A Day In The Life

A Day in the Life Or Markiyan Yablukovych Takes the Cake By Casey Peterson “Hey man! Didn’t I see you last night?” Some red-eyed guy grabs my arm and pulls at me, distracting me from my current conversation. I pause and turn to face him, and, raising one eyebrow as if to say what the hell are you talking about? I’ve never seen you before in my life, I scowl and say “Nope. Really don’t think you saw me last night. Excuse us.” He looks from me to my current conversation to me to my current conversation and back to me. Then, with a smile a wink and a nod of his head, he purses his lips and, with his thumb and forefinger makes the motion of turning a key in front of his mouth, a motion which needs no interpretation. “Ri-i-ight. My mistake, brah. Must have been that other guy. Bo-o-oy am I embarrassed. Can you see the egg on my face? Cuz it’s all over. Did I already-” “Look,” I say, “just get the hell out of here. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” I turn back to my current conversation, who is quickly becoming my previous conversation. “Yeah, no problem. I guess I’ll catch you-” “Whad’eye just say? Get lost.” The guy turns away and, grumbling under his breath, leaves us alone. I flash a smile that says can you believe this kid?, but my current/previous conversation doesn’t catch it. Instead, it’s perceived as I’m not hiding anything. Really. I’m not. But if I was hiding something, this is my lame attempt to change the subject. My previous conversation shakes her head and throws her hands up in front of her face. There’s no misinterpretation here. It means you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. She looks over the sunglasses on

the bridge of her nose and says, “Markiyan, just what exactly were you doing last night? I thought you were cleaning your closet.” I scratch my head and grimace, which are my ways of saying would you rather I lie to you?. I let a low whistle and say, “I don’t remember?” My long-past conversation snorts, meaning you’ve got some nerve, says “We’ll talk about this later,” and walks inside. Shit. ∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀ And I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body. I know not everybody has got a body like you… But I gotta think twice, before I give my heart away; Cuz I know all the games you play, and I play them too… I woke up with George Michael in my head. That was it. Just “Faith”. What the hell happened last night? I grabbed my cell and checked the time. Nine. And 5 new text messages. I paged through the menus and opened the first message, hoping for some insight. 7:48am:::Ansel You had a crazy night man. Call me later & let me know yer alive. Ansel’s message offered no help, other than to let me know that he was with me. Which wasn’t really big news. We were usually together. Ansel’s was the newest. The next four came throughout the night, but I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t replied or even read them. What the hell happened last night? 3:19am:::Pierce GR8 2 C U 2Nite. Call me.

I hadn’t talked to Schuyler Pierce in over three months. Why the hell is she still in my phonebook? and yet she claims it was “great to see” me? Maybe Pierce’ll be able to tell me what went down last night. 2:04am:::Chubby Pete Where are you Markiyan? I thought you were coming to the Brick tonight. We’re goin to Franklin for food. Call me. So I wasn’t at the Brick last night. That’s helpful. 12:30am:::Unknown ID Now you’ve got my number. And I’ve got yours. We definitely should get together soon. CALL ME. Ok, now here was something. Who is this? A girl? A guy? Why should we definitely get together soon? This should either be the first number I call for info or the last. Better make it the last. 10:13pm:::Spooner I’m sorry you can’t go out with us tonight. I’ll be lonely there without you :( but I understand you need to get stuff done. See you tomorrow for lunch? Call me. Love you. Shit. It started to come back to me, at least the earlier parts of the night. Spooner had wanted me to go out dancing with her friends from college, but I didn’t want to go dancing. I hate dancing. So I made up some stupid story about having to do a bunch of things around the house, like cleaning and arranging my closet. It was the kind of lie that both parties allow to pass unmentioned. Unmentioned, that is, as long as the lying party never brings up the lie again. There was something about this lie, however, that didn’t seem to want to stay away. So I did the stupidest thing I could do: I called her. “Hey Markiyan,” the way she purred when she said my name unnerved me.

