Hey, my phone’s ringing!  Why?  Who in the world is so desperate to talk to me at 9:38 in the morning on a Tuesday?

Oh, here it is.  Hmm.  Unknown number.  Well, this doesn’t seem promising.  But whatever, it’s still ringing, and I’m out in public.  People are starting to look at me.  This feels a little uncomfortable…

Sure, I could just hang up, which is what I’d do in private.  If it’s really important, they’ll leave a message like a voicemail, and if it isn’t important, then I saved myself lots of time!  Like, a while three minutes!  But if I do that out in public, people will think that I’m intentionally ignoring someone.  They might think it’s my girlfriend or something, and assume that I’m a mean person.  Which I’m not!

Crap, this is taking too long.  It’s still ringing.  Better just answer.

“Hello?”

Oh no.  They’re using my last name, pronounced incorrectly.  This isn’t good.

“Excuse me, what’s this about?”

Well, that jumped them ahead all of two lines in their script.  God, it’s a telemarketer.  I hate these.  No, I don’t want to buy anything!  If I did, I most certainly wouldn’t do it this way – I’d use this amazing new invention, called the Internet!

How are telemarketers still in business, anyway?  I mean, it costs a lot to employ a person on phone lines.  And I thought I was on some sort of list.  Wasn’t there a thing about this in Congress?  A National Do Not Call list or something?  But it probably got vetoed by Congress anyway, since they’re all being paid by corporations.

Oh my god, this guy is still talking.  How long is his script?  I can see the line moving.  I’m going to have to put in my coffee order soon.  Can I put him on hold?  Will he even notice?

Wait a sec.  He paused.  He’s waiting for my input.  I wasn’t listening.

“Er, what?”

Oh.  He’s wondering if I’m happy with my provider.  Provider of what?  Cell phone service?  TV service?  Probably land line service, considering how backwards this all is.

“Yes, I am happy, not looking to change.”

Nope, he’s still going.  Trying to sell me on extra features.  I’m still not sure what this service is.  And if I wanted extra features, I’d just buy them!  I mean, look at me.  I’m out paying for overpriced coffee in this shop, just because I can.  I most definitely have disposable income, I’m broadcasting right here!  I don’t need your charity bundle!

Of course, Mister Telemarketer can’t see any of that.  Another flaw in his marketing plan.

“No, no thank you.  I really don’t want to buy anything.”

Geez, can’t he take a hint?  I’m next to order, and I can see the barista glaring at me.  It’s not my fault!  This guy called me!  I don’t want to be the jerk on the phone at the coffee shop!

Eh, screw it.  This is worthless.  I’m dumping this chump.

“Thank you, thank you, no, goodbye!”

Aaaaaand click.  Whew.  I hate that.

“Okay, yeah, I’d like to order… um…”

Crap.  I didn’t have time to think about what I wanted.  Great.

Continued from here.

“Yeah, you sound sober!” I pointed out.  “Weren’t you drunk just a moment ago?”

Dan looked back at us, blinking a couple of times.  “I am!” he insisted.  But then, a moment later, he shook his head in wonderment.  “I mean, I was…”

For a moment, we just all looked at each other.  Ari, perhaps because he’d been sober from the beginning, was a little quicker on the uptake.  “No way,” he said, and he grabbed his own cup of coffee.

Dan and I both watched as he lowered the cup from his lips – and screamed.

The scream went on for quite a while, until Dan slapped a hand over his mouth.  “He’s gone too far the other way!” he cried out at me, as Ari battered at the bigger man with flailing arms.

I stared back, wide-eyed.  “What do I do?”

“I dunno, find something with alcohol!”

I spun around, staring at my kitchen.  We had (well, Dan had) finished off most of my beers.  In desperation, I grabbed the jar of vanilla – distilled in alcohol.

We shoved the bottle into Ari’s mouth and forced a couple gulps down his throat.  As we watched, holding our breaths, the man finally calmed down a bit.  “Holy crap,” he gasped, staring at us.  “That stuff is strong!”

“What happened to you?” I had to ask.

Ari shook his head back and forth, searching for words.  “Okay, you know when you take a shot on an empty stomach, and you just feel the world lurch as the alcohol hits you?” he finally stammered out after a minute.

We both nodded.

“Well,” the man concluded, “it was just like that, but the opposite.  And way worse.”

After that ordeal, we all needed a drink.  And not of my brewed coffee concoction.  Dan scrounged up some more beers, and we sat around, staring at the still mostly full jug of black liquid.

“Could make a fortune outside bars at last call,” Ari finally offered.  “Sobers people up with a sip, that stuff does.”

“Yeah, but one wrong sale and you’ve got somebody screaming,” I retorted.

After a minute, Dan just shook his head.  “Damn, man,” he finally said.  “You definitely brewed something, that’s for sure…”

Dan and Ari were both watching as I revealed the bottle from the refrigerator, struggling a little with its weight.  The three-gallon jug was nearly full of dark brown liquid, sloshing back and forth with a bit of foam cresting the tops of those waves.  The liquid inside was dark, murky, the brown of bloodsoaked mud.

It didn’t look especially appetizing, I had to admit…

Staring at the big jug, Dan lifted his silver can of beer up to his lips and chugged the rest.  “Dude, arr you sure you mmrade this stuff right?” he slurred, his breath probably high enough proof to be flammable.  “I mean, it kinda looks like ah beer…”

“Yeah, if you close your eyes,” Ari cackled.  He was the designated driver, and thus his wits were somewhat sharper than his sloshed companion.  There was a reason why I’d waited to reveal this until fairly late into the evening, after all.

