Currently Untitled - Chapter 1

Frank Denton believed wholeheartedly that feelings were overrated. In fact, he was often heard saying in his English lectures that if humanity ever failed anywhere along the evolutionary line, it was when they decided to give a crap about each other. Humans, he would argue with last night’s alcohol still on his breath, were garbage. All they did was destroy each other. If you ever met a non-garbage person, he said, stay away. Stay away because one of you will die.

He was a favorite among students. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment those days and an alcoholic teacher who was obsessed with death, well, it was certainly better than nothing. There was also the small fact that he let his students come and drink at his apartment on the weekends. Frank’s booze wasn’t any better than the bar down the street, it was all watered down just the same. Unlike the bar down the street, Frank didn’t charge.

Frank thought he was a garbage human.

Frank’s boss also thought he was a garbage human and Frank was fired for teaching drunk one too many times. His students visited once or twice out of pity but the pity ran out around the same time that Frank’s stock did.

Frank had only met a few non-garbage people in his life. Mrs. Harrison, his first-grade teacher, was the first. It could be childhood innocence but Frank remembered her as distinctly not garbage. Frank would sit on his own during recess. Mrs. Harrison didn’t force him to socialize. She mostly left him alone. His other teachers would hound him with questions. Is everything okay at home? Do you need to speak with a counselor? Why did you tell Samantha? She tried to exercise the janitor.

Sophia also was a non-garbage person, probably the most non-garbage person Frank had ever met. They had been married for two years when she died. Frank didn’t really believe in God but he often thought of a man sitting on a cloud directing the delivery truck that hit her to run the red light. All these years later, Frank still did not like God.

And so, Frank sat on his misshapen couch and considered what he should do. He was jobless, wifeless, Godless, and boozeless. The bar down the street could fix one of his problems.

Once he made sure his face was free of any errant whiskers, Frank made his way through his disheveled apartment and onto the street.

It had started to snow. Not enough to stick to anything besides the grass, but enough to turn your breath white. Frank cursed under his breath. Not too long ago, snow was a seasonal event. Due to the tilt of the Earth on its axis, half of the planet would experience colder seasons while the other half experienced the warmer seasons and then vice versa. When humans decided to start bombing each other they inadvertently blocked out most of the sun with all of the clouds and haze. Now it snowed most of the year.

A faint smell of ammonia greeted Frank when he walked into the bar. A half a second later his ears were assaulted with the typical bar noises, people arguing, a deal going sour, a woman crying, a whore propositioning a potential customer at the bar. At least it was warm.

It didn’t seem to matter how scarce food became, there was always plenty of alcohol. Sure it was watered down and tasted like it was probably distilled in the bathtub upstairs, but it was alcohol.

Frank found a booth in a darkened corner to sit with his beer. He thought he would sit alone for a while and drink until his he felt numb enough to go home.

“Why’re you sitting here all by yourself?”

Looking up from his drink, Frank saw that the woman he had spied trying to proposition the now passed out man at the bar was standing next to his booth. She had apparently moved on to a new target.

“I’m not interested,” Frank said.

“In what? A conversation? Geez.” She plopped down across from him and readjusted one of her boots. “So what’s your name then?”

Frank looked at her. She wasn’t bad looking by any means. In fact, if she showered she may have passed for conventionally pretty. She had caked on her mascara in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes and her lipstick was already smeared.

“Why?” Frank drank to remind himself why he came to the bar in the first place. There wasn’t any booze at home.

“Don’t you usually ask somebody’s name before startin’ a conversation?”

“I guess.”

“Then that’s what I’m doin’.”

“I don’t really feel like conversing at the moment.”

“Well, that sucks because I do and you’re my only option.” She crossed her legs, propping them up on the table.

She was right of course. The only other single guy was the one she left passed out on his bar stool.

“What happened to him?” Frank gestured with his thumb.

“Not used to the top-shelf selection is my guess. Don’t worry though, he’s still breathin’.”

Frank was slightly taken aback when she stuck her hand into her cleavage and started rummaging around as if she were looking for something. Her clothing didn’t leave any extra fabric for pockets, but Frank was surprised at how much she apparently kept in her bra as it took her a good half minute to find what she was looking for, a package of cigarettes and a lighter.

“So, are you going to tell me your name or not?” She asked, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“Frank.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” She laughed and flicked her lighter on. It was supposed to be covered in glitter, but it had begun to wear off. She inhaled once before replying with her own name, “Taylor.”

“I was expecting something else.” Frank didn’t do a very good job of hiding his surprise.

“What? Diamond or Rose or some cheesy shit like that?”

Frank shrugged.

“We only do that when we want to hide our identities. I’ve got nothing to hide.” Taylor watched the smoke leave her lips. Slumping back in her seat, she added, “I’ve got no one to hide from.”

“What?”

Taylor looked up from the smoke dancing in front of her eyes, “Don’t you worry about it none.” She shoved the lighter and pack back into her bra. “So what’s a city boy like you doin’ around these parts anyhow?”

Frank simply raised his glass in response. “I’m all out at home.” He paused. “What makes you so sure I’m a city boy?”

“You’re clean,” she said sticking out her chin. “Boys ’round here don’t tidy up like you do.”

Without thinking Frank passed his fingers over his chin. He missed a small spot above his left jaw.

Frank may have grown up in the city but he never considered himself a city boy. Assumptions came along with city-slickers that he abhorred. If humans were garbage, city boys were sewage.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Alright then,” Taylor laughed. “No offense meant.” She put her hands up as if surrendering.

The alcohol content must have been higher than Frank thought as he found that her high-pitched laughter was still ringing in his ears. It reminded him of a bad hangover.

“So, what’s it you do?” She took another drag from her cigarette.

“Nothing.”

“That’s now, how ’bouts before?”

“I was an English teacher about a month ago.”

“An English teacher, huh? Why don’t you tell me a story then?”

“Nah, I’m not the storytelling type.”

“Then, what type of English teacher was you?”

“Literature analysis,” Frank paused. “And grammar.”

“Ha ha very funny.”

Frank let out a small laugh.

“Well, look at that! Mr. English Teacher has emotions.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

“Welcome to my world, darlin’.”