simply look upon my form, it spoke to me."
- Elmore Patric, Words of Wisdom
SMASH! Shatter.
The sound of Elmore's aluminum baseball-bat breaking his car window reverberated throughout the three-story parking garage. If there was anyone around, they would have panicked, and called the Transit Rail police. Luckily for Elmore the place was empty at that moment while he continued to walk around his car and pound dents into the doors, hood, and the trunk. Why was he doing this? It was the end of the line for him. The rock bottom of his depression had crushed his soul. His plan was to take the Transit to the city, walk to that fucking infamous orange bridge, and jump off. So far that year there had been nine suicides on that bridge. He wanted to be number ten.
It had been two weeks since his girlfriend Claire dumped him after admitting she had cheated on him with an older man. Elmore forgave her, and offered her a second chance because he loved her too much, but she preferred the lifestyle of a money-grubbing slut. He had given her his soul for the past seven years, and she tossed it aside like a dirty rag.
"Cunt!" Elmore yelled as he delivered one last swing with the bat into the passenger window, the glass shattering into the car. He then dropped the aluminum bat onto the pavement before walking to the stairwell, made his way to the platform, and waited for the train.
Sitting on a bench, nothing was on his mind but that damn bridge. He thought about how windy it was going to be, if a strong gust of wind could sweep in, somehow cushioning his fall to prevent the smack on the surface of the water from killing him. He hoped not. On a documentary he once watched about the suicides on the orange bridge, a young man, about Elmore's age had survived the fall by changing his mind in mid-fall, adjusting his body so he'd land on his feet. His back broke of course, preventing him from swimming, but as the young man was about to sink a Sea Lion swam around his limp body, keeping him afloat. Though it was the Sea Lion that kept him from dying, the young man said it was God that saved him.
Fucking dumb bastard, Elmore had thought, a fucking living thing saves your life, and you give credit to something that's not REAL!
Elmore thought to himself on the Transit platform that if he somehow was still alive after the fall, and a Sea Lion came to his aide, he'd break it's fucking neck with his bare hands.
The train arrived at the station.
One year later when Elmore tried to think about that day of his failed attempt at suicide, he realized he couldn't remember the train ride to the Market Street station, walking on the sidewalk, or lighting a cigarette. But what he does remember is when he was about to finish the cigarette he saw the sign outside Tony's Italian Restaurant, decided to have one last meal before his death, and get drunk to feel good about it.
A sexy blond hostess wearing a white shirt and black slacks stood behind a glossy wood podium, giving a bright, friendly smile to Elmore's stoic face.
"Good evening, sir," she greeted. "Welcome to Tony's. How many in your party?"
"Just me," Elmore said, holding up one finger, pointing at himself. "Is it too early for dinner?"
"We've just started serving it, sir. Follow me, please." The hostess held the menu as she led Elmore through the restaurant to a booth with high partitions.
Elmore sat down, immediately feeling relief from the near total privacy the spot permitted.
"Wow," Elmore said. "This is really nice." He almost bared a smile.
"We strive to make our customers feel the best," the hostess said, placing the menu on the table before Elmore. "Your waiter will be with you shortly."
Looking through the menu, Elmore scoffed at the pretentiousness of the restaurant industry and their one page menus. He searched for a plate that had the simplest wording, and found it. It made more sense to him than someone giving the middle-finger. He then looked at the wine selection and searched for the most expensive bottle. Being it was his last hours amongst the living, he was going all out
"Hello, sir," a girl said. "My name is Lilian. I'll be your waitress."
"I'll start with your most expensive bottle of wine," Elmore said, still looking at the wine menu. "The ce-cedad- the one that costs a hundred-thirty."
"Is your name Elmore?" the waitress asked. "Elmore Patric?"
"Yes, that's me," Elmore said, still browsing the list of wines. "Maybe I'll have the Coppola. I heard it's shit, but at least I can pronounce it."
"I'm Lilian Palmer," the waitress said. "I use to be your neighbor. I lived around the corner. Well, I just recently moved back home."
Elmore finally looked up at her, and a slow breeze of recognition came over him; it had been years since he had seen her. She was all grown up, with long dirty-blond hair in a pony-tail, thin, fit, and tall. And a nice rack to boot. She wore a black shirt and black slacks.
"Whoa," Elmore uttered. "The last time I saw you you had a mohawk. You've really changed."
"Yeah, one of those teenage phases that fade once you make it passed the threshold into your twenties. I see you haven't changed much. You still got the same hair style."
"I'm not one for trends, I guess," Elmore said, running a hand through his hair. "So why'd you move back home? You finish college?"
"I never went to college. I moved in with a guy, and-" Lilian squinted her eyes, a little too personal for her to explain to a near stranger. She simply said, "It's a long story."
"You're right," Elmore said, putting a hand up, "none of my business. My girl just left me, and all I got to say about it-" Elmore stopped himself in a minor fit of rage, then almost under his breath, he said, "Fucking-whore-bitch."
