Blood and Sugar
Part One: A Spoonful of Sugar
September 28, 2008
Nobody’s going to believe this; I know that already. But I’m gonna tell it anyway just to make myself know it isn’t all some kind of dream.
I’m Err, by the way. Err’s all I’m saying. Just Err. Yep, Err, the bar-waiting, college student extraordinaire. Hey, it gets me through school, and most weeks I have enough left over to buy myself some stuff. But most importantly, Skinny’s Bar and Arcade is where I met Tang. She’s half Chinese, half Central American Indian. Aztec’s my guess. That combination makes interesting alliances between the two cultures’ trademark features.
She’s the daughter of a Chinese woman whose family can be traced back over a thousand years; lots of nobility, war heroes, and two emperors. Her mother came to America as an exchange student and came back after she graduated to travel all over North and South America. And she met Tang’s dad and they got married and had a daughter.
Tang’s got black hair (duh), but she’s put some jade green and azure streaks in it. Green for China, Azure for Central-America, I guess. She’s got this golden skin that somehow still looks like milk with a little honey thrown in. Her eyes are black and have that weird Chinese tilt, but their lashes are long and thick, and her eyes are wide like South American eyes.
She comes to Skinny’s most nights. Sometimes she wears jeans and a T-shirt, sometimes adress or a skirt, kimono. She has tats. Two that you can see, but she’s one of those people that you see and think that the less she wears, the more ink you’ll see. On her left arm she’s got her name in Chinese symbols; on her right she’s got her name in some Central-American language. She had to use “sugar” instead of “tang” for that one.
We met one day when I was working a double-shift. Skinny had told me that we were going to be short-handed that week, but I hadn’t expected to have him call me in to cover Ally’s shift. The late-night shift. The worst part of it was that Skinny doesn’t close down at any particular hour, so I didn’t know whether or not I was going to be able to catch any sleep that night or not.
The bar was pretty full, and I was hating the clock. It was saying that I had at least three more hours before I could begin to lock up. It was also saying that I only had six hours of sleep if I left at that exact moment. I sighed and took a few more orders. Then I spotted her.
She walked up to the bar in a way that could by no stretch of the imagination be defined as “surreptitiously”, and ordered a drink. I should have asked to see some I.D., but I didn’t. I had a feeling that nobody had ever carded her before and I really doubted anyone ever would. She just had that manner about her. I saw her lips moving, entranced by the way they thinned and became full again, as though by magic; as her mouth opened and closed over the nine syllables; as her tongue just barely touched her teeth, forming an “l”. I watched all of this and didn’t catch a single bit of it audibly.
“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you want again?”, I asked sheepishly.
“An Irish coffee. And aren’t you a bit formal for the occasion, young man?”, she asked, scrutinizing me.
“I was raised by a woman who believed in etiquette, so it’s sort of second-nature to me.” I had no idea why I was telling her this, but I didn’t mind telling her more that I already had, It never occurred to me to question the “young man“ part of her sentence. “She died when I was twelve so I guess that’s my way of remembering her.”
“That’s a . . . unique memorial service.”, she said with a polite deal of skepticism.
“My name’s Err, by the way. It’s short for Eres. Like the Greek god, but spelled with an “E” at the beginning instead of an “A”. It means blood. My mom wasn’t normal, but she told me that she named me that so that I would grow up to be strong and never quit. I try to live up to it, but it’s not always easy. I miss her a lot.” I didn’t even feel self-conscious telling her these personal anecdotes.
“I like that name,” she said with a smile. I noticed something odd about that smile then, but I felt like my brain was full of Novocain, so I couldn’t get just what it was to come into my conscious mind. “Mine’s Tang. Means sugar. My mom was a bit weird, too,” she said. That odd smile spread across her face again.
“Uh, here’s your drink,” I hadn’t even realized that I had been making it.
“Thanks.”
