Dionysus

Dionysus

I was pulling my hair out and looking at a blank canvas again. I poured another glass of wine and circled the room, picking up old stuffed animals and dust covered toy cars in search of inspiration. If only I had a damned window in this garage, I thought. What I really needed was a view, if I could just look at something pretty…or even something ugly, then maybe I’d be able to paint. 

So, I went out in search of something to sketch. I only needed a rough outline to work with on the canvas later. Nothing caught my attention, though. I’d become numb to the abundant monotony: the same streets, the same people, the same black scar that fire had etched into the mountain. 

I guess I got bored of the boredom and wound up at the pub again. At first, I stood across the street from the rebuilt brick building and lit the cigarette that I’d rolled on the walk over. While I smoked I decided I’d step into the charred remains of the Rosenburg house. I was thinking how strange it was that the whole family had disappeared and left nothing but ashes. Then, I stumbled upon a half melted porcelain angel smiling up at me like a child. The Rosenburg’s had given us one just like it on our wedding day. I looked at the wasted face and then pulled the gold band off my ring finger and dropped it in my front pocket. 

I grabbed the forgotten angel off the floorboards and set it on the front steps as I walked back into the cold evening. Then, I watched the sun drop below the horizon while I finished my cigarette and debated whether or not to go into the pub. Given that the sunset was dull and unremarkable, I decided I might as well see who was around.

“Hey, Georgie, ain’t been so long, why don’t you find a new place to hang out.”

“Be careful what you wish for. Maybe I will.” I said, as I feigned a smile at my favorite bartender.

“No, you won’t.”

“Hey, be a pal and fill up my glass would you, Paul?” 

“You want the red or the white?”

“The red.”

“Anything to eat?” 

“Maybe later.”

Paul popped the cork on a bottle of Merlot, filled a glass and brought it to me. A group of men I knew were playing darts, drinking beer and watching college football in the corner of the establishment. I didn’t want to talk to them, and I knew as far as they were concerned I was invisible. For a second I thought about painting them in cubism with sick twisted faces, the way Picasso depicted his Weeping Woman. I scribbled a couple lines and then decided against it. Maybe I needed more than a window, I thought. 

“See the paper this morning?” Paul asked.

“The local joint?”

“That’s right.”

“No, I think they shut my service off.”

“Hmmf, well, news is the Kercynkis finally closed that deal with the state government. Sounds like everything’s in play for a new factory to be built and fully operational by next year.”

“Hey, that’s swell,” I said, anguish slicing at my intestines like I'd swallowed a razor blade. “Maybe now I can finally get a real job.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want one anyway. It doesn’t suit my lifestyle.”

Paul laughed and began pouring himself a Guinness from the tap, “I hear that. My shift starts at seven p.m. after all. By the way, how is the painting, Georgie? Got anything exciting in the works?”

“Exciting?” I winced at the notion.

“That’s what I asked.”

“No. I don’t have anything exciting in the works at all.”

“Oh, all right, sorry. I–”

“You don’t have to be… Hey, do you think Ray Kercynki and his crew are going to come here to celebrate later?”

“That’s what I was hinting at. Ain’t like there’s much else in this town. I’d be surprised if they settled on somewhere else.” Paul frowned.

“Oh Christ, I can’t stand them. I guess I’d better get something to eat sooner rather than later.” 

“Guess that’s right,” Paul said, reaching for a menu.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll just have the beef and noodles.”

“As you wish.” He bowed sarcastically and went into the kitchen.

I brought my glass of wine over to a little drawing on the wall. I couldn’t come up with an adequate explanation for why I’d never noticed it other than that it simply wasn’t special. It reminded me of a courtroom sketch, that for some reason was set inside the pub. The drawing probably depicted a hundred people, but they were more similar to shadows than human beings, and there wasn’t a unique face in the bunch. The artist really wasn’t all that talented, but I was still fond of their work

I knew I’d do a better job though, so I brought out my notebook and started playing around with the dimensions of the room. But, when I got to my first figure, I became repulsed by the idea, tore the page out and threw it in the garbage by the pub’s entrance. There’s no emotion there, I thought. Right about then my food got called, and I went and sat at the bar.

“Why don’t you all have any music playing in this place tonight?” I asked Paul.

“I have a feeling it will be louder than I want soon enough. I’d like to keep things tranquil as long as I can.”

“How about me, the customer?” I said, grinning.

“What do you want, some Radiohead?”

“I don’t know, you could always play classical.”

“Let me have my peace.” 

“Classical is the epitome of peaceful.”

He shot me a look that ended our conversation. By the time I’d finished with my dinner, the pub was starting to fill up. Paul actually did turn some music on at that point and I decided to have a second glass of wine before leaving. I figured that if I wasn’t going to have anything to paint, I might as well feel a little buzzed.

I stayed too long though. I hadn’t even had my second sip when the drink went sour at the sight of Ray Kercynki and his people strolling into the pub like it was still high school and they were still popular. I shuffled for my wallet and handed Paul his allotted cash. 

