Six Beers and an Avocado

At a glance, I saw him, that guy from church, Archie, chatting convivially with the cashier who usually blanked me when she saw me – despite having been in the same home group.

He was relaxed, confident, and knew what to say with a wry smile as he talked. I even thought he was attractive – probably because he was immaculate. Immaculate short brown hair, immaculately groomed beard, immaculate jeans and a blue T-Shirt. I bet he ironed those jeans.

He’d opened up once about his failings, home groups were so truthful. He’d spent the family savings, and more, on stocks that bombed. But through prayer and Jesus, he and his family had pulled together. I stopped going to church soon after.

I looked the other way. Too abruptly! If he’d seen, he’d know I was avoiding him. I looked straight ahead and puppeteered my legs forward, the cold entry bars slapping my thighs.

I lashed out to the side and grabbed a green plastic basket without breaking stride.

Avocados! Yes. What a wonderful fruit. I picked one up. Very firm. Olive green. Wriggly hardened skin. It went in the basket.

Must keep looking straight. A pang of guilt surged inside me that I hadn’t replied to Archie’s last message about catching up. But I didn't need any more bible bashing.

I sneaked forward to the next obstacle, a table with two-minute noodles. I placed a packet into the basket.

Despite the bright glare of the fluorescent lighting, I continued my clandestine escape, getting further and further away.

I locked on to a target – safety at the end of an aisle. I shuffled over, and hid behind it for a beat, then peeked out like a child peeking around a staircase at fighting parents. The cashier was busy with a new customer, unaware of me. Phew! I’m safe.

‘Luke!’ someone said.

A warm flush came to my cheeks as I recognised the voice. A woman’s voice, pleasing yet shrill.

I turned to see my ex-girlfriend.

‘Lucy!’ I stammered.

She looked as beautiful as ever, with an airy alluring superiority. Her blond hair draped over her shoulders. She had lost weight.

‘It’s great to see you,’ she said, ‘but why didn’t you reply to my texts?’

‘Oh, you know, been busy,’ I said, wondering what to do with my hands. Clasp in front? Or behind the back?

‘Look, I wanted to apologise,’ she said.

‘There’s no need.’ I rammed my hands into my pockets.

‘When I slammed the door…’

‘Honestly, it’s fine.’

‘Let me finish,’ she barked and I cowered. That was my problem, well one of them. No balls.

‘When I slammed the door and said, “You’ll always be alone,” I didn’t mean it. I was angry. Please forgive me. It’s been eating me up. The worst break-up ever!’

‘It’s fine,’ I said.

‘Yay!’ She jumped on the spot and mini-clapped her hands. ‘You always were so nice. You’ll find the right one.’

I frowned. She’d assumed I was still single.

‘Actually, I’m engaged,’ I said.

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, lovely brunette. Law student. Love of my life.’

Lucy looked me up and down. I suddenly became self-aware of my stubble, the pizza stain on my shirt and the jeans I’d been wearing for two weeks. I could see smugness on her face as she concluded I was lying.

‘That’s super awesome,’ she said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

‘Let me know if you need anything.’ She pecked my cheek, turned and sped away, leaving behind a vanilla scent.

Always be alone. Her words echoed in my head.

I stood rooted to the spot, aware of all the movement: trollies rolling past; a busy businessman hustling through; a worker pushing a cart of boxes to the storeroom. I felt stuck on a tacky merry-go-round, the music getting louder, the lights getting brighter, the ride getting faster.

I spun around, trying to figure out what to do next. Why was I here again? The air seemed thin, and I tried to breathe faster to suck more in.

Nearby, a kid pulled at his mother’s sleeve. ‘Can I have it?’ he whined, chocolate smeared on his face. The mother looked harried like parenting was tough. But at least… at least they were together.

I’ll always be alone.

I started jogging. I need to relax. I need to get out of this place. But rows of shelves towered high making endless tunnels and I didn’t know the way out.

Everything seemed too bright. The fluorescent lighting was blinding as it reflected off the polished floor. Brightly marketed cereal boxes with reds, greens, and yellows were everywhere.

I jogged past a group of teenagers who stared at me. One said something under his breath to the others, and they all laughed. They’re all happy together, hanging out. They’re not alone.

Their laughter gunned me down and I staggered forward, jumping as a freezer door slammed nearby. My heart pounded in my ears.

I halted at the tinned beer section. I seized a six pack and took off to the self-service check-outs.

I swiped items across the red glow of recognition, chasing the Pavlovian beep of approval. Something was wrong as the dumb thing wouldn’t let me pay.

A supermarket attendant appeared. She was nearing retirement age, overweight, and didn’t appear to enjoy her job. ‘ID,’ she said.

I fumbled it out of my wallet. It slipped from my fingers. I scrabbled around the ground and finally showed her.

She keyed something into the machine. As I gathered my things, she asked, ‘Have you been taking meth?’

I got the hell out of there.

The next day, I presumed, I woke up on the sofa. Despite the pitch darkness, the pizza smell and its soft familiar feel reassured me I was home.

I sat up and my innards churned as a vertigo wave hit me. I concentrated as it passed. My tongue stuck to my parched mouth.

I used my phone light to find the light switch and flipped it on. The lights blazed like a prison searchlight. I quickly dimmed them to a more comfortable level.

Strewn on the living room floor were all six empty beer cans, some crushed, some crumpled. There was an avocado with an obvious bite mark in it. I shook my head, what the heck?

I stumbled to the kitchen, flicked on the light, and noticed a packet of 2-minute noodles. I was hungry, but first headed to the sink, snatched a glass, and downed water. ‘Rehydrate to dehydrate,’ we used to say in college. There was no way I was drinking any more lager now. And maybe never. I rehydrated further.

I took a pot, filled it with water, opened the noodles and placed them in. I switched on the stove and propped myself onto a kitchen stool as I waited for them to cook.

Impatient, I pushed apart the jaggedly hard noodles with a fork. The water heated and agitated and softened the noodles into a more relaxed state.

I was alone, in my apartment, again.

Archie came to mind and his charismatic smile. It wasn’t just charismatic, I realised. It was genuine. I flicked open my phone and fired off a text to him.

Hey, you still up for that catch-up?

I didn’t expect an answer. But moments later the mobile buzzed.

Mate, it’s 5 a.m. You all right?

I hesitated and typed back:

Yeah, couldn’t sleep, lol.

Another moment passed, then:

No worries. You’re never alone, yeah? Coffee later?

I smiled and put down the device. I transferred the noodles to a bowl, added the sachet, stirred, and took a bite. The hot, salty flavor hit my tongue, washing away the worst of the hangover.