Melody

2

It was snowing again. Vincent stumbled sideways into the Dianigian. As one night bled into the next, Vincent felt more and more like a shadow constantly lingering on the back wall of that pub. Before he knew it, Mary had placed a glass of cheap, dark scotch in front of him. Her expression was sharp and unavailing as usual.
-About the other night... Vincent stumbled over the words, but Mary waved a hand at him dismissively.
-Forget about it. This one's on me. Vincent couldn't tell whether she was embarrassed or flattered, but he thanked her all the same. The last thing he needed was a lingering awkwardness at his only true place of refuge. Vincent stared around himself, the room was half empty as usual. By the bar, Vincent glimpsed red hair with the beauty and horror of blood flowing through water. Her face lay in obscurity at first, but then he caught it, aggressive and androgynous in its nature. She looked entirely unordinary in a place like this, Vincent thought. Still, he felt in himself a longing to be near her.
Perhaps it was his shock, or perhaps the whiskey, but before long Vincent found himself on his feet and approaching the bar where she sat. Casually, he took a seat at the stool beside her. When he caught her eye she had a certain confidence, but her expression was unromantic. Vincent's face was lined with wrinkles and rough skin. Just being in the company of such a beautiful woman would buy him more respect than he surely ever deserved in the first place.
-What do you drink? Vincent asked, shy but cordial. The girl let out a slow breath.
-Gin martini, she said to the bartender. "And another scotch," she eyed his glass, empty but for a dark residue. The bartender pulled two glasses out from beneath the countertop and she paid him accordingly. Vincent nodded and smiled.
-Thank you, he said. "Usually I pay for my own." The bartender poured their drinks and slid them across the counter. The woman took a sip so delicate she might not have even tasted the gin.
-Most times I drink alone, she said. Vincent let out a sharp exhale.
-That surprises me, he said, intending it to be flattering. She shrugged.
-I enjoy my own company.
-Oh, Vincent remarked self-consciously. "I can leave if you'd like." She shook her head ever slightly.
-That was not a rejection, have your drink, she said. That was kind of her, Vincent thought, he took a sip.
-If you don't mind, usually I drink alone too, he said. She stared into the distance.
-Don't mistake my boredom for courtesy. Vincent was taken aback by her candor.
-Of course, he said. She seemed to relax a bit at that, and Vincent caught a slight smile across her face.
-Bartending is an elegant art form you know, she said. "With the advent of the technological age they might try and automate the whole process, but nothing can supplement the human touch." Vincent chuckled.
-Making a drink isn't so hard, a machine could do it just as well. The girl's eyes remained serious.
-Anyone can act, or paint, or cook, but that does not mean there is no skill in it, and the quality of the service is entirely dependent on the opinion of the subject for whom it is performed. All of it is very much an artistic pursuit, she said. Vincent shrugged.
-Maybe I don't know as much about art as I'd like to think. Besides I'm supposed to be getting sober, he admitted without meeting her eye. She adorned a twisted grin.
-Sober men don't drink whiskey. Vincent frowned, staring vaguely into the distance.
-Sobriety doesn't serve in a world like this one, he said. "Or maybe I'm just not built for it." The woman met his eye.
-Not built for sobriety? Or for the world? Vincent shrugged perfunctorily.
-Both I suppose. Vincent wasn't certain what it was about her, but he felt himself growing increasingly vulnerable in her presence. The woman continued to sip her drink.
-You're quite the pessimist, she said unsympathetically. "It's no wonder you fail to see the art in bartending." Vincent met her eye again, this time with more sincerity.
-Sometimes I find it impossible to sit in existence with myself. Vincent could feel her gaze penetrating him but he could not meet her eye. The girl had a calmness about her, as though the discomfort of the admission did not weigh on her in the slightest.
-You shouldn't hold yourself to such insufficient standards. Expect more than just existence and it becomes so much less of a chore. She said it as if without a second thought, but the words weighed heavy. Vincent stared down into his glass.