Then I heard her. “Georgie?! Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Is that really you?” I felt like I’d surfaced too early from the bottom of the ocean and gotten the bends on my way up.

“Who’s asking?” I said, turning around and already knowing the answer. 

“It’s me,” she said, smiling and showing her perfectly aligned teeth.

“No shit…Shiloh Kercynki. How long has it been since–”

“I don’t think we’ve seen each other since high school, so…fifteen years?”

“Fifteen years,” I repeated, not really believing it myself.

“Oh my God, Georgie, what are you doing in this dump?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I just showed up. Plus my brother and his friends made me come.”

“Well, I was just leaving, actually,” I said, grabbing my coat.

“Leaving? Nonsense. You’ll stay here with me so we can catch up. I mean fifteen years, really.” 

I caught her eyes and thought about the last time we’d seen each other. During our senior year of high school, I’d been foolish enough to believe we’d had something real. Maybe we had. Regardless, with a single action and no explanation before or after, she’d severed my connection to gravity and sent me tumbling through empty space. I could tell the memory flashed through her mind as well. “I can have one more I guess.” I said, thinking that maybe I would finally hear her line of reasoning.

“Of course you will.” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Excuse me, bartender, bartender—yes tequila, please, two shots, one for me and one for my old friend here, oh, and a Sprite, please.”

“Tequila, huh?” Paul asked, looking at me.

I shrugged and glanced over at Shiloh, who said, “Yes. Top-shelf tequila. And since this is just round one—I’ll let you slide—but I don’t need someone asking if I’m sure every time I order a drink.” 

“Two tequilas coming your way.”

“What’s his problem?” Shiloh asked me.

“His dog died this morning.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“No, that was a lie. I don’t know what compelled me to say that, honest.”

“Ha, man Georgie, you're just like I remember.” 

“Well–” I didn’t think so, but Paul interrupted me before I could tell her.

“Here are your tequila shots.” Paul set the drinks down before us and then changed the music over to Radiohead, “Just whistle if you want anything else.”

Shiloh took her shot like it was honeyed ambrosia and then reached over the bar to grab Paul by the shoulder. “We’ll take four more of those,” she said, “and a couple beers.” 

“I’ll stick with the red.” I tipped my glass to Paul. 

“Fine, four more shots and two glasses of wine for the sophisticated artist here.” Her pinky flitted in the air. “Hey, Georgie, you haven’t taken yours, come on now, we’re celebrating.”

The tequila burned like bile in my throat. 

“I just can’t believe this,” she said again. “You know I saw a review on your art. How it was in all those museums and how you’re supposed to be some visionary—treading a new path all on your own. It’s really great Georgie, I’m not kidding.”

“Thanks, but most of that was over five years ago. I don’t think the critics write such kind words these days. If they write anything at all.”

“Oh sure they do. Why wouldn’t they? You’re sensational.”

“Lady and gentleman, your beverages.”

“Thanks, Paul,” I said.

Then, from behind me, Shiloh’s brother passed a hundred dollar bill across the bar. 

“This round’s on me. Keep the change barman,” he said, giving Paul an empty salute and then resting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re looking strong, Georgie,” he remarked.

I nodded; his paying for drinks that I hadn’t even wanted was another empty gesture. I was on the verge of blurting out that I wasn’t at the pub for him. But, the words were lodged in my throat like I had swallowed a handful of pills without any water. I feared that if I started speaking I wouldn’t be able to stop and that the night would deteriorate rather quickly. 

Thankfully, Shiloh cut in before I had a chance to reply, “Can you give us some space please? You two both call this place home, but I haven’t seen Georgie in fifteen years.”

Her barrel chested brother rolled his eyes and walked back to his booth. “You’re welcome for the drinks,” he shouted back at us.

“He’s become so much like my father,” she admitted. “Anyway, you know his name?” Shiloh asked, nodding her head towards our bartender.

“Christ, you really have been gone a long time. Everyone knows each other's names around here. Remember?”

“Damn, I hope you don’t…I mean, it’s not like I forgot about this place. I’ve just done so much travelling and it’s different on the road. You understand, right?”

“I guess so,” I said, despite the fact that I didn’t.

We each took another shot and watched as her tool of a brother began waving money around in the air and begging for someone to let him give them a tattoo. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Most people pay to be tattooed, I’ll pay you and get your drinks. A win, win, win.”

After far too long I asked her, “Anyway, what have you been doing since we graduated? I know you went to school in New York, but after that I’m clueless.”

“Ugh. Honestly, Georgie, I am too. I bummed around India for a while doing yoga and trying to find enlightenment, I guess. After that, I spent some time in Europe just sort of existing. I went back to New York for a while trying to get on as an actress, did the same in Hollywood.”

“Anything worth watching?”

“I was an extra in a couple Apple commercials.” She laughed. 

“Well, if you really have a dream you’ve got to keep working and believing cause if you’re anything like me, then I’ll bet the rest of this will seem pretty bleak and meaningless.”

