dennys
And Kimmel laughed, looking into the lens, at a joke that had been made before the television was switched on. The guest, who I didn’t recognise, laughed along too, prompted by Kimmel. I changed channels, too quickly to understand anything. I kept switching channels until I returned to Kimmel, laughing again, presumably at another joke – this time told while I was watching another channel, and now the audience was laughing with him, prompted by his wry look out at them and again into the lens. And for a moment I felt like laughing too, but not at anything in particular. I changed the channel again, I saw an advertisement for Gaviscon. I kept changing the channels. I saw an advertisement for Curry King Indian Takeaway, I saw Ross enter Chandler’s apartment, I saw Elaine enter Jerry’s apartment, I saw a rugby game, I saw three people dead in a tragic car accident, prices were being slashed at Countdown, especially on frozen foods, The Bridge On The River Kwai was playing on T.V later that night, I saw an ad for Nurofen.
In my hotel room in Auckland, New Zealand I found myself alone and despondent. I was flicking aimlessly through the TV channels. I was away from home, from A.S.L, who had called me three times since I had landed and all I had done in response was to read the texts notifying me that a call had been missed and that no message was left. A fourth call came later as I climbed into an Uber, I looked at my vibrating screen for a second as I took my phone out of my pocket to silence it. This time a message was left, but it was only the accidental fabric scratching sound of her phone being returned to her pocket before the skin of her thigh through thin fabric had pressed hang up. This was the only recent audio recording I had of A.S.L, and I listened to it with the speaker grille of my iPhone pressed against my ear. It made me think of her body, her living warmth registering her iPhone’s touchscreen, albeit erroneously. I could only feel the cool of the leather seats and the blast of the air conditioning. Later that night I walked back to my hotel. The city was all quiet.
Lone Star was the name of the Western-themed bar and restaurant adjacent or perhaps attached to my hotel. On the walls were stencilled silhouette depictions of Western figures. Johnny Cash was looking up at the ceiling, the brighter parts of his visage in negative space merging with the grey paint of the wall. Mounted on the opposite wall was the polygonal rendering of a deer head, of brushed aluminium, all shining light down at the table below. I drank beer, and I listened to the soft coo of country music on a Sonos system turned down too low.
The next morning I awoke to another call from A.S.L, this time placed at 2:36 AM. There was another message, rendered as a voice recording in my Optus text conversation. I played it back, hearing at first the faint boom of music, the roaring of conversation and laughter. After a few seconds her voice came in cool and clear, “Hello J.K!” she laughed. It was elongated to an extent that did not match the possible comedy of the greeting. She was drunk. In the background, another woman was laughing also. “Um, I hope you’re having a good time!” She laughed again. Her friend interjected – “She is!” A.S.L seemed to begin a reproach for this but the recording cut off there. It lasted for sixteen seconds. I closed the Messages app by gesturing my finger upward. Then I opened Maps and typed in Denny’s. The route would take ten minutes on foot.
The moment that I entered Denny’s and climbed the stairwell to the restaurant, my hands turned clammy. A feeling of panic came over me, and the corners of my vision began to darken. My breathing became laboured and my auxiliary muscles began to tighten to pass air. I was guided to a red leather booth, where I sat down all too quickly. Drinking the water that was brought to me, I was able to read through the menu enough to order something. As I waited I began to feel faint, I gripped the textured plastic of my Denny’s water cup tightly.
I found myself in the bathroom at Denny’s. I looked at myself in the mirror, at the beaded sweat across my hairline. The light seemed unnaturally bright, the music blaring absurdly loud from the cheap bathroom speakers. I thought about missing my flight the next morning, and whether three hours in the international terminal would be enough. I was worried that I would forget where my hotel was. I was thinking about my health. If I ate well enough, if I should exercise more, if I drank too much, if I should give up smoking again. I was thinking about A.S.L. I reached for the light switch, turning it off. I was alone in the bathroom. I clenched my hands in that darkness.
For a moment I felt calmer, though the music was still blaring. I unzipped my wallet and felt around inside it, eventually producing a single lint-covered Valium. I put it in my mouth as I leant to the running sink and drank from it. Later, at my table, I drank filtered coffee and picked at my food. The Valium had made me calm but I had lost my appetite. There is no Denny’s in Australia. Later, as I waited in the hotel lobby for another Uber to take me to the airport, the Sonos system played the chorus of a song by Ed Sheeran:
My bad habits lead to late nights endin’ alone
Conversations with a stranger I barely know
Swearin’ this will be the last, but it probably won’t
I got nothin’ left to lose, or use, or do
My bad habits lead to you