Lilian smiled and laughed, nodding her head.
"Sorry about that," Elmore said. "You must understand, it's very emotional for men."
"It's okay, Elmore. So you want the Ca' del Baio Barbaresco Valgrande bottle? Good choice."
"Is that how you say it?" Elmore said. "Damn, I was way off. Yes. And to eat I'll have the meal on the menu that begins with the words: 'Full Belly Farm Melon.'"
"A lot of the unsophisticated order that all the time," Lilian said, raising her brow.
"Well, I'm no sophisticated fool. And Lilian, for your honesty, I'll overtip."
She giggled, then said, "I'll be right back with your bottle of wine, Elmore."
This chance meeting with Lilian Palmer set in motion a change of attitude in Elmore. It wasn't the excellent food, nor was it the inebriation of the superb wine. Much like that young man that survived the fall from the orange bridge, Elmore was going to give living a life one more shot.
He was surprised Lilian decided to serve him when she could have asked someone else as a favor to take her place. Like most of his neighbors, the Palmer family avoided talking to him after his episode three years earlier when he suffered a mental breakdown, walking around the neighborhood with his shirt off, knocking on front doors, trying to find out who was delivering him to his destiny. The event caused neighborhood gossip in which people feared Elmore was going to shoot them, or break in their homes and rape them. The event embarrassed Elmore so much he became a drunk, which of course led his girlfriend Claire to slowly distance herself from him so she'd find an old fart with lots of money to fuck.
Elmore couldn't keep his eyes off Lilian as he drank and ate. An overwhelming sensation of faith poured over him, like the first breath of fresh air for a man buried alive climbing out of his grave. Lilian eventually did notice him staring at her, and when their eyes met from across the restaurant she met his gaze with a smile and a flick of her brow.
If there was a God, Elmore thought, it would not be a thing, but a moment that would save a life.
Lilian made her way to Elmore's booth with the check folder.
The moment arrived. Elmore did not care for the consequence, good or bad.
"Will there be anything else, Elmore? Dessert maybe?" Lilian asked, placing the check folder on the table.
"No dessert," Elmore replied. "But I would like your phone number."
Lilian grinned, leaned forward, and opened the check folder. Elmore looked down and saw a phone number written down on a separate sheet of receipt paper.
"It's right there," she said softly. "I get off at nine-thirty. Will you still be around?"
Elmore nodded, Yes.
"Text me your number. There's a bar on Broadway called: Score Sports Bar. We can have some drinks, catch up. Sound cool, Elmore?"
"Yes, very cool," Elmore said, picking up the check folder.
Elmore Patric never made it to the orange bridge. He had totally forgotten about it until a year later when two Detectives knocked on the front door.
It had been two weeks since his girlfriend Claire dumped him after admitting she had cheated on him with an older man. Elmore forgave her, and offered her a second chance because he loved her too much, but she preferred the lifestyle of a money-grubbing slut. He had given her his soul for the past seven years, and she tossed it aside like a dirty rag.
"Cunt!" Elmore yelled as he delivered one last swing with the bat into the passenger window, the glass shattering into the car. He then dropped the aluminum bat onto the pavement before walking to the stairwell, made his way to the platform, and waited for the train.
Sitting on a bench, nothing was on his mind but that damn bridge. He thought about how windy it was going to be, if a strong gust of wind could sweep in, somehow cushioning his fall to prevent the smack on the surface of the water from killing him. He hoped not. On a documentary he once watched about the suicides on the orange bridge, a young man, about Elmore's age had survived the fall by changing his mind in mid-fall, adjusting his body so he'd land on his feet. His back broke of course, preventing him from swimming, but as the young man was about to sink a Sea Lion swam around his limp body, keeping him afloat. Though it was the Sea Lion that kept him from dying, the young man said it was God that saved him.
Fucking dumb bastard, Elmore had thought, a fucking living thing saves your life, and you give credit to something that's not REAL!
Elmore thought to himself on the Transit platform that if he somehow was still alive after the fall, and a Sea Lion came to his aide, he'd break it's fucking neck with his bare hands.
The train arrived at the station.
One year later when Elmore tried to think about that day of his failed attempt at suicide, he realized he couldn't remember the train ride to the Market Street station, walking on the sidewalk, or lighting a cigarette. But what he does remember is when he was about to finish the cigarette he saw the sign outside Tony's Italian Restaurant, decided to have one last meal before his death, and get drunk to feel good about it.
A sexy blond hostess wearing a white shirt and black slacks stood behind a glossy wood podium, giving a bright, friendly smile to Elmore's stoic face.
"Good evening, sir," she greeted. "Welcome to Tony's. How many in your party?"
"Just me," Elmore said, holding up one finger, pointing at himself. "Is it too early for dinner?"
