Garret, Part 2

Fucking Garret.  

As you might’ve gathered, there had been a bit of history between me and this oversized, always awkward SOB. See, Garret was the guy who always seemed to mysteriously show up at the most inopportune time; the guy nobody wanted showing up in the first place. Yet, somehow, he'd always be there, lingering like the smell of night-before beer on the morning after. Always there. 

“Back here again, I see,” muffled Garret after a long drag from his menthol cigarette. As predicted, his first remarks were pointed and with malice intent. Given the occasion, I almost thought we might’ve shot the shit first. Nope. He came out swinging, and so be it.

“I just missed you, is all. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Taking this type of sarcastic, confident stance was a risky move with this bozo. But the odds were stacked against me from the get-go and, if I was going to make it out of this one, I needed to try and stand my ground.

“I’m always happy to see you,” prodded Garret. “I just thought you might’ve learned your lesson after last time. Guess not. Whatcha drinkin’? Wait - let me guess - bad attitude, lit cigarette, this bar...  whiskey?” As if he needed to ask.

Out of everything that went down that night, it was this moment that I remember most vividly. I remember sensing his permeating excitement, as he prematurely assumed victory. I remember how contagious it was. It hit me like an angry fog. I suddenly felt something I hadn’t before - something that had been eluding me ever since the first time I met Garret.

Control. 

My flicked cigarette sparked as it struck the cement. My eyes sparked just the same, as I violently flared them at Garret’s off-guard smirk. I had him shook, and so I decided to take advantage. It was time to stop talking, and start walking. 

“You know how much I like a good whiskey. Speaking of, isn’t it your turn to buy?” Just like I had taken his bait before, I knew he had no choice but to take mine. I turned to head back into the bar. Garret followed.

At last, it was time to settle this once and for all.

Garret, Part 1

It was late at night. I found myself outside of a bar, smoking a cigarette, when I ran into this douchebag I know named Garret.

Before Garret's unwavering perma-scowl could even attempt to form a word, I knew exactly what he was about to say, and why he had even shown up in the first place. 

"Well, well, well. What in the absolute fuck, Garret?" I asked with commanding, sarcastic impatience. 

"Bum a light?" replied Garret, barely. 

Right then, I could've clocked Garret square in his big, round nose. But it was late, and I wasn't in the mood for a fist fight. Plus, I knew what we were in for. It was a different kind of fight that Garret was fixin' for, and maybe I was fixin' for the same.

Now, don't get me wrong. If it was any other night, I wouldn't bat a lazy eye at Garret and his always obnoxious, pot-stirring presence. But this wasn't any other night. And unfortunately for him, he caught me with just enough whiskey in my system to give a shit. So I took the bait.

"Yea, sure. I got a light."

And there, outside of the bar, with the sudden flick of a zippo and two bitter stares, it began.

To be continued...