“Thanks,” she said between drinks, “I think what I’m coming to realize, though, is that I’m not like you. I don’t think I  ever really wanted to be an actress that bad anyway. I mean jeez, you probably remember in high school I was always telling everyone I’d be a singer. I think really, I just wanted to not be normal. I wanted to be different and special. Like you, Georgie.”

“I’m not special.” I said, thinking about how I'd progressed from black and white pencil drawings to painting canvases in order to impress her as a freshman in high school.

“Ha, yeah, and I’m not the daughter of the town’s business tycoon. No, I mean it, sometimes I think I should have stayed here like my brother and just taken a job with the family business instead of wasting my time with all that nonsense.”

“No, you most definitely should not have done that.” I bit my lip. “I just...I just mean that you got to see the world, that’s worth something, right?”

“I guess you’re right.” Then she reached out and put her hand on my arm. “Hey,” she said, softening her tone. “I heard about all that happened with you and your kid–”

“Don’t, please…just don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“No. Just leave it, please.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Hey, I’d like to have a cigarette,” I said. “You can come out with me if you’d like.” 

“I don’t smoke anymore. But, Georgie, you are coming back aren’t you?”

“Sure.” I said, not knowing if it were the truth or not. 

I smoked in the cold, alone except for the porcelain angel smiling at me from across the street. I had a strong buzz going and was upset with Shiloh, there's no reason to pretend like I wasn’t. Who did she think she was? Showing up out of nowhere, not even mentioning where we had left things after high school and then bringing up my kid. 

I halfway convinced myself that I was leaving. Instead, I went back in to polish off my wine and planned to depart politely after I’d done so. She was sitting right where I’d left her, a fresh set of shots waiting at the bar. 

“There you are, Georgie. Here, one for you, one for me.” She passed me a glass and I emptied it. The alcohol was beginning to have its intended effect. “You know, we still haven’t talked about that night.”

“What night?” She asked coyly. 

“The last night we saw one another. The night I saw you with–”

“Oh, yes, It’s just that it was all those years ago. I thought maybe you’d want to forget about it, and we could both move on.”

“I think it’s a bit strange, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what you did hurt me. The way you left hurt. Now we’re just sitting around getting drunk and acting like it never happened. It’s strange.”

“What do you want from me, Georgie? I was leaving this place, and you were going to stay here. There was no future for us.”

“It doesn’t sound like there was a future for you anywhere.” The words tasted worse than the alcohol as they left my mouth. But Shiloh didn’t take them as an insult. Instead, she became hysterical with laughter. She laughed like a high school girl who’d just had her first drink. She laughed till there were tears in her eyes and I had become very uncomfortable. 

“C’mon,” she said, “let’s get out of here. I want to see the famous Georgie’s art studio.” 

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Okay.” The word came out before I even had a chance to think about what I was getting myself into. I looked up at the slightly spinning ceiling for answers, and by the time my eyes returned to hers, she was taking two hundred-dollar bills and dropping them next to the glasses like they meant nothing to her.

She wobbled over to her brother and told him her plans for the night. He seemed drunker than we were and barely able to even recognize who I was. Then we stepped into the dull yellow street lights where the angel watched as our breath turned to vapor in the cold air. She had a jacket that may have done some good in Hollywood but was totally useless in the mountains. Consequently, she got all cuddled up to me for warmth. 

“Tell me why I’ve waited so long for this?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I sort of figured you didn’t give a damn about me.”

“That’s not true. It really isn’t true at all.”

We didn’t speak again for the rest of the walk back to where I lived. When we did arrive at my parents’ old house I think she took it as a bit of a joke. 

“Are Mr. and Mrs.?”

“No, I'm the only one here now.” I fumbled with the keys, unlocked the great oak door and motioned towards the sofa, “Here, get under the blanket, I’ll make a fire and some tea.”

“So this is where you create?”

“Not exactly, I work in the garage.”

“Well, I want to see it. I want to see the studio that’s changing the world.”

“Can you please stop talking like that?” I asked.

“What’s so wrong with flattery, huh?”

“Listen, Shiloh.” I took a deep breath as if I were preparing for another shot. “Five years ago I lost my wife and child in a fire that spread from your family’s factory. I know I wasn’t the only person who lost someone, and I’m not trying to blame you or your brother for any of what happened. It’s just that I haven’t painted a damn thing since, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to again. So, I would really appreciate it if you stopped with all the praise. Please.”

“God, Georgie, I’m sorry, I really am. I knew what had happened, I just didn’t realize it affected your art the way it did. I’m awful sorry, truly sorry, Christ, I didn’t mean it.”

“You’ve been gone fifteen years, how could you have known.”

We didn’t talk much more after that. She had her tea then passed out on my couch in front of the coals and ashes. I left a big bottle of water next to her in case she got thirsty in the middle of the night. 

Then, I went out to the garage and I worked past sunrise on a canvas. My painting started with the crooked smile of an ash covered porcelain angel, but by the time it was done it had outgrown any resemblance to personhood. In fact, it was unlike anything I had ever painted before; I can’t say it was a place or even a specific thing. More than anything else, that night I painted a feeling.