch effort was a walk through the alley to the back door, which was always locked.
The door was just a slab of wood with a handle – how hard could it be to get in? I jiggled the handle and kicked at the door with my boots. Again, I hoped the noise would wake someone – to no avail.
Eventually I realized I would just have to sleep right there on the stoop, in the alley.
