Little Trip to Heaven

Little Trip to Heaven

The guttural melancholy of Tom Waits drifted softly on the smoke across the bar. As the first burn of the whiskey lit up my throat warming my insides on its way to  my stomach I sat by the fire hoping that soon the cold would be driven from me. Another exhausting day was behind me and another hideous evening was looming in front of me to fight through. This was before I battled through the weather to my lonesome empty flat to recharge so I could face another day of grinding through my life. I lifted the heavy pint of stout to my lips and felt my eyes close as I took my first sip.

I turned and gazed through the rain streaked window to watch the thousands of people pushing through the blur of the rain, their faces hidden by the fuzzy light of the street lamps and car head lights making  luminous hexagonal patterns against the dark evening. I struggled to focus on them and struggled to comprehend the multitude of lives that were being lead outside the window. Hundreds of people struggling home to deal with their struggles. The other hundreds of people leaving their struggles to get home to their lives and their joy.

Some days I watched people and felt jealous of their lives. Today I  felt nothing but the burning of another sip of whiskey and the understated joy that Tom’s voice brings me on a rainy day. I opened my battered copy of Carrie and tutted in frustration as I had forgotten to mark my place when I got off the train this morning. Fumbling with the pages, flicking through in frustration, I dropped my bookmark under my chair. 

As I leant over to pick it up I noticed you.

I saw the flames in your eyes, your passion, your grace warmed I felt my body warm as the fire roared beside me. My smile pulled back and turned down, disappeared into the pages of my book, disappointed. It hit me like a train as i understood I understood your passion and flame was for another. You whispered a scream at his back fanning your flames and breaking your heart as he turned away and left without a word. I watched your eyes fade, flames turning to tears as you sat alone in the smoky old pub wistfully twirling your half empty wine glass and instinctively glancing towards the door. After him.

As I struggled to concentrate on the words in my book I imagined that somehow I could sidle on over to you and say hello. I felt my tie loosely tied around my open collar and imagined that I was looking cool and dishevelled like the double bass player during the encore of Tom Waits concert I went to last month.  Deep down I knew that I looked like a damp and aging insurance salesman who didn’t really understand his place in the world. 

I focused back on my book.

I watched you pull out a cigarette, light it and pull on it hard as though it was the only oxygen available to you. Your hazel brown eyes caught the light of the chandelier as you stared into the middle distance, your eyes focused through the clouds of smoke you were creating. As the smoke slid up my nostrils I begin to search for my own smokes, more frantically as I realised that I had I left them at work. ‘Maybe I could bum one from you?’ I thought before quickly losing the minuscule residue of courage I was able to summon as I dreamed of the man I wanted to be.

Suddenly your dark hair flicked to one side and you looked up and caught my eye. Surprise and fear erupted in me and I looked down to study my book and hide from what I might show you. The words on the page dared me to imagine a conversation with you and I dreamed about breaking your frown, and making your eyes catch fire the way they should.  My heart pounded as I felt your eyes settle on me and I pleaded with myself to pluck up the courage to look over at you once again before chastising myself for playing such cruel games. I tried to concentrate on the words and heard Tom suggesting that if you sat down with this old clown we might be able to make it.

After hiding in Carrie’s misery for an eternity I looked over at my drink and then after another eternity I slowly looked over to your table. My eyes grew heavy in my head and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I looked longingly at the empty space left where you were sitting. I scalded myself for my weakness and told myself that once again I had let the opportunity of at life or at least an experience slip through my fingers. I stared hopelessly at the smooth white foam that formed like broken flowers at the bottom of my glass, wondering if I would ever find the strength to lift my head and face the world.

Then something caught my eye and I looked across towards the bar and saw you walking towards me with a glass of wine and a pint of stout.

That was 40 years ago my love and your eyes still catch fire the way they should. You are more beautiful now than you were on the first rainy day we met. I want to thank you for giving me the strength to make myself a life and thank you, Tom, Rosie and Martha for being the life that we made…….  together.

 I love you.