selected writings from oakland word
DRAFT
I tried texting Beedie but he didn’t respond. I phoned him then, every five minutes, until he finally answered, his voice chilly as glass, “Yeah, DJ, you were a real treat. I wasn’t going to talk to you at all. Let you stew in it. Blood? What, you don’t remember? I’m so shocked. I think you broke my nose, DJ. I was tryin’ to drive you home, took that bottle away from you, like you needed any more to drink, all the time you’re reaching across me tryin’ to get it back. So don’t blame me ‘cause your car’s dented, you’re the one yanked the steering wheel, made me hit that pole. Ya know, it coulda been a kid or something. I’ve got a big gash on my nose from the rear-view. It bled for frickin’ ever. I had to walk home lookin’ like a’ axe murderer. Stay at your house? Oh, hell no, I’m done takin’ care of you. Fuck! Now I’ve got two black eyes. You’re gonna have to get your sugar daddy to pay for it if my nose is broken. Oh yeah, I forgot, he dumped you, too. Forget it, DJ, sorry don’t cut it anymore.” I’d like to say my first thought was how sorry I was that I hurt my best friend, the last one to give up on me. But my first thought was, “I wonder if that bottle is still in the car.” I did feel awful, but more because I needed a drink than anything. And there it was under the front seat—BOOYA! Most of a pint of vodka left in the bottle. I took it upstairs, set it on the counter … and then I did something unusual. I started thinking. I thought about my father dying of cirrhosis when I was twelve, how I blamed my mother for it, though they hadn’t been married for years. I thought about stealing money from her, losing my job, my friends, blaming her for that, too. I thought about my selfish, fucked-up life and cried. I took that bottle, unscrewed the cap and poured it down the sink. Then I picked up the phone and called my mother. Well, that was how the story ended in my imagina-
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