It was the end of the workweek for me and the first thing that I thought of was how my weekend would go.
For the past three months, my weekend routine had been the same: catch up on life. And life for me was my writing and my girlfriend, Lola. My relatively new job did not permit me to live the life I wanted as it took almost all of me. But my weekends? Those were mine to control.
The first order of business was to get a bit less uptight. I would enter a bar a few blocks from my office, on the corner just adjacent to a bank and an insurance firm. I would order two bottles of cold beer, enjoy it and while still clearheaded, head home.
Lola would have prepared something light and tasty by the time I got home. After eating, we would cuddle and get cosy as we talked for an hour or two about how our weeks went. I would complain about my job and she would tell me that at least I’ve got my writings and soon I would not need the silly-ass job anymore. How the rest of the night went, was up to fate.
The following day being Saturday was fully dedicated to my writing. It was my biggest project yet, to finish my first novel which I had no doubt would be a bestseller. How did I know? Lola reminded me every time—and her opinion mattered a lot to me especially when it came to my writings.
She was an editor for a big agency and had come across one of my short stories online. When we talked about it after she reached out to me, she said she had been captivated as she read it. She said the words were beautiful and somehow it boosted my confidence. A beautiful girl telling me she found my words beautiful sounded to me like she was saying I was the most handsome guy she had ever laid eyes on.
I was the kind of guy that girls like Lola rarely noticed. Other than my Friday night drinking, I never did anything fun, even though I imagine being more outspoken and a little more challenging. It was what made me start writing in the first place.
I had created an alter ego, Leo, for myself and he’d become the main character of my stories. So when Lola commended my short story, I found myself sharing with her that I was working on my first novel and even offered on that first day that she could read the unfinished draft.
I knew my writing was what brought her into my life and sometimes I feared that she fell in love with Leo and not me. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter; she was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, and if it took the words I wrote to keep her, I would write every single day for the rest of my life.
As I sat at the bar that Friday evening I couldn’t shake the thought that things would soon change. My story was coming to an end, Leo who was a douche and whom Lola loved because of his sarcasm and twisted sense of humour was beginning to lose his edge. In short, he was beginning to get boring.
I couldn’t help wondering if Lola would get bored of me too when the story ends. It meant I had three options: keep the story going and create more avenues for Leo to be douchey; begin a sequel or start a new book altogether.
That was when I had the idea for the first time. To create avenues to be douchey for Leo, maybe I should assume his character. I would need to become Leo and live his life, thereby creating continuity for my story and, hence, prolonging my relationship with Lola indefinitely.
The thoughts of it gave me chills. Leo was a douche but he was also a cool dude. He was arrogant but fun to be around. He did whatever he wanted and didn’t care much about what people thought about him.
Maybe assuming his character would help me get solutions to some of the problems in my life that I was too scared to do anything about right now. I could tell my boss to increase my pay and make my hours more flexible or he could go fuck himself — because that’s the kind of thing Leo would say.
I suddenly felt a weight lifted off my shoulder mere thinking about it. It was as though the thoughts of Leo scared my problems. This made it seem like a good idea after all.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t see an elderly man sit next to me at the bar until he tapped my shoulder lightly.
“Are you alright, young man?” He asked.
I noticed him then. He had a deep gash on his left cheek that scarred badly but otherwise had a calm, friendly and gentlemanly overall look.
“I’m fine,” I answered, “Just another long day.”
“I’ll drink to that.” The man raised his beer bottle and took a long swig.
I had another brilliant idea then. I should try entering Leo’s character with this old stranger I might never meet again. If it didn’t go well, I wouldn’t try it again, at least I would know. Besides, what harm could talking to an elderly man do?
This was a gift from the universe to try how effective Leo was in real life.
I turned to face the old man and steeled myself.
“What’s your story, old man?” I said with a sneer. “Why are you drinking this early alone?”
The man looked at me sharply and I felt my heartbeat flutter. but I coolly returned his sharp stare. After a moment he looked away and shrugged lightly as a small smile played on the corner of his mouth.
“I just left work,” he said and took another pull from his bottle, slower this time.
He let the beer idle in his mouth briefly before swallowing.
“I work at the bank over there and just closed for the day. They are overworking the security guards there and underpaying them. I wish there was something I could do about it.”
I suddenly let out a dry laugh and retorted, “do you blame them?”
The man’s puzzled face turned to look at me. “What?”
“I mean, they know there is nothing you can do and that’s exactly why they do it. A man that didn’t take his life serious and now working as a guard must be desperate and that’s why you do the job. So you don’t have any right to complain then.” I scoffed. “You must have had it rough because you look pathetic for your age.”
The man started to say something but I raised my hand, “A quick advice, old man: send your children to school; at least you would make one wise decision in your life.”
The elderly man just stared at me with a befuddled look. I felt a mixture of amusement and a pang of guilt for talking to an innocent old man like that. I wondered if the laughter brewing at the pit of my belly as a result of my audacious utterance was a regular feeling for Leo.
I turned away from the man as he still stared at me and took a long pull from my bottle. I noticed then with the bottle to my mouth that the bartender was looking at me and grinning.
I frowned, “What’s so funny you have to shine all your teeth, bartender?”
“I’m happy,” He replied heartily, “because, for the first time in my life, I understand what “dead man walking” means.”
It was my turn to be confused but my confusion was soon cleared when from the corner of my eyes I saw too late, a fist coming very quickly towards my face.
The first punch knocked my jaw out of place.
The second punch knocked me out of the stool.
The third punch knocked me out of consciousness.
I was revived about five minutes later. I found myself sitting on the floor, drenched to the skin in water, with people gathered around me laughing hysterically.
“What happened?” I managed to ask.
The bartender came into view and amidst spasms of laughter, he said, “That old man is a retired soldier and not just any security guard. He was specially employed to come and head the security department of the whole bank.”
Another man added, “He said to thank you for giving him an opportunity to flex his muscles and that you should be a real man to match your big mouth. And also learn to hold your alcohol.”
They all burst into laughter again. When I checked, Leo was gone and I was left alone feeling stupid and seriously damaged, but at least I had a new inspiration for Leo.
