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The streets spun around him as Johnny bent over the sidewalk, heaving everything he’d put in his stomach over the past few hours out onto the pavement. He wasn’t having a particularly good time.
In the past month, he’d kickstarted his life. For the first time it felt like he had one, like there was a future for him lying in wait, illuminated by the bright city lights and the promises it whispered to him. He was hungry for everything the city offered and spent the free time he had exploring, wildly drinking up everything he could see and find and feel. For those brief few weeks achieving his dreams had just been an arm’s length away. And then, within the past 24 hours, his world turned upside down.
The knowledge that one of his best friends had left him alone to fend for himself in the city was bad enough. He couldn’t afford to pay rent on his own. He’d never had to live alone before. He didn’t know how to. What made the pain worse was that Johnny knew Tunny was going to die. Tunny had submitted to the war machine, the only goal of which is to kill – he’d be turned into nothing more than an entity existing to carry out violence in the name of patriotism; he’d lose his humanity and eventually his life. People didn’t just come out of combat alive. The weight of it was too much for Johnny to bear and he grabbed what little cash he had scrounged up from the apartment he and Tunny shared – formerly shared – and set out to drink into oblivion.
Johnny was unequivocally a wreck. He didn’t remember ever being this drunk before, or at least this drunk before for bad reasons and not for fun. Will used to throw shitty house parties – Johnny would get drunk off of beer and vodka and retreat to sleeping in Will’s bed after his drunken attempts at picking up girls turned up fruitless. Those were good times. Now Johnny was attempting to drink himself to death, or very near to death, or to any state of mind that might distract him from the soul-crushing loneliness and the impending death of his best friend. It wasn’t working. He was still sad, now with additional vomiting.
Sad was an understatement. Johnny learned back against the brick wall of the bar, trying to get a full breath in amid his stomach churning and his head pounding. He felt the heartbreak physically. It was like torture.
It took him a moment to realize that someone had put a hand on his shoulder. He thought he’d been alone outside; he felt shame burn across his face as he slowly realized this man had seen him cry, vomit, and generally look like he was coming apart at the seams. The man spoke.
“Hey. Steady now. Think you had a bit too much to drink.”
“You think?” Johnny replied bitterly. He shook his head and stopped immediately after realizing it made the dizziness worse. “It – it probably isn’t the alcohol. I can handle that, totally. I just feel like shit.”
“You’re shitfaced,” the man said. “You were knockin’ back way more than you can handle. You’re a small guy and I lost count of how many shots you took. Sometimes alcohol ain’t the answer when you’re feelin’ down.”
“What is this, the fucking D.A.R.E. program?”
The man laughed. “Hardly. Look, kid, you’re past your limit. I’d tell you to go home but I don’t know if you can make it in this state.”
Johnny closed his eyes briefly and huffed. Of course some random asshole would be lecturing him on his alcohol use. As if he wasn’t under enough mental stress already – now the universe was making him sit and listen to this jerk try to mother him. “You’re telling me this like I don’t already know it,” he said. “Plus that’s fucking creepy you were watching me.”
“Some kid I don’t know walks into this bar alone and sits sadly at the counter drinking everything his money can buy? Yeah, I’m gonna watch you.” Johnny rolled his eyes as the man spoke. “And let’s face it. I know you’re not 21. You’re lucky they don’t bother to ID people here.”
Johnny scowled. “What are you, a cop?”
“Do I look like a cop?”
Johnny looked at the man. He did not look like a cop.
“C’mon. Let’s sit on the curb away from your puke. Don’t think you can keep standing for long.”
Johnny let the man guide him a few steps away where they sat down together on the pavement. He felt a bit like a child getting in trouble and he avoided the man’s gaze, focusing instead on the very interesting tiny rocks on the concrete under his fingertips.
“People call me Saint Jimmy,” the man said. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”
“My name’s Johnny,” Johnny said. “Just Johnny. Sometimes Jesus. People used to call me Jesus. You’re not a saint.”
“I’m the patron saint for a lot of people ‘round here,” Jimmy said. Johnny felt him watching him and stared blankly at the street ahead. “You’re a lucky boy. I’m sure plenty of them would kill for me to give them the time of day.”
Johnny rolled his eyes so hard he thought he detached his retinas for a moment. He wasn’t completely sold on this guy’s arrogance. Maybe it was just because he was drunk and already pissed off. Maybe it was kind of decent for this guy to look after him and make sure he was okay after so obviously being distraught. “My patron saint is Saint Jude,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. “He’s the patron saint of lost causes. Ain’t that funny?”
