So
whatever happened to George anyways when Caroline died? There must
have been a will or decinding factor on the house they shared. A
lawyer approached him and had to talk to George about the “remainder”
of funds. Darren was there too, to sign the papers and each man
received 100,000, George owtned the property to the house and Darren
would be in charge of the Mercedes Benz (which he sold shortly after
the meeting). Hell, George and Darren hadn't spoke in over 2 years
and now both meet again in a place they would rather not. Signing a
will. Her life. What she owed to this world. Both men took it
gracefully at the signing and George suggested that they go back to
the home and have a drink of sorts. Darren agreed. Darren go to the
house first, driving the Mercedes. George would arrive 10 minutes
later with a bottle of bourbon. A 26r. Which means, approximately 26
shots in one bottle. Darren thought that would be too much but they
decided that it was a fair amount for the night. They were both
staying at the home til morning. It was a goddamn Friday anyways, who
cared about patients on Monday morning. This was before Darren met
Sarah. So both men hugged and opened the door. George started crying
and so did Darren and they we sitting on the sofa (the one Norm put
his life on) and they just held each other crying and sobbing and
bawling their eyes out. It took about 15 minutes to calm them down
and it was definitely a hearty 15 minutes. They rubbed the tears of
their eyes gently and George suggested they open the bourbon. Wild
Turkey was the choice and both men had glasses full of ice. “You
think that's gonna be enough,” asked Darren, “this could go on
all night.” George said he was sure, that “we'd be sick after
this bottle was finished,” and Darren smirked a little smirk,
assured. They didn't measure they just poured that tasty bourbon,
filling up their rock glasses with little chips of frozen water. No
one seemed to mention Dave's role in the will and there wasn't one
mention of him at all. Darren found this strange, especially after
his second drink, because Dave was her flesh and blood as well. He
thought and came to the assumption that Caroline figured that Dave
would spend the entire amount of his settlement on hookers and drugs,
and Darren didn't judge her opinion. She was right. The men sat down
in front of the television and relaxed. They were both nursing their
second drink, the bottle ¾ full still and no one was drunk enough to
break the silence. Then there was the shot time. George motioned
Darren to come to the kitchen and Darren walked over, with a glass of
ice chips in his hand. The bottle was poured and the shots lit up to
the tip and there they saluted and drank that yummy, scrumptious
little bourbon. Darren yelled into the air, a war cry, and George
frowned at the pure essence of the strong drink. “Wowsa.” George
said,”Your mother would have loved this.” He started to tear up
again and looked at the bottle, it was half full still. “Fuck man,
your mom was the best. You never got to see her in her prime, but she
had it all. The body, the looks, the fucking way she used to talk to
me. She would know what buttons to push and how and I would never
lust for any other woman ever again. She had it all.” “I know
Dad, I know” Darren saying dad was kind of awkward because he
wasn't really EXACTLY his dad, but a step father. He didn't hang
around George enough to say dad and usually, at this mother's
request, he would just call him George. And it worked, ever since
they met, it was formal and professional. George was no prankster
(unless you count tickling toes in the morning as prankish) and he
held himself, and his business together well. While Norm lived off my
mother, George would demand equal sharings on anything they would
have to choose in life. Whether it be a car, or a trip or anything in
the fridge, and on so forth. But George never made decisions about
Darren. Darren was only Carolines foredoing and she ensured that by
actually telling George. “We can settle on most cases, babe, but
let my son into my soul and I won't ask you for a single thing.”
So, George played that role and he played it very carefully because
he didn't know exactly how to approach Darren as a genius but more as
a friend. A friend they both really needed in life and that would
progress both men into a sacred bond as family. So there was it. The
shot glass full and the men cheers again and teeter totter time
approaches and its already 2 am, but fuck it it's Friday goddamn.
This is when the truth speaks.. And Darren ran to the bathroom to
puke. He ate Atlantic Salmon that day, with a side of broccoli and
onions, with a glaze of seafood brand seafood sauce. It was tasty
going in, and somewhat tasty flowing out of his mouth and out of his
nose. Darren finished puking and took a Kleenex and blew his nose in
it. Chunks of pink salmon, green blobs of broccoli. The smell would
last for hours. Really think about it now, smelling fish and brocoli
all day, and falling asleep and waking up and so on and so forth.
Darren returned from the toilet and asked George how much he drank.
George shook his head and lifted up an empty bottle of bourbon. “But
that was between two of us, right,” Darren asked and George shook
his head. “Hell, all I had was about 10 shots all togther, those 16
were all up to you. Fuck, Darren thought, that was the most amount of
alcohol thzt he had EVER. Even through school, he never drank THAT
much. And George laughed as he looked in the toilet. “What the fuck
you eat today? Salmon?” George continued laughing. Darren shrugged
and all he could smell was salmon, flown in from god knows where,
gently marinated and pan seared. Well, at least Darren didn't have to
worry about calories. So, at 3am, both men took to the couch and
Darren's limp head would nestle on George's left shoulder and
George's head would fall to his right side. The men slept like this
for 10 hours, George waking up first. “Rise and shine princess,”
George laughed , tugging at Darren's shirt. Darren woke up and didn't
even know where the hell he was. “George?” “Yeah, brother”
“Is this heaven?” “No, Darren” “Fuck, George, this feels
like fucking hell” “And you'll be feeling that way all day.”
George began scrambling some eggs and spinach and Darren didn't know
what the hell to think about. There was one last shotglass on the
table and it was full to the brim. Darren thought and stared at this
shot glass, this poison that destroyed him all last night, and his
dad all his life. He carefully picked up the shot glass, not to
spill any, and he made a quiet toast “to his mum” and drank the
hair of the dog who bit him. He inhaled the fire, layed back on the
couch and would say only one thing in the utter silence that was the
house, “Stride on motherfucker, stride on.”
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