Death and Taxes

Sam and Megan sat across from each other at the breakfast table. It was 4:00am or 4:30. Neither of them was sure of the time, because the clock on the wall was broken. Sam sipped his drink of whiskey and water.

“So what’s he like?” Sam asked breaking a twenty minute silence.
“What is who like?”
“The other guy you’re fucking.”
“That doesn’t seem like an appropriate question.”
“Just trying to make conversation.”
The two fell silent again. It was unbearably hot even in the early morning hours. The apartment was stuck in a seemingly endless New England summer. A light ran fell outside. The clouds darkened the sky, that was usually beginning to brighten at that hour.
“For starters, he reads better books than you?”
“Oh really?” Sam asked “Like who?
“Ezra Pound”
“You know he was a poet , right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Why?”
“We’ll you said that this guy read better books, that implies novels. Pound was a poet and a shitty one at that. And on top of that a Nazi sympathizer. I bet this guy also reads Celine.”
“You have something seriously wrong with you.”
“Thank you.”
Sam finished his drink and poured himself another.
“Fucking poets,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean.”
“Nothing, like most poetry, or just a simple statement of what seems to be your new past time.”
“and you wonder why I’m leaving you…”
“I don’t wonder why,” he said. “I wonder when.”
“That was clever, asshole.”
“I’ve given up trying to figure out what’s running through that 8 pound blob of mass you call a brain.”
“You always were such a charmer.”
Sam finished another drink and poured more whiskey into his glass.
“Neal doesn’t drink,” Megan said.
“I don’t like him,” Sam replied.
“I figured you wouldn’t.”
“What kind of man doesn’t drink?”
“Plenty of people don’t drink.”
“Hemingway drank. Bukowski drank. Those were men.”
“and they were both assholes.”
“Touche.”
Megan looked at the clock on the wall and remembered it was broken. Her cell phone was still on the dresser in Sam’s room and she did not feel like getting up to get it.
“Don’t you have work soon?” she asked.
“No. I took the day off.”
“Why?”
“I was gonna surprise you and take you to the beach. I had a lunch and some wine packed and everything.”
“Really?”
“No, but I did buy a shit-ton of wine.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“It’s shitty wine too.”
“I bet.”
Sam got up and grabbed the three boxes of wine. HE placed them on the table. He tapped one.
“See…cheap.”
“So what are you going to do with your day off?”
“Well, I was thinking about quitting drinking and turning my life around, but I’ll probably just watch re-runs of Seinfeld and get drunk on wine. You know? Modest goals.”
“Sure. Why set the bar high?”
“Exactly, especially when you know you can’t reach it.”
Megan stood up and got a glass from the cupboard. It was dirty. Sam always put glasses black without washing them. Megan rinsed the glass out as best she could in the sink. There was no soap.
“See, if you leave me, who’ll wash my glasses?”
“I’m sure you’ll live,” she said filling the glass with wine.
Sam put his head down on the table. Megan wondered if the whiskey had finally gotten to him. He’d drank three quarters of a bottle in the hours that she’d been there and he was drunk on whatever else before she’d came. She felt a faint pang of concern. Sam lifted his head.
“So this is really it, huh?” he asked. His was voice wavering a bit, so much so that Megan was caught off guard.
“Yeah. I think it is.”
“I suppose I can’t blame you, but I do so hate blaming myself for anything.”
Megan laughed.
“There should be more fanfare,” Sam said. “I should be with another woman and/or you should be breaking dishes and screaming horrible things at me. I could punch you, even. It would give me more street credibility.”
“You can punch me if it’ll make you feel better,” Megan said. “Just once though. Two black eyes would be terribly unattractive.”
“Nah. I couldn’t.” The misogyny is all an act.”
“I know.”
“What will I do without you?”
“You’ll probably keep on writing in drinking, like you did before and during your time with me.”
“ Who will love me?”
“Oh please. Don’t think you’re fooling me with this vulnerability shit, and even if you were, it’s not at all becoming on you.”
“I’m serious. It’s easy for you to find someone else. You’re beautiful and charming. You and I both know I’m an asshole.”
“You could try not being an asshole.”
“How does one do that?”
“The first step I would take would be to stop drinking.”
“I don’t think I’d like that.”
Megan got up from the table and finished her glass of wine. She went into Sam’s bedroom and got her phone. She’d left many other things in Sam’s apartment, but they weren’t worth much. She’d come back for them later, if at all. She walked back to the table.
“Listen, It’s 5:15. I’m gonna go.”
“Alright.”
Megan brushed Sam’s shoulder, as she walked past him. Sam was sitting with his back to the door and he did not turn around to watch Megan leave. She lingered a bit in the doorway. Sam began filling his glass with whiskey again. She wondered if he was actually capable of finding another woman or if the buck stopped with her. She shut the door and walked out into the parking lot of the apartment complex. It was still raining