I sat cross legged at the kitchen table. Coffee slowly cooling at my side as I went over the bills spread about the table, the paper proof of living the high life. Hard working well paid husband, 2.5 kids, two cars, nice house, I had it all. Well maybe not all. The kids were at school, the hubby at work, and here I was with the paper proof of my martial success. My mother in her endless thrifting had brought over a pointless set of kitten plates which my husband had placed in a row on the top of the kitchen cabinets. I had never really looked at them at length, but as boredom seeped in among my bill reviewing my eyes wandered to the tacky plates of fluffy kittens that now adorned my modern kitchen. Geez I mused why do they even make these damn things. As I was about to return to my bills one plate, the second to the left caught my attention. The bright eyed tortoise shell kitten on an ugly orange back ground stared back at me unblinking and pensive. Again I was about to turn around as with sudden flash a thick fog of memory rolled back and I remembered. I had seen that plate before somewhere long forgotten in my younger years. The incident returned with amazing quickness and I almost fell out of my chair with intensity and sharpness of it. It was the memory of the wildest, craziest, sexiest night of my life. That was a feeling that all this abundance could never replace, renew or recreate. The missing piece of my perfect life. This life would never be able to bring about the sensual experience I had had that night. I reeled in the remembrance and at the spark I would never ever feel again.
I grew up rich, silver spoon and all life was easy and good. Childhood was blasé. School and grades unremarkable. Finished highschool as nothing special. Parents demanded college but I wasn’t into it so I flunked out. At twenty two parents played the tough love card told me to get out and do something with my life. I cried and whined they kicked me out anyway. So in my desperation I hit up my favorite aunt. She said she’d take me in till I could get on my feet. That was how the pretty useless riches to rags girl found herself in Alabama with her frumpy childless aunt.
My aunts house was quaint and southern full of mementos of the simple life. I hated it. The heat the humidity, the slow stupid cadence of the people. I moped around the house for a few weeks, my aunt encouraged me to get out and make friends, live a little. She pointed out that there was a bar just a small jaunt down the dusty road. After a few nights of her insistent urging I finally accepted her rumpled twenty dollar bill and set off down the road to the hell hole of a bar I was sure to find myself in. I was dressed boringly by my tastes I did not want to attract to much attention from the locals, what a night this was turning out to be.
It was a dive. Dark stains in the wood floor, could be blood, maybe just dirt, maybe something nastier. Dusty beer swag mirrors lined the walls. Antlers adorned with brown wispy cobwebs hung high above the bar. It was dark and smoky. Dingy beyond belief. Country playing just loud to make you have to raise your voice to order a drink. So I ordered a drink, simple miller light, didn’t want to make things too difficult for the slack jawed glazed eyed bartender. I went and sat in a darkened booth in the corner. The bar regulars were all hunched over talking loudly as to be heard over the music. I sat and sipped my beer. So this is my life sitting in the shittiest bar, in the nastiest town, in the crappiest state. Well fuck it might as well get drunk. I sat my beer down and walked to the bar and ordered a shot. Again and again I tired to drown out how pathetic my situation had become. About five shots in I felt like someone was watching...