Sauvignon Blanc

It was nearing 1:40 am, and I knew if I didn’t pick my sorry ass off of the couch, I wouldn’t be able to get another drink tonight, because this was California, and they stopped selling alcohol after two. I was already about four drinks in, and I didn’t want to drive ‘cus I already had a DUI, and if I got another one, I knew I couldn’t afford it. For me, it was enough to feel the buzz, but not nearly enough to reach the “click” as my favorite Tennessee Williams character, Brick, would call it. No, it was a Friday night, and I was definitely going to feel the click tonight. Especially after grading the thirty papers of chicken shit poetry I had to read care of the ninth grade class today. Oh, I could probably pay a lawyer to lose, (cus that’s generally what they did when you were fucking guilty) and I could probably stand to pay all the extra fines, added my long list of minimum credit card payments, but I was a teacher who worked for the state. I’d been given a second chance, and I had a feeling that asking for a third might be a bit much. Plus, with all those new expenses, it’d be harder to pay for the booze. No, it wasn’t worth it. $10,000 buys a hell of a lot of liquor, even in Hollywood, where you could go to a club and drop three hundred dollars on a measly seven hundred and fifty milliliters. Even if I gave the cocktail waitress a pretty hefty tip, I could buy a bottle at a nearby club once every weekend for over half a year before I’d go through that money. I wasn’t one to go out to clubs very much anymore, but I did know the value of the almighty dollar. I was going to have to put on some pants.

I got up about eight minutes later, which would still give me about ten minutes to make it to the nearby Seven Eleven, the last and least desired purveyor for adult beverages this time of night. Had I just gotten up from the futon a mere twenty minutes earlier, I might have been able to make the seven block walk to the Safeway, where they had the lowest prices, and they rarely ever check for your ID as long as you look over twenty five. I’d learned this when I had my driver’s license taken away a year back, (they do that when you they arrest you, and make you pay $125 to get it back) and the nearby Ralph’s wouldn’t let me buy my six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I’m over here getting some cheap ass hipster beer, and getting rejected like I’m some punk eighteen year old kid. Needless to say, I hadn’t been back to Ralph’s for over a year. I loved the great selection they had, but I didn’t much enjoy the embarrassment. Yes, the Safeway was always the best option, but tonight, Seven Eleven would have to do, because when you’re lazy, your options are few.

I made the trek with time to spare, leaving a few minutes to peruse the fine wine selection that the convenience store had to offer. The best wine they had was Kendall Jackson, which I was actually a bit impressed by, but this clearly was no winery. Of course, they marked it up to the point of ridiculousness, so you really weren’t getting what you were paying for- they were charging Coppola prices. Next. I was feeling in a white wine mood, so I looked around for my usual, Sauvignon Blanc. It had a nice taste to it, sweet but not too sweet, (depending on the winery), not too dry like a Pinot Grigio, and not too feminine, like a Chardonnay. They had a few options, including Yellow Tail, which was worse than the ninth grade poetry, and I made sure to avoid like the plague; Sutter Home, which was usually only reserved for those desperation moments like when you had an empty flask on a six hour flight; and Castle Rock, which I decided would be the winner of the day, because I had three minutes left until my deadline, and I’d actually had it before. It was dryer than what I was looking for, but it was going to have to do. I said a little prayer when I handed over my debit card, hoping I wouldn’t overdraft on my account, since my direct deposit wouldn’t be coming in until the following morning. My prayers were answered, and I thanked the clerk, like a priest who had just forgiven me for my sins.

I stepped out of the store at exactly two am, which was prime time for Murphy’s Law in Hollywood, so I had my guard up in case someone wanted to remove me of my six dollars, and the bottle of lower-middle class wine that I had on my person. I had walked a few blocks before I noticed the police lights that were up ahead on the left side of the street. I usually made an effort to avoid the police at all costs, (after my bad experience) but the street was a direct path to my apartment, so I decided to rough it. Police lights at this time of night in my neighborhood were pretty normal anyway. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything wrong- I would keep to myself, and keep it moving. As I came closer and closer, it looked as if there had been some sort of accident, because I saw a car stopped in the middle of the street, and it was flanked by two cop cars on the front and back. There was no second car though. It looked as if the car had knocked into a bus bench on the sidewalk, because the entire canopy was laying on its side.

The more I walked forward, the less I wanted to see. I wished at this point that I had walked around the entire block. I saw what looked to be a few young kids, maybe early twenties, sitting on the curb. Two of the females were crying. One of them was a young man, and he was talking to the police. I’m pretty sure he was answering the very same questions I had become haunted by for the past year. ‘Have you been drinking tonight?’ ‘Could you step out of the car please?’ ‘Would you like to take a breathalyzer test or a blood test downtown?’ I knew the accident happened recently, because there was no police tape, which would have been necessary for the next horror that caught my eye. I saw two young people on the right side of the street laying face down. They must have been hurt real bad because I couldn’t see them moving. There were two more police officers who were standing over them, trying to resuscitate them, but being careful not to move the bodies too much. I call them bodies because even though I was still about forty feet away, I had a feeling that they weren’t breathing. The EMT’s hadn’t arrived to the scene yet, and these young officers seemed ill-equipped to perform a miracle tonight.

Knowing there was nothing I could do to help the situation besides say a quick prayer, I kept walking. I kept walking when I was thirty feet away; twenty feet away; ten feet away; on the scene; ten feet past the scene; twenty feet past the scene; thirty feet past the scene- I didn’t stop. Each step made me feel like I had a cinder block attached to my shoes. I felt every horrible, agonizing, step. I knew I had done nothing, but I felt responsible. I felt guilty. I had clutched so hard to the Castle Rock inside the left side of my coat, I was sure it was warmer by at least ten degrees. I was probably going to have to chill it later. I pulled out my keys on the doorstep, a mere two hundred feet from the scene, and I dropped them on the ground. Nerves. I picked them up and went inside. The television was still blaring. I’d left it on. I had been watching some nonsense-riddled comedy on Netflix whose sole intention was to make us forget about life for awhile. Escapism, that’s what they called it. I turned it off. I didn’t want to watch that movie anymore.

Every next step I took felt like it was in slow motion. I had checked out. My mind was in a different place, but my body knew the routine. I found my wine key on the kitchen table, I opened up the Castle Rock, threw in a few ice cubes in a wine glass to compensate for the warmth that the bottle had accumulated from the journey, and poured. It felt like I could see every drop that came from the bottle and went into the glass. I hesitated. I needed to sit down first. My hands were shaking as I brought the glass to my lips. I wasn’t so sure if I was going to feel the click tonight. I wasn’t sure of what I was going to feel anymore after that night. I knew one of those kids.