“Mornin’ Erin, I’m not waking you up or anything?” “Nope. We’ve been up for a good hour or so. We’re just about to go get some coffee and a bagel.” “W-We?” Focus man, if you sound hungover at all, she’ll crucify you. “Yeah silly, we. Me and the girls?” Her question gave me an out. “Oh, of course! Your friends from school. I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of it. I found a bunch of high school pictures at the back of my closet and spent too long looking at them. I didn’t get to sleep until late.” “Oh, poor thing. Should we have dinner instead of lunch?” Another out. “N-no. No. I’m fine. After a shower and some strong coffee, I’ll be good to go. How was your night?” “It was great! I so wish you could have come with. We were out dancing for the longest time and then we went to the Brick to play darts. Did I ever tell you about all the darts we used to play in school? Well, anyway, we must have stayed at the Brick-” “-The Brick?” Did she see Chubby? Did Chubby ask her where I was? Does she know? “Yeah, the Brick. As I was saying, we were there for two hours and then we came home and crashed.” “Sounds like a night. I wish I coulda been with you, but you’ve seen that closet. It needed to be cleaned. Well, have fun at coffee. I’ll see you at 1.” “At 1, yep. Can’t wait to hear all about your interesting night!” Neither can I. After hanging up, I sat there in the dim light of my bedroom and stared at my closet. It was still a mess. The worst part of my lie was that I now needed to clean the closet. And I had to hope that there were some high school photos in there somewhere. Shit.

Before this river becomes an ocean, before I pick my heart up off the floor. If love comes down without devotion, well I'll need someone to hold me, but I wait for something more. Cuz I gotta have faith… George Michael was still in my head as I sipped my coffee. It was too strong and too hot, but I kept drinking. I looked at the blank wall in front of me and then at the clock. Ten thirty. There was nothing else adorning the walls of my kitchen except for the plain, white face with black numbers clock. With my free hand I spun my cell on the tabletop. Who would know what happened? Ansel, more than likely, but he’s probably still out. I’ll call Pete. Pete Morczinski worked mornings at his family’s butcher shop and deli. He was actually running the show now that his parents had semi-retired. I’m pretty sure that it was all of the cold cuts that made Chubby Pete chubby. And the kielbasa. And the racks of ribs. Chubby and I met at college. He and Ansel (who was my freshman year roommate) were roommates sophomore year. Still are. His Polish blood ensured that he could put away more beer than most of our friends and still wake up on time for work. Even though it was a Saturday morning I knew that he’d be awake. “What’s goin on Marky?” his voice was gruff. Way too many cigarettes. “Chubbster, I just got your text.” “Yeah, where were you last night? Ansel and I waited for you at the Brick for like three hours. What, you don’ return texts now?” “Wait, Ansel was at the Brick with you?” “The whole time. We were waitin for you to show, but I suppose it’s a good thing that you didn’t, cuz Spooner was there with her

friends. She said hey and asked about you.” “A-and you said?” “Don’ worry about it Marky, we said we hadn’t seen you all night. Which, if you thingaboudit, was the truth.” “When did we meet up again?” “At the Franklin Diner. You showed up drunker than my Grandpa at my high school graduation. You were with some chick with dreadlocks. Some hippie name, Bird or Rain or Grass, or somethin like that.” “Sky?” “That’s it. Sky. But you kept callin her Pierce. She seemed ok, I guess. Don’ you remember?” “Nope. Not a moment of it. Were you with us when we first went out?” “Nah, I went straight to the Brick after I finished unloadin a shipment of beef at the Shop. I ran into Ansel there and he said you were gonna meet us there.” “Huh. But we were together the rest of the night? I left Franklin with you guys?” “Sure did. The Sky chick left just before we ordered, she had problems with the Diner’s non-organic menu. Then it was just you and me and Ansel. We took you home. That’s it. Till now.” “O-ok. Thanks Chubby. Say hey to your folks for me, yeah?” “Course man. Do the same for Spooner. Later days Markiyan.” Pete wrapped up the end of the night for me, but there was still the beginning of the night. Ansel had been there. And, apparently, so had Pierce. But I couldn’t figure out whom the unknown message could be from. I dialed Ansel’s number. It rang and rang. And rang. But there was no answer. He was still out. It was eleven. I called Pierce.

