The brow was stood up, the ensign was raised, and the alongside watch took the brow. We arrived at dawn just in time to sit in afternoon traffic. Every time I got home, it felt like I was driving a new car for the first few minutes.
Once I was home, I stripped down and started a hot shower. I stood underneath and rubbed the small rash on my neck from the Scopolamine, a sea-sickness patch. I forgot I had it on and forgot to take it off like Jason warned me.
The drug and the warm water interacted. I still had my sea legs so it was already like the world was spinning, but now my legs feel like lead. I could think clearly and focus, but I felt drunk. I knew where everything was in my house, and I knew how to shower, but all of a sudden my place seemed like someone else’s, and dangerous. I almost slipped and cracked my head on the toilet. I sat down until the room quit spinning.
My clothes still smelled like garbage and plastic and porn. I almost fell asleep in the shower. I couldn’t just sit there and enjoy it. Nod off while I used up all the hot water in the building. How long would that even take? Probably a few hours. I got up and fell straight into bed. I was naked and wet on my same old sheets that I still haven’t replaced. I looked at my Seamaster. I had a few hours before Kelly was expecting me. I could get a little shuteye. Plenty of time. I closed my eyes. I breathed deep. I was out in seconds.
The phone rang.
I could sleep through a fucking cannon firing, or a one ton anchor scraping across the deck, but a curtain opening or a small beep on my phone and I was up like the Manchurian candidate. I threw the blankets back until I could see my pants and grab the phone out of the back pocket. It was Kelly.
My duffel was on the floor, half open. The mug was still wrapped in brown paper in that branded brown bag. I saw half of the logo: a mermaid leg and a hint of a green vagina.
“Hello?” I said.
“Rex! I thought you said you were coming home this afternoon.”
“I think I fell asleep after my shower. Why, what time is it?” I had no idea where I left the Seamaster. I felt naked without it, no idea what was going on. I grabbed my wrist. I still had it on.
“It’s nine. You know I was thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you, too. I actually got you something.”
“Oh did you?”
“Well, don’t get too excited. I originally tried to bring some fireworks and a handgun home, but customs said, No.”
“You didn’t!” My jokes weren’t great, but anything was exciting when you work at a linens store. I heard her laughing. She sounded excited. Or was it frustrated? Bored? I was still groggy and it was hard enough to feel someone out on the phone.
“No. Of course not.” My head throbbed. Something was wrong. Am I dehydrated? My neck was itchier than before.
“Well. I have a surprise,” she said. “Are you busy?”
You’d expect someone to sound surprised. It was more like she found time in between appointments. Clinical. Almost banal.
“Why?”
“Well, my baby daddy is out of town today. You should come over.”
“Wait. I thought you two were separated.”
My head was pounding harder, my right eye twitching to the beat of the throbbing. It’s like being outside a nightclub after a hard night of drinking. Scopolamine is worse than alcohol. I swear I’d be better off with the vomit.
“Well, we are, technically. Mostly. He stays in the other room sometimes. But he’s out of town this weekend. So I have the place all to myself!”
“I can’t. I think I came down with something.”
I’m not Jon. I’m better than him. My uniform is dirty. I need to wash it. The garbage smell is making me sick.
“Aww. Are you sure?”
I’m better than that.
“Yeah. I have to go to bed. I’ll talk to you later?”
This didn’t count.
“OK. Feel better.”
I made a promise. I was the better person. I won’t fuck her. You’re welcome. I looked in the bathroom mirror. I was scowling at myself. Fuck, that guy is an idiot.
I felt my cheek. I had a new scratch from my duvet. I still needed to buy a duvet cover. My sheets were filthy. I was down to my last pair, and every time I thought to get more, I did something stupid and ended up with the same crappy sheets I started with as well as no cover for the duvet. I laid back in bed. The throbbing in my head kept me up for what felt like hours. I drifted off, eventually.
I woke up again. The lights were off. It was dark outside. What time was it? I was buck naked except for my Seamaster. Thank god. I felt naked without it. 0432. Even for the morning shift, I was up early. Had I stayed up and slept with Kelly, I wouldn’t have gone to sleep til midnight and would have gotten up at a reasonable hour. I grabbed my robe. I hadn’t felt cotton in weeks. I walked to the kitchen. On the way, I grabbed that coffee mug out of my duffel. I removed all the packing paper, and the crumpled mess dropped to the floor. I looked down at that green mermaid opening her legs for me. I set it down and started water for coffee using my Lagustina aluminum-core stainless steel kettle. The set cost almost a grand. I couldn’t stand ship food. It was all deep fried, and the cooks were always stressed out. They didn’t even cook instant bacon all the way through. It was always ready and all you had to do was point to it and they’d give it to you, but I liked doing it myself. The kettle whistled.
I poured it into my French press. La Creuset. Stoneware. I would never drink coffee at home that needed salt. I refused to eat shitty food. I now had a coffee mug with a green vagina staring at me. I put my thumb over it for modesty and started to drink. Milk and a pump of Hazelnut. My neck was dry and itchy. At least, after a good night’s sleep I didn’t feel sick anymore, but my head still hurt. The fucking Scopolamine refused to let me have peace. I poured a second cup. It tasted bitter, acerbic.
I wanted to like having milk in my coffee. I couldn’t. It just made me sick and felt acidic. Even with the sweetener, I didn’t like it. As I got older, I could appreciate the simplicity of simple coffee, made well, with no complications. I just never knew what good coffee was when I was young. It took me a lot of shitty coffee to train myself to know the difference. Yet here I am, still trying to train myself to have it with milk hoping that I can get used to it.
I shouldn’t have poured that last cup. Brown sludge waited for me at the bottom. I felt the grit in my teeth and on my tongue. That last sip was bitter and then it was in my teeth. I stepped down on the garbage bin pedal. The lid opened up. I dropped the cup in the trash. In the dark, I could barely see my sofa. I loved that white, Italian leather. A pile of dirty sheets sat crumpled up on the chaise lounge. I sat down, grabbed a controller and turned on the XBOX.
Waiting for players…