With All My Senses

a tired mind is a dangerous one

flood / verb /

arrive in overwhelming amounts or quantities

I slip through an open door and maneuver slowly through the crowd to get to the bar. Warm music, people playing pool, a lot of conversations blending together. An all too familiar scenery, the past and present intertwining in my head. Finally, I find him, looking through a list of orders, adding some numbers on a worn-out green calculator. I gaze at him until he looks up, sensing some tension in the air. His eyebrows lift and he gives me a quick once over.

Well, look what the cat dragged in. I see you're looking better than before. Skin not as white, no cold sweats. Less insanity as if the whole world was out to get you, no conspiracy theories about the government... Oh, wait, the last one is mine.

He winks at me and gets a tall glass for a beer. I stop him, lifting my hand.

Coke would be fine, Phil.

Well, my, my, my. Times are changing, aren't they now?

I watch as he pours the soda into a glass and throws in a pink umbrella in it. I narrow my eyes but then smile slightly. Somethings never change. I watch him, as he mops the counter, distracted. His face not showing any emotions. I put a hand on his, and he looks up.

I'm better than I was. But nowhere near good - if that's what you were meaning to ask.

He doesn't respond, so I continue.

Phil, the shit I got myself into is so complicated, that I couldn't explain even if I wanted to. But I can tell you this. I found someone to help me.

He stares calmly at me, then pours himself a shot of whiskey and gulps it down in one movement. I look amused at him; he rarely drinks unless he is talking about politics, or if it's the Superbowl season and his team is winning - or losing.

Listen, Elle.

I interrupt him before he can start all over again with one of his famous speeches.

Phil, I don't mean drugs, I'm smarter now to know that crap doesn't work. I learned my lesson hard.

Besides drugs messed up my brain as much as alcohol these days, they made the voices more agitated and louder, so all in all, a really bad combination, yet not something I could share with my ex-boss.

I find that hard to believe after everything that happened to you before.

He looks worried now, his mask slowly slipping.

I know and I get it, I really do, I wouldn't trust myself if I were you either.

A long, heavy sigh.

But I'm telling the truth now, and here is proof.

I pull out a crumpled piece of paper out of the back pocket of my jeans and hand it to him, he looks suspiciously at me but takes it.

What is it?

Look for yourself.

I say and drink half of the coke at once. Stress made me thirsty.

Elle?

Oh, come on, Phil. It's not a poison letter. It's a drug test and it's negative.

He stares at me, gives me a funny look but puts on his glasses and looks closely at the paper, then lifts an eyebrow.