Empty Room

Four people banking on the warmth of a polyester sheet, sucking up a cloud full of nicotine, artificial heat, whisky, old stains of love and glory; though that would be another story, humanely stench. All this combined metaphorically with the notes of monkey-ing around, the fizz of a coke bottle being opened, the sarcasm; though I’ve always felt that sarcasm was a sub unit of fear and insecurity and I admit it was used here too and background music to suggest a story that was there but known to any.

The clutching of a younger sibling’s corpse touched every person in that room the way it was supposed to touch every individual there, the laughing gave away fear and the catch in the throat gave away the reality of the situation. The memoirs of an incident once drowned in a cocktail of chemically induced substances and the good ole’ organic outlawed… once did it, but it always comes back to hunt, always comes back to take you from your seated position to a society or rather clan where you see yourself in a mirror, a mirror that combines everything you ever wished away in your darkest nightmare.

This little act of self suicidal infelicitous irony played a little tune that every one of them four individual’s related to. The song that played out meant a certain sense of jubilation to one, for that particular individual thought they were others that went through a holding of one’s siblings. The fear, the last breathe that lay rest on a shoulder, the last words, the gasping for air, the blank look while it lay tattered by the wrecks of shrapnel, the shrapnel that tore into flesh like “it shouldn’t have”, the headiness of chemicals – natural and unnatural and finally guilt of not being able to do anything.

To the other it played a tune of loss, yet complicated world; one that would always be a book that collects dust by the minute, the day, by the week, by the years and finally by the decades. The ring was enough, to set a few salted droplets of excess emotions free, yet the adult diapers system of one castrated the potency of the issue to see it through to a next day. With the disposable society beginning to creep in, the past was always to forget, yet the will makes sure it does, the conscience has the last laugh.

The third; lies in a shadowed world of madness, a universe of tales, once happened yet not seen, a glimpse of technology captured it once for the third, yet not felt in real but in words and notes of the first two. Yet a story of another life, another tale that no one in that room knew, secret life if you may; though it felt that the third knew of the other’s silent suffering. It’s a pity one plus two doesn’t always make three, otherwise it would be fractioned and algebra-ised into a solution of A plus B equals a sum total of seven.

Seven makes room for another two. A duo that was there, yet waltzed in they own little suffering. One lay at rest and one lay at slavery. Heaven was the plan for them, though the others always knew nicotine and alcohol did the trick there; though arms of doubt always popped up to pay respects. Was it the closeness of the subject or was it the adrenaline of the sudden shock of a corpse that lay beside them, time would only tell; so far the mask of insecurity did the trick.

The seventh was…

If not for the background score, this world would not have known it’s stance in life, if not for the corpse this world continue living a lie.

Stacked up in a room that smelt of puke, stale alcohol and a lithosphere of smoke of the best Manala, Navy Cuts and Gold Flakes in a time, when the Y2K bug was a whole 736 days in the past and a year which saw the rise and downfall of Bonny Scott, the same year a lot of mundane happenings made the news, the same news that had an impact on others but these guys…

The clock beeped; “three in the morning” and Neil wriggled around in anticipation, waiting for that doorbell to ring. He was expecting a friend, a fuck as he liked calling it but like everyone one of the other five, they knew it always meant more than a fuck. However, they always seemed to agree calling it a fuck to play into his ego-centric trips that sometimes played spoil-sport at times when they weren’t allowed.

Zakk waited in anticipation for one of these guys, who he considered the closest especially Neil to get up and come with him to score some more alcohol, even though there was enough alcohol to last all of them another drinking session. Zakk was never satisfied when it came to Alcohol, he believed in precaution is better than the cure when it came to his biggest love – Alcohol in any form.

The two of them were undoubtedly the closest in that room that night but it was these times that they differed on the basics of life. Neil was all about girls and a high, any high. A high to him meant anything from a line of coke to a miserly nicotine scroll. Zakk was all about alcohol and his solitary trips. What brought them together was they constant need for people to be around them. Zakk had the money to buy a third world country over, but he never had the urge to love somebody let alone a nation and Neil never had the money but he was always had the love and an urge to be accepted in society but for his pledge to the punk-hood of life. The last two and half years saw what started off as an argument on spoilt rich kids bloom into a bond that was inseparable – brothers for life, and unto each other till the very end.

The bells of the church down the road struck, the twelfth time it stood to signify the coming in of a time for rejoices and glory. The rustic leaves were a near future and open shirts and were from an era that seemed far away, yet so near.

