Collision Course
by Bradley Beau Holland
Casey watched the secondhand creep its way around the clock, still off by an hour from the last time change. Lunch was always slow at Malley’s. Especially when it hadn’t even hit noon. His shift was scheduled for three-thirty, which meant the last round needed to be ordered around a quarter till one if he was going to make it in on time and not smell like straight sour mash.
His phone was on the bar top buzzing with the name Alice across the screen.
Casey knew he couldn’t hit ignore because then she’d at least know for sure he was awake.
Hank, the bartender, brought another drink. Casey saw Hank for what he was. A bartender and not a shrink. He’d seen a therapist a few years ago, and he just thought that made things worse. Hank turned the television to the Red Sox game. They were playing the Marlins in sunny Miami while it was cold and wet in Memphis.
His phone buzzed again. It was Alice.
The Red Sox had taken the lead, and the clock read one forty-five. Which meant it was really twelve forty-five. Casey ordered another round.
Frank, his boss, answered on the fourth ring. “Frank, I’m not going to make it today,” Casey said.
He threw back another shot and watched the final strike of the game close it out. The screen of his phone lit up again with the name Alice. He stared at the pine pillar in front of him admiring the craftsmanship of the woodworker carved behind the glossy finish.
Through the dingy yellow windows of the bar, he could see the rain had lightened up. He decided to do one responsible thing for the day. After Casey got square with Hank he stepped out of the bar and paused to light a cigarette before he began his trek home.
Casey laid down on the couch and told himself he’d only close his eyes for ten minutes.
He woke to an excruciating hangover. His phone was dead, and he had no idea what time it was. The room was pitch black. He stumbled his way to the kitchen. As he reached up into the cabinet above the sink for a glass he smelled the stench of his armpit. The tap water reminded him of pool water.
Someone pounded on the front door. Casey looked out the peephole. She stood there looking back. Although Alice was two heads shorter and maybe a hundred pounds lighter than him, he had always felt intimidated by her. Not that he ever mentioned or showed it.
“You know you look like shit and smell like it, too,” Alice said.
She walked to the kitchen carrying two plastic bags. He watched as she placed groceries on the countertop. Then she started a pot of coffee before bringing Casey a bottle of water. She sat next to him on the couch. He told her about missing work. She pursed her lips. They had been friends since childhood. Casey had always thought of her as one of the guys. Daryl, his older brother by a year, had a crush on her in high school—Casey thought Alice and Daryl snuck off into the woods one day to make out.
“Daryl called me this morning. He’s coming home for a visit next week. That’s why I blew your phone up,” Alice said.
Daryl left for the Army a month after graduating high school. Casey knew Alice wanted Daryl.
“You should be excited then.”
“We should all be.”
“He’s been gone a while. Surely the two of you will go out drinking one night.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Wait. What?”
Flustered, Alice went to pour a cup of coffee.
She held the mug with both hands and leaned her hip into the counter her back to him. He watched her as she took sips with long pauses in between. He felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry,” Casey said. No response. She sat the mug down and put away the groceries that’d been left on the counter.
Casey went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He splashed hot water on his face before putting on deodorant. As he walked out of the bathroom, she was coming down the hallway. They collided.
“Sorry, I was going to see if you had dirty clothes that need to be washed.”
Casey put his hands on her hips. She grasped his forearms. They kissed.
His phone was on the bar top buzzing with the name Alice across the screen.
Casey knew he couldn’t hit ignore because then she’d at least know for sure he was awake.
Hank, the bartender, brought another drink. Casey saw Hank for what he was. A bartender and not a shrink. He’d seen a therapist a few years ago, and he just thought that made things worse. Hank turned the television to the Red Sox game. They were playing the Marlins in sunny Miami while it was cold and wet in Memphis.
His phone buzzed again. It was Alice.
The Red Sox had taken the lead, and the clock read one forty-five. Which meant it was really twelve forty-five. Casey ordered another round.
Frank, his boss, answered on the fourth ring. “Frank, I’m not going to make it today,” Casey said.
He threw back another shot and watched the final strike of the game close it out. The screen of his phone lit up again with the name Alice. He stared at the pine pillar in front of him admiring the craftsmanship of the woodworker carved behind the glossy finish.
Through the dingy yellow windows of the bar, he could see the rain had lightened up. He decided to do one responsible thing for the day. After Casey got square with Hank he stepped out of the bar and paused to light a cigarette before he began his trek home.
Casey laid down on the couch and told himself he’d only close his eyes for ten minutes.
He woke to an excruciating hangover. His phone was dead, and he had no idea what time it was. The room was pitch black. He stumbled his way to the kitchen. As he reached up into the cabinet above the sink for a glass he smelled the stench of his armpit. The tap water reminded him of pool water.
Someone pounded on the front door. Casey looked out the peephole. She stood there looking back. Although Alice was two heads shorter and maybe a hundred pounds lighter than him, he had always felt intimidated by her. Not that he ever mentioned or showed it.
“You know you look like shit and smell like it, too,” Alice said.
She walked to the kitchen carrying two plastic bags. He watched as she placed groceries on the countertop. Then she started a pot of coffee before bringing Casey a bottle of water. She sat next to him on the couch. He told her about missing work. She pursed her lips. They had been friends since childhood. Casey had always thought of her as one of the guys. Daryl, his older brother by a year, had a crush on her in high school—Casey thought Alice and Daryl snuck off into the woods one day to make out.
“Daryl called me this morning. He’s coming home for a visit next week. That’s why I blew your phone up,” Alice said.
Daryl left for the Army a month after graduating high school. Casey knew Alice wanted Daryl.
“You should be excited then.”
“We should all be.”
“He’s been gone a while. Surely the two of you will go out drinking one night.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Wait. What?”
Flustered, Alice went to pour a cup of coffee.
She held the mug with both hands and leaned her hip into the counter her back to him. He watched her as she took sips with long pauses in between. He felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry,” Casey said. No response. She sat the mug down and put away the groceries that’d been left on the counter.
Casey went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He splashed hot water on his face before putting on deodorant. As he walked out of the bathroom, she was coming down the hallway. They collided.
“Sorry, I was going to see if you had dirty clothes that need to be washed.”
Casey put his hands on her hips. She grasped his forearms. They kissed.
Bradley Beau Holland is a writer and U.S. Army veteran living in Middle, Tennessee. He studied English with a focus in creative writing at the University of Memphis. At heart, Beau is a culinary enthusiast. His work can be found in Barely South Review, Memphis Magazine, and Projected Letters.