Ashbee & Son

A Dark Chapter

Before I knew what happened, I was in my car driving in some direction. Traffic lights blazed by in blurry streaks. It was like children waving sparklers in the night. Snow fell upon the windshield leaving tiny wet spots. I let the snow collect until I could no longer see through, and then I let it collect even more. To be truthful, I couldn't see through even if there were no spots. My vision was a representation of what was going on in my mind at that moment. I was everywhere and nowhere. I saw everything and nothing. I passed cars on the shoulder. I failed to stop at anything red before me. The dim orange glow of the streetlamps abound were what assuaged the shroud of dark that creeped ever in, in, in. I craved strong drink.

I found myself at The Brain, a bar at the corner of James North and Mulberry. I pulled up crooked and parked. The packed snow crunched beneath my feet, and the tiny flakes gathered in my hair. I rustled them out as I stepped through the door, sitting at the first stool available. It was a Monday night, so the only people there were what I assumed to be regulars. There were two twenty-somethings working the bar. And they were on their phones, oblivious to my presence. I tapped my hands on the bar, playing the drum beat to some made-up song in my head. A minute passed, and a fury washed over me like a wave of flame.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Get off your fucking phones and serve me!"

One of them shoved his phone in his pocket and rushed over. He was tall and lanky. He wore skinny jeans that had tears in the knees and a loose-fitting, hole-pocked tee-shirt. "Sorry," he said. "What do you want?"

I raised a brow. "What do I want?" I repeated the words with disgust. "Is that how you talk to your patrons?"

"What can I get for you, sir?" he tried again.

"I want a pitcher of beer and three shots of anything."

"Oh, are you expecting guests?"

"No."

"Well, I can't sell you a pitcher for yourself."

"Why not?"

"Because we'd be turning you into a liability claim."

"Fine," I said. "A pint of whatever and a shot of whatever."

He leaned in. "This is it, you know. Enjoy it, sir."

I chugged the pint and took the shot. I laid down a twenty and left. I drove to the nearest liquor store. I bought a 40-ounce bottle of Alberta Premium and took it to Pier 4 Park. I cracked open the lid and took a great swallow. I sat and stared out at the black, frozen bay. I turned on the radio and rested my head back. "One Headlight" played. I swallowed mouthful after mouthful. The coolant I'd poured down my throat quelled the heat. The anger. But it did not feel good. I felt nothing. I glanced at the clock on the dash. I looked away, swigging from the bottle. When I looked back at the clock, an hour had passed. Had I closed my eyes and drifted off? I didn't recall doing that. I looked out at the bay again with eyes heavy from exhaustion.

I didn't know what was to come next. I didn't know what to do. There was so little to live for now. I'd lost everyone for which I'd cared. I flipped through my cerebral rolodex. I'd lost my girl—the love of my life—Ingrid Sofia Deruiter. I'd lost my boy Charlie. Aubrey was now gone. Poof. All I had left was Edmund Ashbee. Ten years ago, if I were to say that all I had left was Edmund Ashbee, I would have leapt into the Hamilton Harbour. But that's where I now was. This was my new reality. I thought on it and thought on it, and I'd sunken into a despair I'd never felt. I called to God. I asked him why he'd saved Ingrid when I asked, but every time I asked him to save me, he never did.

"I know I don't deserve it, but I need your help. Please. Why is it that you'd gift me with all these blessings, yet make me, create me, so that I'd destroy it all?" I sipped from the bottle. "It's on you! All this! Everything! It's on you!" I put back the remaining pint of cheap whiskey and started the engine. Heat poured in through the vents. I slid the stick into drive.

My eyelids drifted closed several times. I recall the impact of garbage bins against the bumper. Shattering glass, too. I pulled up the drive of 45 Arkell Street and bumped the back end of the Escape. An alarm sounded. Edmund threw open the front door as I fell out of the car.

"Son?" He hit a button on the remote he held, and the alarm silenced. I grasped the handle of the opened door and used it to gain footing. Edmund came to help. He attempted to get me up, but I pushed him away, and he almost fell.

"What's going on, Tobias?" he said, catching himself. "You're so drunk you can't even stand up!"

"Fuck off, old man," I mumbled, making my way to the door.

"No, no!" he shouted. "You're not going inside if you're talking to me like that!"

"Fuck off, old man!"

"What the matter with you, huh? What have you been drinking?" He dug out the bottle from my car. "Is this it? You drank a forty-ounce of whiskey and drove home?"

I turned around. "You've done it a thousand times, you fucking hypocrite!" He said nothing. I clasped the handle of the door and threw it open. The bottle hit me in the back of the leg. "What the fuck!" I cried, falling to my knees. I turned. "You're crazy!"

He came up behind me. "You need help, Tobias."

My head dropped and I began to weep. "It's all your fault."

"What's that?"

I looked up. "I said: it's all your fault." He raised his brows.

"What you said at my wedding. It hurt. It fucking hurt. But that's not it. That's just nothing. When mom died..." I could hardly speak through the tears. "When she died, you just gave up. I lost two parents that day. Fuck—why? Why did you give up on me?" Tears started in his eyes. "You should rot for it."

"You've got problems, Toby. You always have. You're so angry, and you're vain and selfish and—"

"Fuck you!" I cried. I scrambled to my feet and made for my car.

"Tobias, no. Do not get in that car!"

"What do you care? You've never given a flying fuck about me!" I opened the door and got in.

He swung open the door after me. "Tobias, please don't," he pleaded.

"I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

I fired up the engine.

"Tobias! Please, son!"

I put the stick in reverse. He stepped back, and I peeled out the drive. I hadn't a clue where I was going, but I had to leave. I had to get away from him, from everything.