I’d met Schuyler “Sky” Pierce at my job. She worked tech support, but her smelly, beaded dreadlocks and wrinkled, linen blouse/dresses didn’t seem to fit the mold of someone who worked tech support for our consulting firm. Her hippie persona, even her hippie name screamed “Fuck the Man!” and yet she serviced the technical needs of over fifty cubicle jockeys. We hung out some, she was a refreshing departure from the stuffy numbers talk of the rest of my coworkers. Her job, or so she claimed, helped to fund her band touring. She toured with some jam band called The Potted Plants. We went our separate ways after we had an argument over who was the greatest guitarist in Rock history. She said Garcia. I said Hendrix. We don’t talk much. “There’s better be a good reason for shaking me outta bed this early on a Saturday.” “Pierce, it’s Yablukovych. I need some help piecing together my night. You were part of it, right?” “Hell yeah man. But I wasn’t feeling your Diner. Nothing organic on the menu, so I made like a banana and split. Heh.” “Right. So when did we meet up?” “Well, you were with your boy Axel-” “Ansel” “Yeah, Ansel. You were with him and the two of you were doing a pretty good job of holding up the wall at The Salt Mine. I was there, sharing in the groove, and I saw you. So I danced my way over. You were already plastered. Why were you so drunk?” “The Salt Mine? I hate that place! Why would Ansel and I have gone there?” “No clue sweetie. All I know is that you were there.” “And that’s it? You just stuck with Ansel and I?” “Well when I slinked up to you two, Ansel took my arm and

started talking to me. He’s like ‘You gotta keep an eye on Marky for me.’ And I’m like ‘Why me? What about you?’” “Wait, where was Ansel going?” “I’m getting to it. Patience sweetie. So, he’s like ‘I gotta cruise outta here, I’m meeting our pal at the Brick.’ I’m like ‘So take him with you. Why’d you leave him here, he’s in no shape for dancing.’ And you were like ‘Pierce, I can’t go to the Brick. I’m at home right now.’ Then you slumped back against the wall. So then I’m like ‘No Marky Mark, you’re at The Salt Mine. Axel, he’s so gone that he thinks he’s at home.’ And Axel-” “Ansel” “What I said. And Ansel’s like ‘No, he means that he’s s’posed to be at home right now. That’s what Spooner thinks.’ Then I look at you and I’m like ‘Markiyan Yablukovych, you’re lying to your girlfriend? Is there another lady on the side? Shame shame, know your name.’ And you’re like ‘Not like that Sky. I donwanna dance, but she’s dancin. So I’m cleanin my closet.’ Then I understood. Sometimes you gotta give the little white lie, right Marky Mark?” “Yeah, right.” “Ansel’s like ‘I’m going to the Brick. You wait here for a while and if it’s clear I’ll call you, and you bring Markiyan. Cool?’ I slapped him on the shoulder and was like ‘Real cool.’ Then he left. And we waited at The Salt Mine. You weren’t much for company, I gotta tell you.” “Yeah, sorry about that.” “Why were you so drunk?” “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d know, but apparently I was drunk before I met you last night. And we went right from The Salt Mine to Franklin?” “That’s what happened. Sorry I can’t be more help. Maybe you should call Axel?” “Ansel. And I’ve tried. He’s not picking up. He’s probably still

unconscious. Thanks for your help Pierce. We should grab a drink after work sometime next week.” “No can do babe. I just quit the job. The Potted Plants start touring the East Coast on Thursday and I gotta be there for every show. Such is the life babe, such is the life.” “Travel well Pierce. Seeya around?” “You got my number, don’t you? Peace be the journey Markiyan.” It was almost noon. I called Ansel again. It rang and rang. And rang. And… “eM,” he mumbled my name over the phone in a death rattle. “Ansel.” “What’s rocking and rolling?” mumbled once again. “Why’re you so chipper?” “What’re you talking about? I’m always this wide awake at noon on a Sunday morning.” “Except that it’s Saturday.” “Yeah. That’s probably why I’m talking like I was just asleep 2 minutes ago. What the hell do you want?” he chuckled. “What did we do last night?” “Drank. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep,” he disconnected. Ansel Addams was my freshman year roommate. He’s not a photographer, just the child of clever parents. Ansel was a lawyer, and the career’s demand for weeklong composure caused him to drink inordinate amounts of alcohol whenever he could. Chubby and I were usually there with him. Ansel was my closest friend and I confided in him for almost everything. But, unlike Chubby, he was impossible to wake up before three in the afternoon. “Are you really doing this?”