I shook my head at them as I fumbled in the cupboard for a couple of cups.  “Look, I might have taken a couple liberties with the approach, but I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” I protested.  “I mean, people have been making beer for thousands of years!  How hard can it be?”

The cups were out, and I carefully poured a couple fingers of beer into each.  The liquid swirled into infinity, dark and mysterious.

The three of us gathered around and stared into it.

“Tryy it,” Dan whispered, waving an elbow vaguely in Ari’s direction.

“Heck no,” his friend returned, not taking his eyes off of the dark miasma.  “You’re the drunk one, you’ll taste it less.”

I waited, trying to seem as innocuous as possible.  I mean, sure I brewed it, but that didn’t mean that I necessarily wanted to try it!

And to tell the truth, I wasn’t really sure about this batch.  I’d tried my hand at brewing a couple times before, strictly following the recipes that came with the yeast, and it had turned out decently acceptable.  But this time, I’d decided to experiment, take some liberties, just tossing things in.

I had been expecting something nice and full-bodied, with a taste of coffee.  I hadn’t been expecting the blackness and consistency of motor oil.

Finally, all eyes on him, Dan picked up the cup and took a gulp of air.  “Screw youse, I’s not afraid,” he announced, and took a sip of the oily liquid.

When he lowered the glass, he looked as though he’d just taken a big bite of lemon.  His whole face puckered up.  “Wow, that stuff is bitter!” he exclaimed, lowering the still half-full cup.  “My god, man, that stuff is strong!  Tastes like the most concentrated coffee I’ve ever had!”

Dan shook his head back and forth, but Ari glanced over at him.  “Hey, what happened to your voice?” he asked.

“My voice?” Dan repeated.  “What, is something wrong with it?”

To be continued on Friday!

The doctors told us that the chance of it happening was low.  Exceedingly low.  She’s a very rare type, they’d tell us.  The organ in question is very sensitive, easily damaged, and doesn’t last long after death.  These organs, of this type, almost never came on the market.  Sarah was at a high spot on the list, but the list meant almost nothing.  Most people left it through death, not through a happy ending.

And then the call came…

As soon as the doctor told her, Sarah had me on the phone.  “They found one!” she all but screamed, and I could hear her excitement as clear as day.  “I’m going to get the transplant!”

Of course, we were a bit concerned, as well.  This wasn’t a minor surgery, after all.  Sarah was going under the knife, and sometimes, we knew that patients didn’t wake up.  And yet, we were determined.  We were the perfect couple, with the perfect story.  We were going to make it.

That was yesterday.  The happiest day of my life.  Of our lives, perhaps.

And now, today, it was all different.

Once again, I looked down at the note in my hands.  I had read it so many times, I probably had the words committed to memory.  But still, I couldn’t stop myself from bringing my eyes back to those lines, hand-written on the sheet of loose paper.

Andrew,

I’m so sorry.  I know you deserve more than this.  More than what I could give you.

But I have to go out, to see the rest of the world.  There’s so much more that I want to experience.  When I met you, I thought I wouldn’t have any chance, and you were my breath of life, my touch of the outside world.

Now, though, I can go see it all for myself.  And I can’t pass that up.  Maybe one day, we’ll meet again.

Love, always,
Sarah

I crumpled the note up in my hands.  For a long time, I just sat there, on the empty hospital bed, staring off into the distance.

How ironic, I couldn’t help thinking.  The best day of my life, immediately followed by the worst.

I stared down at the piece of paper in my hands, sitting on the edge of the bed.  I could feel my suit wrinkling, crease lines forming in the fabric, but I didn’t care about it.

It didn’t matter.  Nothing else mattered.  Just the words on that sheet of paper.

I reached up and rubbed one hand across my face, hoping that somehow, when I reopened my eyes, things would have gone back to the way that they were.  That she’d be back…

With a couple fingers, I absentmindedly twisted the wedding ring around my finger.  That was a habit of mine, one that I’d had for many years.  I guess I still wasn’t quite used to wearing the thing.  Our marriage hadn’t exactly been… traditional.

I wondered whether I should just take the thing off.

I could still remember our wedding, now several years previously.  It hadn’t been super well attended, of course – there are only so many people that can squeeze into a hospital room, even the largest one.  And with Sarah still needing to be constantly hooked to all of those machines, well, moving her really wasn’t an option.

But despite that, we still managed to squeeze as many people in as the room could hold.  More than was recommended, probably.  And even though Sarah had to struggle for each breath, I could still see her eyes shining as she pulled away her oxygen mask long enough to repeat back the priest’s lines.

And her eyes never left mine.

What a weird story, huh?  Guy visiting a hospital falls in love with a patient.  Sounds like one of those crazy stories that you read on the internet in a forwarded email.  But I promise you, that’s what happened.

And Sarah loved me back.

(If you’re paying attention, by the way, you probably caught that past tense.  Just read on.)

Living like that, as we were, was definitely a challenge.  But somehow, incredibly, we made it work.  I’d head over to the hospital after every day of work, and we’d laugh away the hours, me perched on the edge of her bed, one arm around her shoulders.  We’d compare our meals (mine from the cafeteria, hers from the nurses), and sometimes, after I slipped the nurses a folded bill or two, they’d close the door on our room and give us some time alone.

And throughout it all, we never gave up hope…