Drinks. White Russians. Two shots Stoli (for the buzz). One shot Kahlua (for the caffeine). Milk (for the protein). I have three or four. Then vodka shots. Then I’m ready. Sometimes I eat garlic and don’t brush my teeth for a handicap. Sometimes I don’t shower for a handicap. Without a shower I smell like alcohol-sweat from running off my hangOVER. Sometimes I don’t have milk so I make Black Russians. I’m Russian or my grandparents were. Both sides so I’m pure. Sometimes I just drink vodka. Sometimes I call my friend when I’m outside a bar or club and tell him to stay on the phone while I drink a fifth. After the first sip I’m happy (plus all those before-I-left-the-apartment drinks). After the last sip I’m more happy, laughing, muscles alcohol-pumped and ready. I thank my friend if I remember and I’m through the door. They’re all there. They’re all beautiful. They’ll all be interesting when we start talking. I’ll move from one to another to another, collect numbers, until I find the one I want. I don’t use lines. I’m not a lech. I just start talking. Men ask what I do, what I say, and I tell them. But they’re not me. When I wake up, I don’t know where I am. That’s the feeling I want. And the new body in bed new all OVER. That’s how we do it, Sharon Olds. Then I’m getting my clothes off the floor, getting dressed, peeing, rubbing toothpaste (sometimes a flavor I’ve never tasted) against my teeth and tongue, leaving. I never know what street I’m on. I’ll look for a marker. A building. The park. Try to guess before I get to the corner. Sometimes I can walk back to my apartment. Sometimes I have to take a subway. Sometimes the sun’s not quite up but the clouds are defined and the birds are loud. Sometimes I need a full day to recOVER. Sometimes I can go nights in a row. Sometimes I can stay in my room, back against bed, eyes on ceiling, and take the quiet. Sometimes I can’t and don’t know what to do and then it’s right there, right OVER me, a word written in air between eyes and ceiling. Drinks.
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Favorite Drink:
White Russian
Two shots Stolichnaya
One shot Kahlua
Milk
Ice
Stir
Black Russian
Two shots Stolichnaya
One shot Kahlua
Ice
Stir
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Adam Berlin is the author of four novels, including Belmondo Style (St. Martin’s Press/winner of The Publishing Triangle’s Ferro-Grumley Award) and Both Members of the Club (Texas A&M University Consortium Press/winner of the Clay Reynolds Novella Prize. He teaches writing at John Jay College/CUNY and co-edits the litmag J Journal: New Writing on Justice. Find him on Twitter @AdamBerlinNYC.
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image: “In the Dark” Andrea Damic lives in Sydney, Australia. She has been published in 50-Word Stories and Friday Flash Fiction with her photographs occasionally featuring in Rejection Letters. You can find her on Twitter @DamicAndrea. One day she hopes to finish and publish her novel.
Rejection Letters 