Hugs went around with silent echoes of love and unity encircling the dingy dirt filled room with a vibe that would put Martin Luther’s line; “I have a dream” to shame in terms of positiveness. Tunes of “Stairway to heaven” made Plant a god for the moment, and the weed, Jack Daniels, Absolut, Pepsi, Navy Cuts, Malboros and six already heady brothers of different mothers were his reasons to his stake to God-ship and nobody seemed to give a fuck!

The door slammed opened; “Oi Guys, My uncle decided to gift us these” Zakk said, holding up a double pack of Gold Flakes and a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

Woohoo, now we’re gonna’ get as blasted as the Hiroshima blast; said Richie.

Dude, the first person to get blasted and run around the room naked would be you, Howie said; looking up to the rest for approval.

Neil; taking a puff on his Navy Cut; slurred – “Grow up fuckers, the only bitch here is Eric”.

Zakk; smiled and plonked himself on the chair in front of his computer and went; “this is paradise; this is what I call utter bliss”.

At the other end of the room sat Neil, thinking of a place that was a better. A more scenic exterior, but he couldn’t seem to name a more genuine place that did not make up for the million empty spaces in his life. The interiors of this very room brought him closer to life as he knew it and this fact made him stay there. The smile on his face, the genuine feeling of a total bliss made him stick to that spot and these five people who he had come to know as friends, with a love that took on the mantle of good ole’ brotherly love, even though he had a brother.

“I’ll tell you what; I won’t smoke one till you roll one yourself” – Neil slurred.

Joey looked up with his wine infested eyes and nodded his head to show a sign of agreement.

From the back, Zakk screamed; “Now, We’re talking” and handed Joey a handful of what he confessed was the best weed around town; “This is the best shit man, and its ground to perfection.”

Almost in a hurry; Neil was sitting cross legged across Joey, teaching him how to roll a joint, his first joint, his induction to a world that Zakk and he knew in and out, or so they thought.

“Since, you’re smoking this shit for the first time, be a little nice to yourself and mix it in a 3:1 ratio”.

Joey shot back; “what the fuck? Just cause’ I’m the youngest, does not mean I have to go easy”.

Zakk slurred; let him smoke it his way and sat down to help him out, “take a bit of your weed in your hand, mix a bit of your tobacco and mix it together to a nice powdered blend”.

Joey was trying his best to not show his inexperience in this word that he had only heard and seen stories off, but never been in one before. Neil was done rolling his sixth joint and Zakk was done smoking his third, when Joey joyously said; “is this good enough?” with a tone in his voice that sounded like the victory bells of the English taking over the northern belt of America.

Neil looked up with a smile and said; dude you made it! Now, you smoke it, pulling out his lighter and helped an already drunk Joey to a world of a heady concoction of booze and good weed. A world, the rest of the group excepting Zakk and himself dared to venture into except for the occasional drag or two. Joey took his first drag of grass, his first drag of something that even resembled a cigarette.

“Cough-cough”, Joey struggled with his loosely made J, all the while mustering up a will to stutter a mouthful of inner feelings that was supposed to be out. “You know, my brother is gonna’ kill me if he comes to know”. “You know, Led Zep is crap, how bout’ some Lamb of God?”

The trip went deeper, as Neil liked putting it; weed is like a video-game, it has levels – you have to fight through every one of them to have a glimpse of the other side that awaits you. The victory lap too is just another level too.”

Zakk bent down; gave him a hand and went – “Dude, you need to get your arse back home, before your brother turns up here”.

Neil mustered up his words of responsibility; “I’ll get him home, I’ll drop him home”.

Neil picking up Joey says; “dude! I’ll be back, leave the mains open”.

Joey screamed “so would I be just wait and watch!”

Zakk said; “Yea dude, I’ll come over to your place tomorrow”.

Joey smiled and said; Okay, dude but make it in the evening, I’m not sure if my brain would agree meeting you tomorrow in the morning”

Neil; Merry Christmas Joey, I think you gotta’ get your arse home, before we’re all busted!!

Joey; Yea, let’s get home!

Neil looking at Zakk; I’ll catch you in a while.

Zakk in an approving nod; yea in a while!

And in the background, Brian Wilson sang one of his most prophetic tracks and it was aptly so considering Zakk was about to crawl on the carpet just like his famous brother of sorts… The words spelt disdain and glory all at once –

There’s a place, where I can go,
To tell my troubles to,
In my room, In my room…