North & West

Six

I saw West two days later.

My knuckles were still bruised and I still occasionally bumped my hand into something and reopened the wound, even when I tried avoiding everything at all costs. 

The wound sort of stayed upon my skin like a reminder of what drinking did to me. It made me irrational and it made me lash out, but oh god, when it was in my system and I was feeling high instead of incredibly low, it almost seemed worth it.

Except it wasn't. I had punched a random girl in the mouth, and despite how great it had felt to lash out at someone other than myself – and she sort of deserved it a little with how irritating she had been acting – I knew it wasn't right. I didn't like the way that alcohol seemed to change me when it was coursing through my veins.

It appeared that I wasn't the only one who changed when alcohol was brought into the equation.

I saw West two days later in the liquor store in town.

I wouldn't have stopped outside of the little store if I hadn't heard yelling and a masculine voice yelling out curse words. I recognized West's voice as if I'd known it all my life, and before I even thought about it, I had crossed the street and made my way to the liquor store.

The building was an ugly red brick color and it was covered in posters, some old and some new, advertising random things. I sometimes saw people randomly come up to the building and stick signs or anything they wanted the block to see, but I never really saw anyone tear them down. The building almost reminded me of a diary, collecting the scraps that had been left behind by the people in the town.

I stood outside and watched through the clear glass of the window as the store's manager – a man with a scruffy black beard and tattooed-on eyeliner who's name I couldn't remember – stood yelling at West. His face was already red and even from my spot outside of the shop, I could have sworn that I saw a vein bulging in his aging forehead.

And then West swept his arm across the counter space and sent the cup full of pens and the little business card holder flying. I was pretty sure I was gaping by then and I even debated on rushing into the store to intervene, but when the manager grabbed West by the collar of his jacket and started hauling him toward the door, I quickly stepped back and tried to appear nonchalant and as if I hadn't just been staring into the shop.

If the manager decided to take his anger out on me, even with my best efforts, I couldn't take him, not in his angry and burly state.

The manager used one of his bulky arms to push the door open, and then he used the other to shove West out. “Don't try that again, kid.” He snapped at West, before yanking the door closed behind him, the bells above its metal frame ringing in an almost mocking manner.

West raised his finger and flipped the manager off, using his other hand to dust off his jacket as if being manhandled by the shop's owner had made him filthy. His jacket appeared the same to me, but I decided against mentioning that – he'd yet to even notice me.

When he did, his reaction was almost comical. He turned around in an almost slow motion-like sort of way as if he'd felt my gaze on his back, and then he jumped a little.

I didn't waste any effort trying to conceal the smile growing on my face.

He recovered from his initial shock enough to crack a smile and attempt to make a joke, the usual layer of humor he had around him showing more than the desperation that had been in his eyes moments before when he'd been kicked out of the liquor store.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Nice to see you, North.”

I watched him as he made his way over to me and after examining his steps and realizing that something was off, it finally clicked: West was tipsy and on the brink of being drunk. Not intoxicated enough to fall over or forget his own name, but he was certainly enjoying a good buzz.