Nadia Steven Rysing
THE GIRL WAS NEVER THERE
My name is Diana and I’m an alcoholic.
Today I’m eighty-three days sober. The last two days have been tough, sure. My girlfriend and I broke up. Shouldn’t call her girlfriend. We went out three weeks. She came over to my place for the first time two nights ago. We had sex. It was fine, nothing exciting, but nice. We wake up next morning and she just…she just bolts. I phone her but she doesn’t take my calls. I worry I’ve hurt her or something so I ask a mutual friend to check in on her.
And then Saul – that’s our friend – he texts me and says that…
I think I’ve got to explain something. None of you are going to believe this. But I don’t know who else to talk to about this. So I’m going to tell you what happened eighty-four days ago. I’m going to tell you what happened the night I stopped drinking.
I was driving back home from my brother’s place, back home from Christmas, and I got forty clicks north of Bobcaygeon when I had to pull over. The snow was growing thick and heavy; building faster on my truck than the wipers could push away. It was alright though. I was growing tired of driving and as the night fell, my sunglasses would no longer help against the snow glare.
It was getting past 5:30. It’s a tricky time then. All the reputable places are closing up shop; the only thing open now would be the dive bar and the liquor store. I knew better than to drink alone.
They were friendly to me when I went inside, stripping off my layers. I don’t think they realized I was a woman until then. It’s hard to tell in the Canadian winters. But from my speech, they heard another farm girl, even if she was a little far from home. Rural Ontario is Rural Ontario when you boil sap down to syrup.
A fellow drunk at the bar asked me if I liked this weather and I laughed and said it was alright. They only grunted in return and looked back down to their hands. I asked the bartender if the kitchen was still open, figuring it being a Saturday and all there’d be someone at the grill. He found some peanuts below the bar and I paid way too much for them. I sat beside a man from Lindsay and we talked awhile. He told me he used to go down to Collingwood every year and get third place in the Elvis impersonator contest. When he finally got second place, he quit, thinking that was good enough.
I was on my third Keith’s then when the bar started to fill, younger folks from the city, older folks filling the pool tables and bar stools. The college crowd seems to enjoy rural bars. They joke all the alcohol is the same colour, all poured from a jug marked XXX. I don’t mind the joke. I had actually been to a bar like that once, further west in Grey County. It had been a good night, even if I had to wrestle a man for a rack of pig ribs.
When I saw it first, I thought it had come in with the student crowd, but it seemed apart from them. It stared at me, unblinking as I turned on my stool. I turned away again, picking up my bottle as I went to the bathroom. I did my business and then when I washed up, I got a glimpse of a bruise forming across my cheekbone. It was oddly painful to the touch, going almost black when I pushed my fingers into it. One of the college girls stopped me then, offering her compact while two of her friends giggled, teasing her in a sing song way not to bother a stranger.
Her skin was about six shades darker than mine and what I really needed was a bit of ice. I said as much, still thanking her for the offer. Her two friends whispered to her to leave me alone, using one of those words for people like me that only people like me get to use. Didn’t mind. I’ve been called worse by better.
When I got back to the bar, Elvis had left the building and I didn’t feel like heading out to my car yet. If I had to sleep out there in the cold, I might as well spend as much time inside as I could. Didn’t want to get drunk though so I told the drunk I’d find us a pool table, even though I knew they weren’t getting off that stool until the bartender gently led them out at closing.
The only pool table was being torn up by three twenty-somethings who thought they had invented the jump shot. I ignored them and turned my attention to the makeshift dance floor, an empty space between tables where the patrons clung together in makeshift dancing. Maybe it was the storm, maybe it was the dark December night, but there were few happy faces on that floor. I stood at the side, drinking as I watched the faces. There were no cheerful drunks that night.
As I scanned, I saw it again. I thought it beckoned me, but I realized as I walked over it made no gestures, said nothing. But I felt drawn to it, like a compass turning north.
When I reached its side, we did not touch, it made no greeting except its eyes meeting mine. It danced closer to me, staying inches from me even as the floor crowded around us. It looked up with violet eyes, so pale under the harsh light that its irises and pupils seemed to disappear into the whites of its eyes. Yet I could not help but stare back, its dark eye shadow framing those orbs of white light. Its lips were red and plump, withdrawn, as if it was biting its lips from the inside.
As it withdrew its gaze from me, and I caught my breath, I knew what it was. I knew she was a predator, one of those who hunted deep into the winter nights, the creatures your mother warned you of as she tucked you in. A predator was a predator, whether it looked like a wolf or a woman. A predator wants flesh and blood and it does not care what tricks it uses to get them.
My heart beat faster, as if calling out to it, promising her what lurked beneath my skin. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the strange heat emanating from its skin, maybe it was that slight space between us, but I wanted to offer everything of myself to her. I knew without knowing that I had to make the first step. It wouldn’t take me if I wasn’t willing. I knew somehow if I pulled away, it would hide back into the shadows and I would never see it again.
And I didn’t want that. I wanted her to devour me whole. I wanted this creature to bury its mouth in my throat and let it drain my blood from me. I accepted that fate like my sisters accepted Christ. It is the higher power of my understanding.
I never said yes to it, but I swore and it let go of its lips, the idents of its teeth softening as it smiled. I was overwhelmed with a strange fullness, a needing to provide it life through my skin. I felt like a mother whose milk has finally come in. I could practically feel my blood trickling from my breasts.
I don’t know what to tell you about what happened next. I know I’m not the only one who’s ever gotten black out drunk and ended up in bed with a stranger. But when I woke up…I just started panicking. It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t there. It had never been there. But I was in a hotel bed, naked, and my clothes were all nicely folded just on the end table. I got dressed real fast and I looked out the window. The roads were crusted with snow and while I couldn’t see much, I could hear the snow plow as it made its way around the corner.
I went to the bathroom mirror, looking for any marks, and my bruise was completely gone. My cheek was soft and tender, nicer than it’s ever been in my life. I was cold and I saw someone had turned the radiator off. I tried turning it back on but I tell you, it was like it was fused shut.
I didn’t want to get stuck with a hotel bill I couldn’t pay so I snuck out the back and made a run for my truck. I brushed the snow off with my arm and I managed to wiggle the front door open. When I sat down, I nearly hurled. I was in a full blown panic attack then and it’s not like I’ve never had them before but I honestly thought well that was it, that was the end of me.
But after a while, I started coming down off of it. I started driving back to the highway, wanting to get out of there before the hangover hit me too hard. But for a minute, just a minute, I wanted to turn back around and try to find it. I wanted to…I don’t know. Run away with it. Maybe try to find a new way to be.
It was a dark day, but I’ve seen darker. Before and after. Especially after. I hadn’t gone to AA for six months but I was scared so shitless that I went the first meeting I could. Then I’ve tried to tell myself that it was all just the drink. That none of it was real. None of it happened.
Then this morning…then this morning a guy I’ve known for six years texts me that…that something or someone bit straight through my girlfriend’s collarbone and snapped it in two and she says it was me. And I know…I know that’s not possible. I know it’s not.
I’m sorry, I need to go.