Mack and John

***EDIT*** I posted an unfinished and unrevised version of the story last night. This is the final copy***

This is something new. I'm taking a creative writing class and I have to write the first to pages to a short story.
Any comments are welcome.

Mack and John

I was sleeping, so I probably answered the phone with a mumble. It’s possible that he caught me in the middle of a good dream, in which case I might have managed a slightly more polite “Yeah..?”. What I do know is that it was a Saturday morning. I know this because I distinctly remember wondering who in their right mind would call on a Saturday morning when everyone knows Saturday morning directly follows Friday night.

“Mack”, the breathless voice on the other line began, “You have to help me…”

Of course. I knew right away that is could only be John. I’d say that his voice was strange but John always sounded a little queer. I could only blame the hangover for not having thought of him sooner.

“Last night”, he went on without waiting for me to say anything, “I don’t remember what we did but, like, I was wearing this coat. You know the coat, the one with all the pockets. You know what coat I’m talking about right? The red one? With the pockets?”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead in a useless attempt to massage my headache away. “John, if you called me to talk about a damn coat…” I rolled over in bed to see if I could spot a glass of water anywhere within arms reach.

Again, he rushed on, ignoring me. “So I woke up this morning, right? With the coat? And, like, I was looking in the pockets for a stick of gum because we’re out of toothpaste and I found this note..” Here his voice dropped to a tone I guess was meant to be conspiring, “The note said”, he paused, “bread, peanut butter, honey, margarine and a knife”.

He paused again. I could hear him breathing slowly into the receiver. I waited with my face buried in my pillow until it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t going to speak again until I gave him some sort of answer.

I guess I could have been surprised or confused that a scrap of misplaced paper could get a guy so agitated. But when you’ve been around John for long enough, these things become not so much expected as… well… accepted.

Once upon a time, I had a brief relationship with pet fish, probably to impress a girl with my tender caring side, that required a trip to the pet store. While I was in the store staring in confusion at the various fish paraphernalia, a young man burst through the door with a wild jingle of the bell installed on the doorframe. He took three quick steps into the store and stopped abruptly with his arms held out by his sides. His eyes were bulging, his forehead was slick with sweat and his breath was heavy as he swung his body around once or twice looking as though he expected to be attacked at any moment. The store clerk had not moved from behind his counted and flinched as the young man screamed in his direction “A cat! I need a cat!”

I don’t know what came over me at that moment. Maybe my short experience as a caregiver for the fish had inspired some previously untapped nurturing instinct. Maybe I just liked his style. Either way, I felt it necessary that I take him under my wing. I boldly stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder and said “My friend, what you need is a drink.”

So there I was, two years later, laying there with my headache to keep me company, holding the phone to my ear, listening to John breathe and I realized that I could use that drink right now… I looked up from my pillow again in yet another desperate attempt to find water. Failing, I sighed deeply and made no attempt to hide the irritation in my voice as I finally gave in.

“And? What about the list?”

“Well… What do you think it means?” He sounded afraid.

“I have no fucking clue John! It just sounds like a damn grocery list!” I don’t normally swear and I regret it in hindsight, but I just needed some damn water…

“No Mack!” He was becoming agitated “The knife! Did you hear the part about the knife? You don’t put a knife in a grocery list, it just doesn’t make sense! Why would there be a knife?”

The headache had gone from bad, to really fucking bad, even by my standards. The water was now becoming very, very important and I had almost resolved to actually leave the bed. John had been rambling about a knife. I didn’t know what he was talking about and I knew that if I let him go on like this I would never be able to get back to sleep.

“Uh… John? Hold on a second…” I chucked the phone onto the bed as I lurched myself into a standing position. While I stood for a moment, trying to not fall back onto the bed, I could hear a tiny voice from the receiver saying “Mack? Buddy? Where did you go? Are you there? Mack?”. If I was lucky he would hang up, but I knew he wouldn’t. I found my way around the clutter on the floor, wincing and holding my head the whole way to the kitchen. How could I get rid of him? Shoving dishes around on the counter I checked out the various glasses until I found one that probably wouldn’t contaminate the water I was about to pour in. I knew that he could drag on the conversation about the knife for hours, so I’d just have to find something he didn’t want to talk about. I downed my first glass in a few gulps and poured myself another before shuffling my way back to the bed.

When I picked up the phone he had stopped talking but I could still hear him breathing into the receiver. “Hey John?” This was my chance to catch him off guard. “I was just thinking. Do you remember that ten bucks I lent you? About a month ago? Well I kind of need that back. Like… Soon.” I was already getting back into bed, congratulating myself on my brilliant strategy. If there is one thing that could get rid of John, it was the mention of an unpaid debt.

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Of course this is unfinished. Like I said, he only wanted the first two pages. I'll probably write the whole thing one day.

This just isn't that day.