She faded into the background as I went onto my other customers. Some left tips. Some didn’t. The hours of work and potential sleep were killed off one by one. By the time I got a minute to look at the clock again, my six hours were down to four. I sighed with loss and regret. I had wanted to talk to her some more, but I knew that had she planned on staying for two hours, she would have ordered at least one more drink. Then I realized that I hadn’t charged her for the one she had ordered. I dug into my pocket and paid for her coffee.
I walked over to the last table to wipe it down. I was looking forward to a whole two hours worth of sleep. I groaned as I noticed that there was paper on the table. People get so messy when they’re drinking. Besides, the trash can wasn’t all the way across the room or anything, so it wasn‘t like they would have to do any serious work to pick up after themselves. I walked over to the table and reached out to pick up the paper and crumple it into a little ball. Then I noticed my name was written on it.
I leaned over the slip of paper, registering that it was a gum wrapper, and read it. It was a note written to me. It had a phone number on it. Then I noticed that it was signed. Tang. She had left me her number. I had to run this through my tired brain a few times before it could figure out what all of the words meant, and what they meant in that order.
Finally, I got it. I perked up a little and slipped the paper into my pocket. I wiped the table down, checked that everything was as clean as things ever were in Skinny’s, and did a few other chores. I wrote Skinny a note telling him what time I had gotten finished, and locked up for the night. I smirked as I processed this term and realized how loosely I was using it. The sun was nearly up, and I was still trying to fool myself by calling it night.
I walked to my apartment and unlocked the door. I walked over the threshold, smelling the musty aroma of my old books, which always reminded me of cinnamon, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I walked through the small dark space without necessitating a light. I had been living in this tiny space for a few years and hardly ever moved the furniture around. There weren’t that many ways it would all fit.
I got to the bedroom and fell into the bed fully clothed, staying awake only long enough to set the alarm. Then I let myself be seduced by sleep, that sweet and lovely sister to death. I had a dreamless self-indulgently-named night. When the alarm went off, I sprang awake, feeling strangely refreshed after a little under two hours of sleep. I also fell an odd cheerfulness. Then I remembered the night before.
I got dressed and walked to my living room/library and found my couch after sifting through a few jackets and about fifty more books. I really had too many for such a small living space, but I couldn’t bear to part with any of them. I set a few on the coffee table, a few on the end table, and a few on the floor. I sat there on a couch still overburdened with literature and thought about the events (or lack thereof) of the night before.
I knew that I had met a girl, and that she was strangely captivating. I also remembered talking to this girl and feeling like I was letting my brain run on empty. I remembered the note and that it was in my pants pocket. I even remembered the phone number, and that she had ordered an Irish coffee. I usually don’t have such a good memory, and considering how tired I was, this was borderline incredible. Despite this, I still felt like there was something that I wasn’t remembering. I also felt that this something was pretty important.
The phone rang, making me jump. I answered it on the first ring, sure it was her. I was wrong. It was Skinny. He was asking me to work another extra shift tonight. I told him no, but I was forced to reconsider when he told me that he would pay me double if I did. I accepted with utter disdain at the idea of another night of sluggish bar traffic. At that moment, I was feeling incredibly cynical. The phone rang. I answered it, sure it was Skinny, wanting something else; like a contract, written in the blood of virgins, binding myself and my soul to him for all eternity. I was wrong; it was her.
“Hi, Err.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Tang, from last night,” she said with a smile in her voice. Something rolled over in my mind and the thing that I couldn’t remember almost made it to the surface, when that drugged feeling came back.
“Oh. Hi, Tang.”
“Meet me tonight at the park.” There was no doubt in her voice that I would never consider objecting, and I almost didn’t. Then I remembered that I had a job.
“I can’t. I have work tonight,” I said with real regret.
“After work, then.” Still no doubt was to be found in her tone.
“I don’t know if that’ll wok. I have to cover for this girl who’s not coming in tonight. It’s a double-shift for me.”
“That’s fine. I can come there.” It seemed impossible to deny that voice, with its surety in getting what it said was going to happen become what does happen.
“Well, I guess that’s okay . . . ” I guessed no such thing.