“Yeah, I am. Don’t hang up again please.” “I’m up, I’m up. Now what’s the deal?” “How did I get so drunk?” “Ah. Well, I called you last night. Do you remember that?” “Nope.” “I did. You were at home. You were going to clean your closet or some lame shit like that. You know that kind of shit doesn’t fly with me. So I showed up at your place with a bottle of sixty proof. I made you take a drink for every lame-assed excuse you offered me for not going out.” “What? How many excuses did I have?” “Well, pretty much just the one: I told Spooner I was going to clean my closet, and that’s what I’m going to do. But you kept repeating it.” “And you made me drink?” “I didn’t hold a gun to your head, if that’s what you’re getting at.” “How much did I have?” “You finished the bottle.” “No.” “Yep. All half liter of it. You wanted to drink, eM. You always do. I just gave you the excuse to do it. And my excuse was a lot better than yours.” “Your excuse being?” “It was Friday night.” “I guess it was. So I drank a bottle of sixty proof all by myself. And then what?” “We went out. It was almost midnight when we got out to the bars.” “Did we go to The Salt Mine right away?” “I thought you didn’t remember any of the night.”

“I didn’t, but I’ve already talked to Chubby and Pierce. It’s the beginning that’s still in a haze.” “Ok. No, we didn’t go to The Salt Mine first. We went to Swingers. We were up at the bar, just having a few beers. You even gave your number to some babe. But then I spotted Spooner.” “You what!” “Yeah, Spooner was at the bar with her pals, but don’t worry. I got us out of there before we were spotted.” “How can you be so sure?” “Because Chubby and I ran into Spooner and her girls at the Brick later on in the night. And she was talking about how she missed you and how you were stuck at your place and cleaning your apartment. So I had Chubby send you a text to appease Spooner. She bought it and they left shortly after that. Don’t worry man, she had no clue.” “I hope so. So after Swingers?” “The Salt Mine. And the rest is history?” “More or less. At least I didn’t do anything stupid. And if I gave my number to some girl at the bar, that would explain the text from the unknown ID that said they had my number now.” “Must be it man. If you don’t have any more questions, I’m going back to sleep again.” “Nope, that’s it. I gotta get going. I’ve got lunch with Erin in twenty minutes. Thanks for the help Ansel.” “Hey eM.” “What’s up?” “You gonna call that chick’s number?” “Maybe later. Maybe. Just to see who she is.” “Right… later eM.” Before this river becomes an ocean, before you throw my heart back

on the floor. Oh Baby, I’d reconsider your foolish notion, well it takes a strong man baby But I’m showing you the door. Cuz I gotta have faith faith faith Yeah I gotta have faith faith faith Faith faith faith Stupid George Michael was still in my head as I pulled up to the restaurant. I found a parking space just as Spooner was getting out of her car. I climbed out of my car and walked over to her. I gave her a hug and a quick kiss, then asked her how her night went. We made our way towards the door of the restaurant as she told me again what she did with her friends. As I was holding the door for her, a red-eyed guy grabbed my arm and pulled at me, saying “Hey man! Didn’t I see you last night?” which distracted me from my current conversation. ∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀∀ Spooner snorts, meaning you’ve got some nerve, and says “We’ll talk about this later,” then she walks into the restaurant. I follow her in. We take our seats and begin to look over the menus, which means I’m waiting for you to say something. Spooner clears her throat, a signal I interpret as since you’re not going to talk, I will, but really probably means trust me, you’ll regret making me be the first to talk. “Listen, Erin,” I say. But before I can finish, she says, “Really. We’ll talk about this later. I’m going to the bathroom.” She stands up and, without pushing in her chair, looks me square in the eyes, which I take to mean I’m giving you until I get back to figure out if you’re going to tell me the

truth or not. I’m probably right on this one. I actually start to look at the menu while she’s away, but my phone interrupts me. It’s another text message. 1:11pm:::Unknown ID Just making sure if you got my first message. Call me, won’t you? I glance in the direction of the bathroom, but there’s no sign of Spooner. So I push the call button on my phone. It rings and rings. Then it picks up. “Hello?” the voice is familiar, probably because I talked to her in person last night. “Um, hi. I just got your text message, so I called. But I’m not quite sure who this is.” “Well, I got this number from a handsome man at a bar last night. He had a very distinct name. Do you have a very distinct name?” she’s toying with me. And I’m kind of enjoying it. “Distinct in what manner?” two could play at this game. “Distinct like I’d never heard it before. It sounded foreign. Does your name sound foreign?” “Foreign like Markiyan?” “That’s it exactly. Is that you?” she had me, hook line and sinker. “That’s me.” I glance back towards the bathroom. Spooner is walking back toward the table. She’s on the phone too. She looks at me and smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that says you are in so much trouble mister. Her lips move. And I’m staring straight at her as the voice on the other end says, “Oh Marky, you got some essplainin’ to do” Shit.