Atlanta, ch2

"Hey-ey," I crowed into my phone.
"Hey girl," came the response.
"What's goin' on?"
"Nothin', just avoiding homework."
"Right on. It is as it should be. How are you?"
"Ohhhh, I'm okay. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Driving to the liquor store! Oh-oh!"
"I knew it! From the tone of your voice, I knew it." She probably did know it. "Did you take Greg's car?"
"Shore deeyid."
"Well, shucks. How's Georgia?"
"She's fine." This is an old joke of ours. About three months old, to be precise. "How's Tennessee?"
"Fine as well. Eli. What. The. Hell."
"What? What's going on?" I pulled into the liquor store parking lot and swung Greg's car into a spot below a blazing, blue street lamp.
"There are tiny rocks inside of my philosophy notebook."
"Tiny rocks?"
"Yeah! Isn't that weird?"
"Weirdest thing I've ever heard of."
"Of which you've heard."
"Of which I've heard. What did you do today?"
"Well, we had a house meeting." I groaned and climbed out of the car. "Yeah. So that was awesome, and Melissa's upset about the fact that I brought beer home the other night, practically made me cry, she was being so mean." I shut the door and wrapped the unzipped shores of my coat around my chest. "But beyond that, I had class, which was fine, except Prof Sherman was being such a dumbass, he was in one of his moods and kept telling us all to 'pipe down' and I kept getting so annoyed." I waved at the store owner and started staring at the different beers in the cooler. "Plus, he has this way of holding his hands, or, well, kind of grasping them, that just irritates me."
"Yeah. School.. sucks." ...Six fifty for a six-pack of Molson, eight ninety-five for a six of Harp.. "I mean, you know how I feel about it."
"I do. What are you doing?"
"Sorry. You know. Browsing the beer section."
"Well, don't bring it to my house."
I laugh and wish that I could. "I wish I could."
"I know. Me, too."
"I miss you." Screw beer. I wasn't even in the mood for beer anyways. Wait. Okay, a six-pack of Guinness. Okay.
"I miss you, too."
"So this Sherman fellah, he wasn't giving you a hard time, was he?" I headed towards the cognac and brandy. I had decided to be a cognac and brandy kinda guy for now.
"Prof? No. No, I think I was just tired. You know how I get."
"Unfortunately, I do. Oh! Just kidding!" Hennessy? Isn't that kind of too.. hip-hop for me?
"Huh!" comes the reply. "Well! I'll be!"
"Well, I never!" I retort, and take the smallest size of Hennessy, a 750 mL.
"Anyways, enough about me, how was your day?"
"My day?" What did Greg want again? Gin? He kept saying 'Seven and Seven.' Seagram's. Seagram's gin. "My day was fine. I.." What the hell? There was plenty of Seagram's gin, but nothing with a 7 on it. "Sorry. It was fine. You know. I hate my job, but only sort of. Just kind of a nothing day."
"Right..." Maybe it was a different kind of liquor.
"My existence is not exactly scintillating."
"I'd say not."
"I'd say not, too."
"Ohmygod whatthehell is that!"
"Heh?" It was. Whiskey. Weird. Seagram's 7. But, what the hell? It's huge. I don't want to spend $18.00 on whiskey for Greg. Jeez.
"Ehhh.."
"What's going on?"
"Sorry, there was this junk on the door to my bedroom, and it was all brown and.. citrus-y."
"Citrus-y?"
She laughed, loud and full. I stopped thinking about everything except her and my heart ached. "Yeah. Ha, weird, huh? I mean it just smells citrus-y. I didn't taste it."
"Is it Pine-Sol?" I found a smaller bottle of Seagram's 7 for 12 dollars.
"Pine-Sol? What the hell?"
"Sorry. I don't know. You know, there are, like, other smells. Or kinds, you know. Of Pine-Sol."
"Eli."
"Sorry! Jeez. I'm at a liquor store." I grabbed a 2-liter bottle of Sprite (a solid substitute for 7-Up) and headed to the counter. "I mean, give me a break. Hey, can I call you right back? I'm sorry. I need to check out."
"That's fine."
"Okay, talk to you soon, byyye." I clapped my phone closed as she was saying "bye."
"We have a special," the man at the counter said, indicating my wimpy bottle of Seagram's 7. "Behind you." I turned and looked. It was the 18 dollar bottle.
"Oh!" I said, and grabbed the bigger bottle. "Great, wonderful, okay, thanks!" I put the bigger bottle on the counter. "Let me put this one back for you."
"No, I'll do it for you."
"Oh, great, thanks."
"How are you doing today?"
"Oh, I'm okay. Kind of a weird week, you know?" He nods and scans the Hennessy. "How are you doing?"
"Weird week, here too." He's Indian, and I feel weird for feeling amused at how he says things. It's perfectly normal, but it still strikes me as being strange.
"Oh, yeah? What's up?"
"Business is slow. The economy."
"Right.. and this is a weird area. Lower-class and upper-class right next to each other. I mean as far as financial statuses are concerned."
"Yes. It gets very difficult. Your total is $58.40." I hand him my card. "Credit?" I nod. He nods and swipes me card and hands it back to me. "But we always appreciate the people who keep coming back." I nod. "Why is your week weird?"
"Well," I start, signing my name quickly and coolly on the credit card receipt, "I don't know, a lot of things. I think I'm moving back to Nashville soon."



I intended to convey a certain irony in this passage but failed miserably. This is because I was drinking too much of the aforementioned Hennessy when I wrote it.