-existence alone is already such a burden. What if I am not meant for greater things? Vincent caught her smiling in his periphery.
-you're not meant for anything, do not delude yourself. If you want nothing out of life then that's what you will get. You sulk only out of a lack of effort. Now Vincent found he was the one smiling.
-My foreman would agree to that effect I think, he said. He stared at her face again, in awe of her bluntness. He found it was a refreshing change of pace. She stared back at him and her grin fell away again.
-Don't take this conversation for any sort of vested sexual interest, you will find yourself disappointed, she said plainly. Vincent dawned an embarrassed look.
-Oh, no. I didn't think...
-You did. But I don't take any offense by it. Vincent had never met a person who spoke so forwardly before. He tossed back his scotch.
-To tell the truth of it, I find you quite beautiful. I'm sure you've heard it many times before but there it is.
-I am a bag of skin brimming with piss and shit, and you are ugly. But I would not care even if you were pretty, it interests me no more or less. She picked up the toothpick from where it sat in her glass and bit the green olive off its tip. Vincent did not know whether to be offended or flattered. After all, she was still here, and she made no effort to deceive him. At the least, his company was enough to hold her there with him.
-you are a very peculiar person, he admitted. She shrugged.
-Some might think so. Vincent paused.
-Why did you buy me that drink? He asked.
-Like I said, I am bored, and you are of interest to me, she said. Vincent seemed taken aback.
-There's nothing very interesting about me. The girl took another look at him, this time with some sincerity.
-You remind me of myself. Of a person I used to be. Vincent seemed confused.
-You are brash and unashamed. You savor your drink. You're nothing like me. The girl grabbed Vincent's hand, staring at his weathered skin and thick calluses.
-You are still subjected to your own self-pity, tethered to deeply human proclivities. I am free, but I was once a slave too. She let his hand go again and he let it hang there in the air, as if savoring the warmth of her touch.
-What changed? He asked. The girl paused, then took another long drink from her glass, finishing it.
-I can show you if you'd like, she said. The girl stood up from her stool and began walking toward the door without a second glance. Not having time to think, Vincent decided to follow her. The girl went out through the back, leading him down into a dark alleyway. She stared all about herself, as though she were being watched, then stopped and settled off to one side a few paces around the corner. She pulled a pill bottle out from her pocket, brimming with chalky white circles. She popped the cap and let one fall out into her palm.
-What is it? Vincent asked.
-It's an anti-androgenic hormone blocker, except it's synthesized with some kind of testosterone stabilizer in order to mitigate the feminizing effects. Vincent nodded without much assurance.
-What does that mean exactly? He asked. The girl let out a patient sigh.
-Essentially, it's designed to kill off your libido. Vincent shook his head.
-I'm still not certain I understand. How is this meant to help me? The woman pressed her red lips together, finding the words to explain herself.
-We've seemed to have gotten ahead of ourselves and populated the earth beyond its capacity. More than ever, sex has fallen out of priority. However, those hormonal drives remain, and left unsatisfied they will eat away at you, day after day, and distract you from fulfilling yourself elsewise, in pursuit of a type of satisfaction that you are incapable of attaining. Vincent paused, slightly taken aback.
-I don't know what to say, he admitted.
-If you were not left wanting for sex, maybe you would pursue new exciting ventures out of pure boredom, with the knowledge that it is worth something to you in and of itself, and not only yet another means to an end. She pressed the pill into the palm of his hand and he closed his fingers around it on instinct. "Try it, and if you find that it helped you come and find me again at the Dianigian. If not, it matters little to me either way." She turned her back to him again and began walking toward the pub. Vincent found himself still lost for words, until among the silence he rediscovered them.
-I am Vincent, he said. "My name, in case I do come find you again." The woman looked back at him with the hint of a smile across her face.
-If you do, you can call me Melody, she said. And with that she was gone again, and Vincent was alone with his thoughts, and the mysterious pill this woman had left for him.