“Not quite sure I get the humor,” Jimmy said. “Consider yourself a bit of a lost cause, Johnny?”
“Hell yeah.” Johnny looked up at Jimmy for a moment. He wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings with a stranger but the alcohol made him open and the smooth way Jimmy spoke made him seem trustworthy. Jimmy was certainly a city rat – Johnny got the sense he knew the rhythms of the city. He likely wouldn’t be so surprised to hear a story about some hopeless kid’s dreams slipping out from between his fingers. “I – I’m not from here.”
“I know,” Jimmy said.
Johnny continued. “Spent my whole fucking life planning on getting out of my hometown. You won’t get it – there aren’t words to express how much that fucking shithole just… took our souls. It’s like a black hole. Sucks at you until there’s nothing left. So finally, about a month ago, we get our shit together, get our bus tickets, and we bounce.”
“Who’s we?” Jimmy asked.
“Me,” Johnny said, and took a deep breath before continuing, “and Will and Tunny. M-my best friends.”
“But you’re here alone,” Jimmy said softly.
Johnny nodded. He’d been momentarily distracted from that feeling but it was back, hitting him full force in the gut and making tears well up in his eyes. Despite the tightening in his throat, he tried to speak again. “W-Will didn’t even make it out here. He knocked up his girlfriend like a f-fucking idiot. So he stayed behind with her. And Tunny…” What could he say about Tunny? He’d almost gotten used to Will’s lack of presence in his life, used to communicating with him via postcard. But with Tunny, the wounds were still fresh and cut deep. “He’s joining the military or whatever. Like a fucking idiot.” The more Johnny thought about it, the more the anger and bitterness burned in his stomach. “He didn’t like the city. All he did was sleep. Just sit in our apartment and fucking sleep and watch TV as if we didn’t spend our entire life talking about getting out of here. And instead of doing anything to try to fucking milk this city for what it’s worth he abandons all of our fucking morals and joins the fucking military.”
“Oh, Johnny,” Jimmy said. “You must feel awfully betrayed.”
“And he’s going to die,” Johnny exclaimed in a watery voice. “And I’m going to fucking kill myself.”
“Don’t say that,” Jimmy said.
“I’m serious, Saint,” Johnny said. There was no filter to stop the words from rushing out. He didn’t mean a single one of them. He had no other way to express the pain. “I’m going to open my veins and bleed out. I’m going to drink so much it stops my heart. I’m going to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Shut up,” Jimmy said, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and pulling him against his side. “You’re still in the city, aren’t you? Your friends made the choice not to follow you and that’s their mistake. Just because they’ve taken dead-end roads doesn’t mean your life’s over for a second.”
As much as Johnny hated it, Jimmy was right. His loneliness stung but as long as he could stay in the city he could do exactly what he’d always wanted to do. Maybe he’d get big and Will and Tunny would see how successful he was and they’d meet again in the city at one of Johnny’s shows. The thought was comforting. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, resting his temple against Jimmy’s shoulder and trying to stomp down his anxiety.
“You hearin’ me?” Jimmy asked, squeezing Johnny’s shoulder. “I mean it. Go home. Get some sleep. Nurse your hangover and you’ll feel better tomorrow. I promise.”
“I think I’m gonna stay out,” Johnny said. “I can’t face that fucking apartment tonight. Can’t be alone with just me and my guitar and my thoughts. It’s not going to feel right without Tunny.”
“Fine then,” Jimmy said. “Stay with me. My place is probably closer to here than yours and I’m willing to bet it’s nicer too. I mean it. Just for tonight. I don’t feel great thinkin’ about you being left to your own devices and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the company.”
Johnny stared up at Jimmy. It was as though he knew exactly what to offer to help Johnny’s fragmented mental state. Sure, it was a little weird that a stranger he’d just met was offering to let him stay in his apartment but it was a much better option than having to return to his own apartment, cold and empty. Jimmy was convincing and comforting, he was welcoming and probably insane to be trusting some small-town kid enough to let him stay the night with him. Johnny couldn’t help a smile from pulling up the corner of his lips and he shook his head. Perhaps he was somewhat of a saint. “What are you, my guardian angel?”
Jimmy smiled and squeezed Johnny’s shoulder again. “Something like that.”