Part One: A Spoonful of Sugar
September 28, 2008
Nobody’s going to believe this; I know that already. But I’m gonna tell it anyway just to make myself know it isn’t all some kind of dream.
I’m Err, by the way. Err’s all I’m saying. Just Err. Yep, Err, the bar-waiting, college student extraordinaire. Hey, it gets me through school, and most weeks I have enough left over to buy myself some stuff. But most importantly, Skinny’s Bar and Arcade is where I met Tang. She’s half Chinese, half Central American Indian. Aztec’s my guess. That combination makes interesting alliances between the two cultures’ trademark features.
She’s the daughter of a Chinese woman whose family can be traced back over a thousand years; lots of nobility, war heroes, and two emperors. Her mother came to America as an exchange student and came back after she graduated to travel all over North and South America. And she met Tang’s dad and they got married and had a daughter.
Tang’s got black hair (duh), but she’s put some jade green and azure streaks in it. Green for China, Azure for Central-America, I guess. She’s got this golden skin that somehow still looks like milk with a little honey thrown in. Her eyes are black and have that weird Chinese tilt, but their lashes are long and thick, and her eyes are wide like South American eyes.
She comes to Skinny’s most nights. Sometimes she wears jeans and a T-shirt, sometimes adress or a skirt, kimono. She has tats. Two that you can see, but she’s one of those people that you see and think that the less she wears, the more ink you’ll see. On her left arm she’s got her name in Chinese symbols; on her right she’s got her name in some Central-American language. She had to use “sugar” instead of “tang” for that one.
We met one day when I was working a double-shift. Skinny had told me that we were going to be short-handed that week, but I hadn’t expected to have him call me in to cover Ally’s shift. The late-night shift. The worst part of it was that Skinny doesn’t close down at any particular hour, so I didn’t know whether or not I was going to be able to catch any sleep that night or not.
The bar was pretty full, and I was hating the clock. It was saying that I had at least three more hours before I could begin to lock up. It was also saying that I only had six hours of sleep if I left at that exact moment. I sighed and took a few more orders. Then I spotted her.
She walked up to the bar in a way that could by no stretch of the imagination be defined as “surreptitiously”, and ordered a drink. I should have asked to see some I.D., but I didn’t. I had a feeling that nobody had ever carded her before and I really doubted anyone ever would. She just had that manner about her. I saw her lips moving, entranced by the way they thinned and became full again, as though by magic; as her mouth opened and closed over the nine syllables; as her tongue just barely touched her teeth, forming an “l”. I watched all of this and didn’t catch a single bit of it audibly.
“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you want again?”, I asked sheepishly.
“An Irish coffee. And aren’t you a bit formal for the occasion, young man?”, she asked, scrutinizing me.
“I was raised by a woman who believed in etiquette, so it’s sort of second-nature to me.” I had no idea why I was telling her this, but I didn’t mind telling her more that I already had, It never occurred to me to question the “young man“ part of her sentence. “She died when I was twelve so I guess that’s my way of remembering her.”
“That’s a . . . unique memorial service.”, she said with a polite deal of skepticism.
“My name’s Err, by the way. It’s short for Eres. Like the Greek god, but spelled with an “E” at the beginning instead of an “A”. It means blood. My mom wasn’t normal, but she told me that she named me that so that I would grow up to be strong and never quit. I try to live up to it, but it’s not always easy. I miss her a lot.” I didn’t even feel self-conscious telling her these personal anecdotes.
“I like that name,” she said with a smile. I noticed something odd about that smile then, but I felt like my brain was full of Novocain, so I couldn’t get just what it was to come into my conscious mind. “Mine’s Tang. Means sugar. My mom was a bit weird, too,” she said. That odd smile spread across her face again.
“Uh, here’s your drink,” I hadn’t even realized that I had been making it.
“Thanks.”
