Billy Avery Be Bold (Pt. 1)

Billy Avery attempted to swallow the sensation of drowning, gulping back his scream into the abyss where it came from, the loud cry of woe in the black tar pits of coffee bubbling inside his stomach.

The wretched tears that held him hostage that caused him to kneel before the enemy of his own mind was settled in the misty natatorium of his heart.

A pool so deep inside even he couldn't understand to what depths his aches traveled.

"Avery, they said you can't find love when you're old. When you're old like me, that boat sunk over thirty years ago..." he whispered to himself and even laughed amused albeit with a tinge of sorrow.

"Can't find love, not here in the bar. No, no one here seems interested..." he mused, slumped over in exacerbation. "Maybe interested in a beer, that's for sure...but not a square old man like me."

Avery had faced many disappointing relationships endeavors before. It shouldn't have been so complicated but they all were as difficult as finding a needle in a ton worth of hay.

"Maybe it's hopeless, too many blitzed people and mirror warmers..."

The despaired sixty-year old licked his chapped, pink lips. "And it's really dry, I think I need a drink-"

"Feeling okay there, Billy Avery?" The bartender piped suddenly with a chagrin expression, mug of beer in his fingers.

It was a young lad, only twenty-one years old.

Much too young for Billy to confide in with any real problems.

"Well, fine as always, kid..." Avery said in a raspy gruff, clearing his throat. "I'm assuming again you're here to get advice from me?"

He knew the kid didn't really particularly care for his well-being, more so needed an excuse to ask for advice without feeling embarrassed.

Suddenly, amongst his brooding the lights turned low, the radiance emanating from above became dim.

The silence of the blaring DJ stereo hushed every body that was once aggressively dancing and within moments subdued them to a calm sway.

Everyone had someone to be with leaving the sixty-sixty year old man forlorn.

"Actually, no...but my mother is the new manager of the facility here. Please, don't mention a word about what we've spoken, y'know-" his voice raised to pull Avery's attention from the crowd of lovers.

"Avery?"

"Well, don't worry. I won't chop you, Jaxon. You've got a cool head on your shoulders..." Avery complimented genuinely.

He really did believe the kid had some kind qualities to him, despite not knowing him well.

"Besides, I don't know her to start conversation." He added.

"See, that's why you don't have a date. You're so old fashion. You don't conversate with ladies unless you know them personally. That would only get you a date with your cous-"

Avery looked at him sharply.

"Right, right. I'm going I'm going."

With a small peak from behind the door, Jaxon smiled.

"MY lips are silent, but YOURS shouldn't be tonight, Billy."

A frantic wave goodbye, the young man hurried his way to the backrooms of the bar's kitchen.

Not feeling quite groovy tonight, Bill placed his fifth cup of straight black coffee on the bar counter with a firm slam as some kind of act of defiance that he would not let this cursed bar, or anyone else ruin his day.

"I don't need somebody to warm my side," He grunted, his feet trudging with loud slaps against the marble floor towards the exit.

Feeling the scrunch of tiny pebbles beneath his toes with each step reminded the old man of days that were long gone. Hearing the roll of thunder and claps of lightning. Hearing the rain patter, the forest's branches whipping against one another roughly.

It was just like that day.

The tiniest drops of rain stained his leather shoes and began to seep into his khaki slacks that were a few inches too long for his legs.

His ankles felt cold but he simply lit his cigarette while leaning on his 1964 Honda CB160. Black, sleek and very clean despite the new mud splatters across the wheels.

"I recall her scent in the wilderness of my heart. Her love quenched the thirst in my veins but ever since she's been gone, absent from my eyes my heart's been even more dangerous than death valley. Those who wish to enter will not survive and maybe that is my own choice to create such a harsh desert. I don't want anyone to water it, to tend it back to life because she is still in the oasis, the illusion that I have made for her there..."

He read as he flipped through his very ancient pocket notebook. It was looking very tattered, patched up with glue, staples and duck tape.

His hand pressed the book tightly before he glanced at his daily notes, with a sigh, and relished the bittersweetness of the smallest entries to the longer ones.

"I'm in bed and it's the late hours of midnight, it isn't anywhere near sun-up but I can't let go of her even though I try to. I've tried everything, I tried to shut her out. I tried. I tried to even ignore it."

He continued onto the next page.

"I wonder if even five, ten, twenty and even thirty years down the line I will remember her or will I slowly start to forget everything about her? Will it begin with me forgetting how she drops something atleast a minimum of three times a day, will I then forget every secret she shared 'til I only remember her name? Then maybe I will only remember how many syllables she has in her name, but not her name itself. Maybe I'll never forget. I have decided trying to ignore this is fruitless."

Billy laughed and his old wrinkled fingers, slowly, trailed up to his face and cupping his eyes to block the world from his view, he sobbed into the comfort of his palms.

"And here I am...still here, still here...a full thirty years later."