Johnny Wraith Stories

I woke up with a throbbing headache and a sick stomach, in a hotel room in Barcelona, Spain. Empty bottles of Aguila Imperial rolled and clanked together as I sat up and blinked my eyes. The night before, I’d tripped on an empty, fallen hard, and passed out on the floor. A sharp pain was in my neck. Snoring bodies were everywhere. The place smelled of alcohol, morning breath, and old perfume. The early sunshine hurt my eyes as it came through the balcony’s ajar glass door. 

I stood and looked around, took an inventory of the bodies. Juan, a Puerto Rican friend I’d nicknamed “The Mexican” was easy to spot. He was in the middle of the only bed, sleeping like a baby and spooning Allen’s brother, Judd. Spooning him in turn was another of Allen’s brothers, Herman. They were all dressed, lying on top of the bedcovers, packed tightly. I counted Allen’s 4 sisters. They were all strewn about the floor with pillows, using coats and bath towels for blankets. I counted the bodies one more time. There were only 7. Allen, was missing.

My stomach got really queasy, so I stepped over a few girls and into the bathroom. In the mirror the veins in my forehead and neck bulged. My face turned bright red. I leaned over the toilet and dry-heaved. Only stomach acid came up. After rinsing my mouth, I noticed Allen’s keys and wallet on the sink. Looking close in the mirror, I could see every pore on my face and swollen capillaries in my watery eyes. I also saw a pair of pants hanging on the shower door. Allen’s pants. I began to worry, so I went back into the room to inspect Allen’s luggage. It was still unopened. His shoes and socks were sitting on top of his suitcase. I surmised Allen was somewhere else, without his keys, wallet, pants, shoes or socks. My anxiety increased.

I remembered the last place I’d seen Allen, the night before:

It was 3 am. Allen staggered into the room, drunk on three bottles of champagne. Tears were rolling down his face. He nearly tripped over his passed-out sisters as he made his way to me. I was out on the balcony and had been looking out over the Barcelona lights, drinking my 18th Aguila Imperial, until I heard him come in the door. Allen dropped onto the balcony rail with momentum. I had to catch him with my free hand to keep him from going over. Tears dropped from his face and fell 4 stories into a narrow alleyway below. Every few minutes, he’d scream out over the sleeping city. It was really loud and hurt my ears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked several times.

“TINA!” He howled. Then he went back to his crying and hollering out over the sleeping Spanish city.

“Shut up out there!” Someone complained from the room.

“¡Cállate!” Shouted a very angry voice from below.

Tina was a girl that had been madly in love with Allen. They’d dated for 5 years and had considered marriage. He’d dumped her and started dating other girls about 2 years after she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer. She’d died about a year after he dumped her.

“I SHOULD HAVE MARRIED HER!” Allen yelled out over the city. His tears kept coming, falling in big drops, 4 stories, into the alley below.

Seeing how drunk Allen was, I rushed into the room and procured a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. If I just give him a few shots, I thought, I can knock him out cold, shut him up, and go back to drinking my Aguila Imperias, enjoying the city lights, in solitude.

I poured two shots.

“Here, take this.”

Allen gladly paused from his mourning, turned to me, took the shot glass and threw back his head.  Then he went back to leaning over the railing, crying and shouting:

“TINA! I LOVE YOU!”

After about 6 shots, I started to fade and could barely stand. My strategy had backfired. I was going down and Allen wasn’t. He’d always had a legendary tolerance. I staggered into the room, slipped on an empty Aguila Imperial and went hard to the floor. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard Allen yelling:

“TINA!”

After remembering the night before, I broke out in a cold sweat, my stomach and throat tightened, and my pulse rose.  I hurdled the snoring sisters, and rushed onto the balcony. I took a deep breath and looked down, four stories into the narrow alleyway below. 

But it was too dark to see the bottom.