She faded into the background as I went onto my other customers. Some left tips. Some didn’t. The hours of work and potential sleep were killed off one by one. By the time I got a minute to look at the clock again, my six hours were down to four. I sighed with loss and regret. I had wanted to talk to her some more, but I knew that had she planned on staying for two hours, she would have ordered at least one more drink. Then I realized that I hadn’t charged her for the one she had ordered. I dug into my pocket and paid for her coffee.
I walked over to the last table to wipe it down. I was looking forward to a whole two hours worth of sleep. I groaned as I noticed that there was paper on the table. People get so messy when they’re drinking. Besides, the trash can wasn’t all the way across the room or anything, so it wasn‘t like they would have to do any serious work to pick up after themselves. I walked over to the table and reached out to pick up the paper and crumple it into a little ball. Then I noticed my name was written on it.
I leaned over the slip of paper, registering that it was a gum wrapper, and read it. It was a note written to me. It had a phone number on it. Then I noticed that it was signed. Tang. She had left me her number. I had to run this through my tired brain a few times before it could figure out what all of the words meant, and what they meant in that order.
Finally, I got it. I perked up a little and slipped the paper into my pocket. I wiped the table down, checked that everything was as clean as things ever were in Skinny’s, and did a few other chores. I wrote Skinny a note telling him what time I had gotten finished, and locked up for the night. I smirked as I processed this term and realized how loosely I was using it. The sun was nearly up, and I was still trying to fool myself by calling it night.
I walked to my apartment and unlocked the door. I walked over the threshold, smelling the musty aroma of my old books, which always reminded me of cinnamon, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I walked through the small dark space without necessitating a light. I had been living in this tiny space for a few years and hardly ever moved the furniture around. There weren’t that many ways it would all fit.
I got to the bedroom and fell into the bed fully clothed, staying awake only long enough to set the alarm. Then I let myself be seduced by sleep, that sweet and lovely sister to death. I had a dreamless self-indulgently-named night. When the alarm went off, I sprang awake, feeling strangely refreshed after a little under two hours of sleep. I also fell an odd cheerfulness. Then I remembered the night before.
I got dressed and walked to my living room/library and found my couch after sifting through a few jackets and about fifty more books. I really had too many for such a small living space, but I couldn’t bear to part with any of them. I set a few on the coffee table, a few on the end table, and a few on the floor. I sat there on a couch still overburdened with literature and thought about the events (or lack thereof) of the night before.
I knew that I had met a girl, and that she was strangely captivating. I also remembered talking to this girl and feeling like I was letting my brain run on empty. I remembered the note and that it was in my pants pocket. I even remembered the phone number, and that she had ordered an Irish coffee. I usually don’t have such a good memory, and considering how tired I was, this was borderline incredible. Despite this, I still felt like there was something that I wasn’t remembering. I also felt that this something was pretty important.
The phone rang, making me jump. I answered it on the first ring, sure it was her. I was wrong. It was Skinny. He was asking me to work another extra shift tonight. I told him no, but I was forced to reconsider when he told me that he would pay me double if I did. I accepted with utter disdain at the idea of another night of sluggish bar traffic. At that moment, I was feeling incredibly cynical. The phone rang. I answered it, sure it was Skinny, wanting something else; like a contract, written in the blood of virgins, binding myself and my soul to him for all eternity. I was wrong; it was her.
“Hi, Err.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Tang, from last night,” she said with a smile in her voice. Something rolled over in my mind and the thing that I couldn’t remember almost made it to the surface, when that drugged feeling came back.
“Oh. Hi, Tang.”
“Meet me tonight at the park.” There was no doubt in her voice that I would never consider objecting, and I almost didn’t. Then I remembered that I had a job.
“I can’t. I have work tonight,” I said with real regret.
“After work, then.” Still no doubt was to be found in her tone.
“I don’t know if that’ll wok. I have to cover for this girl who’s not coming in tonight. It’s a double-shift for me.”
“That’s fine. I can come there.” It seemed impossible to deny that voice, with its surety in getting what it said was going to happen become what does happen.
“Well, I guess that’s okay . . . ” I guessed no such thing.