"We've just started serving it, sir. Follow me, please." The hostess held the menu as she led Elmore through the restaurant to a booth with high partitions.
Elmore sat down, immediately feeling relief from the near total privacy the spot permitted.
"Wow," Elmore said. "This is really nice." He almost bared a smile.
"We strive to make our customers feel the best," the hostess said, placing the menu on the table before Elmore. "Your waiter will be with you shortly."
Looking through the menu, Elmore scoffed at the pretentiousness of the restaurant industry and their one page menus. He searched for a plate that had the simplest wording, and found it. It made more sense to him than someone giving the middle-finger. He then looked at the wine selection and searched for the most expensive bottle. Being it was his last hours amongst the living, he was going all out
"Hello, sir," a girl said. "My name is Lilian. I'll be your waitress."
"I'll start with your most expensive bottle of wine," Elmore said, still looking at the wine menu. "The ce-cedad- the one that costs a hundred-thirty."
"Is your name Elmore?" the waitress asked. "Elmore Patric?"
"Yes, that's me," Elmore said, still browsing the list of wines. "Maybe I'll have the Coppola. I heard it's shit, but at least I can pronounce it."
"I'm Lilian Palmer," the waitress said. "I use to be your neighbor. I lived around the corner. Well, I just recently moved back home."
Elmore finally looked up at her, and a slow breeze of recognition came over him; it had been years since he had seen her. She was all grown up, with long dirty-blond hair in a pony-tail, thin, fit, and tall. And a nice rack to boot. She wore a black shirt and black slacks.
"Whoa," Elmore uttered. "The last time I saw you you had a mohawk. You've really changed."
"Yeah, one of those teenage phases that fade once you make it passed the threshold into your twenties. I see you haven't changed much. You still got the same hair style."
"I'm not one for trends, I guess," Elmore said, running a hand through his hair. "So why'd you move back home? You finish college?"
"I never went to college. I moved in with a guy, and-" Lilian squinted her eyes, a little too personal for her to explain to a near stranger. She simply said, "It's a long story."
"You're right," Elmore said, putting a hand up, "none of my business. My girl just left me, and all I got to say about it-" Elmore stopped himself in a minor fit of rage, then almost under his breath, he said, "Fucking-whore-bitch."
Lilian smiled and laughed, nodding her head.
"Sorry about that," Elmore said. "You must understand, it's very emotional for men."
"It's okay, Elmore. So you want the Ca' del Baio Barbaresco Valgrande bottle? Good choice."
"Is that how you say it?" Elmore said. "Damn, I was way off. Yes. And to eat I'll have the meal on the menu that begins with the words: 'Full Belly Farm Melon.'"
"A lot of the unsophisticated order that all the time," Lilian said, raising her brow.
"Well, I'm no sophisticated fool. And Lilian, for your honesty, I'll overtip."
She giggled, then said, "I'll be right back with your bottle of wine, Elmore."
This chance meeting with Lilian Palmer set in motion a change of attitude in Elmore. It wasn't the excellent food, nor was it the inebriation of the superb wine. Much like that young man that survived the fall from the orange bridge, Elmore was going to give living a life one more shot.
He was surprised Lilian decided to serve him when she could have asked someone else as a favor to take her place. Like most of his neighbors, the Palmer family avoided talking to him after his episode three years earlier when he suffered a mental breakdown, walking around the neighborhood with his shirt off, knocking on front doors, trying to find out who was delivering him to his destiny. The event caused neighborhood gossip in which people feared Elmore was going to shoot them, or break in their homes and rape them. The event embarrassed Elmore so much he became a drunk, which of course led his girlfriend Claire to slowly distance herself from him so she'd find an old fart with lots of money to fuck.
Elmore couldn't keep his eyes off Lilian as he drank and ate. An overwhelming sensation of faith poured over him, like the first breath of fresh air for a man buried alive climbing out of his grave. Lilian eventually did notice him staring at her, and when their eyes met from across the restaurant she met his gaze with a smile and a flick of her brow.
If there was a God, Elmore thought, it would not be a thing, but a moment that would save a life.
Lilian made her way to Elmore's booth with the check folder.
The moment arrived. Elmore did not care for the consequence, good or bad.
"Will there be anything else, Elmore? Dessert maybe?" Lilian asked, placing the check folder on the table.
"No dessert," Elmore replied. "But I would like your phone number."
Lilian grinned, leaned forward, and opened the check folder. Elmore looked down and saw a phone number written down on a separate sheet of receipt paper.
"It's right there," she said softly. "I get off at nine-thirty. Will you still be around?"
Elmore nodded, Yes.
"Text me your number. There's a bar on Broadway called: Score Sports Bar. We can have some drinks, catch up. Sound cool, Elmore?"
"Yes, very cool," Elmore said, picking up the check folder.
Elmore Patric never made it to the orange bridge. He had totally forgotten about it until a year later when two Detectives knocked on the front door.
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