It has been a week. No booze, cigarettes, or bars. To keep him away from it, Pink played his guitar. He played it fiercely. Like he used too. Every album created with the band ran through his head. It was all coming back to him. His wrist had since scarred, leaving him the reminder of what can happen if he slips off this new found path. In this past week, Pink thought about getting back to london. David was there. Not only would he get his son back, but in attempts, he thought he could make up for the past two decades of hate.
So pink played his songs. He even went and sat on the street corner and played his music. People came and watched. One person, which Pink fancied, was a girl named Kindra. She was on her way to the cas de waffle. She stopped and listened to a song that made the top ten nearly thirty years ago. She knew the lyrics. Pink had found enjoyment in his popularity as a musician. Although, he only saw here for a quick minute, his faith in humanity was rekindled. She left a dollar in his guitar case. He played a strong riff as she walked off. He almost wish he could be with her. He returned to the music. A request came in. It was his favorite song to play.
“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.”
For the first time, Pink felt elated. The crowd around him was pleased. He realized that he had actually made some money, just like the old days. Back at the apartment, which was clean, Pink thought about his trip. What would he do when he saw his son? There was a knock at the door. Pink answered but no one was there. He looked down and saw a plane ticket.
“That should get you started.”
“Holy shit Dad,” pink yelled as he turned around.
“I told you I’d be back when you got your life straight.”
“This ticket is for tonight”
“The sooner the better son.”
“So what will i do when I get there”
“That’s easy, you will get your son back. I know it will happen that way. He has been waiting a long time for his real father. David has watched him long enough.”
“So i just take him.”
“You are meeting David at the O2”
“Isn’t that a concert venue.”
“Your band will reunite, thousands will be there to watch you make amends.”
“We haven’t played together for such a long time.”
“Pink, you aren’t the only one who has practiced these songs fopr the past 20 years. you have to do this. It is your fate.”
And with a flash he was gone. Pink feared this plan. He hadn’t played in front of a crowd that large since The Floyd had broken up. This fear brought temptation back into Pink. He went and looked for booze and cigarettes. He couldn’t find any. He broke down, sat in his chair, and thought about what to do next.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wish You Were Here
Pink drank himself away in Isabellas. Lucas Shaffer welcomed himself into the seat next to him.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, man?” Lucas questioned.
“My dad just disappeared in thin air.” replied Pink in a drunken stutter.
“Your dad? You never had a father Pink. It has been you and your mom on this whole trip we call life.”
“Do you remember the days in the orphanage school. Do you remember a certain teacher, Father Floyd?”
“No, man. I think you have been drinking too much. We had a Father Frank as a teacher. I thought for sure you would remember him. That abstinent fucker gave you hell. Whenever you wrote a poem, he would pick it up and tell you poems were for the birds.”
“Lucas, what the fuck are you talking about? We had a teacher named Father Floyd. That teacher was my father. I saw him just a minute ago, and then, poof, he was gone.”
“Pink, Pull yourself together. There has never been a Father Floyd. Maybe your Dad is still alive, or maybe his spirit is haunting you, but seriously man. Your perception of reality is unclear. It just doesn’t make sense.
Pink waved for another drink. The bartender had cut him off. Pink stood up to leave out of the bar. he could barely walk in a straight line.
“Where do you think you are going man.”
“To see my father, he is here, and always has been.”
“I’ll come check up on you in a couple of days Pink.”
“Until you believe me Lucas, you can fuck off.”
Pink slammed the door to Isabellas. Lucas sat there, left to question Pinks destructive mental state.
Three hours late Pink woke up with what could be described as the usual hangover. However, there was something brewing inside of him. It was anger. An anger he hadn’t felt since the band broke up. An anger that started this downward slope he calls his life. Pink picked himself up off the floor, found his balance, and tried to make it to the bathroom. The repercussions of the hangover found the toilet. After he stood up, he looked in the mirror. Pink was stunned when he heard the troubling voice,
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Son?”
Pink startled jumped back. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you even exist?”
“As long as you live, I live as well.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means that I am as real as you make me to be.”
“Then why don’t you go the fuck away.”
“Because my job isn’t done, and you know it.”
“What job? The only job you have is pestering the shit out of my mind?”
“Like I said before, you are only doing it to yourself.”
“So what's next?”
“What’s next is the drinking. If you ever want to restore order into your life, you have to quit those obstacles which hold you back. To begin with is the drinking, plain and simple, you need to stop. As soon as you truly believe you could accomplish that, you may find your son. He is the key to your success. As soon as you repair yourself as the father you should have been, then the gate of this hellish life is forever closed.”
“And if I don’t do any of this bullshit...”
“Then you will never die. I’ll never go away, and you will bring this world down with you.”
“Son, I believe in you.”
Pink found an empty fifth and hurled it at his father. With a loud crash, it hit the amp in the hallway. It went straight through the image of his father.
“Pink, do you believe in the supernatural? I am, as you say, a ghost. But not this bullshit ghost publicized. I am the memory of my physical life. As long as you live, so will I.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Son, would you want your son to forever be haunted by the fact that you willingly gave him up? Do you want him to know that you are a washed up drunk, who quite frankly, should kill himself and do the world a favor? Do you want him to think that?”
“Of course not, why would any father want that?”
“Why do you think I am here Pink? It isn’t for the best Dad of the year award.?”
And with that final statement, he was gone. Pink sat there in the bathroom, in awe. A tear rolled down his face.
Pink, now knowing the truth, grabbed the only knife he had in the kitchen. He slit his wrist, but no blood came out. There was no pain. He really couldn’t die.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, man?” Lucas questioned.
“My dad just disappeared in thin air.” replied Pink in a drunken stutter.
“Your dad? You never had a father Pink. It has been you and your mom on this whole trip we call life.”
“Do you remember the days in the orphanage school. Do you remember a certain teacher, Father Floyd?”
“No, man. I think you have been drinking too much. We had a Father Frank as a teacher. I thought for sure you would remember him. That abstinent fucker gave you hell. Whenever you wrote a poem, he would pick it up and tell you poems were for the birds.”
“Lucas, what the fuck are you talking about? We had a teacher named Father Floyd. That teacher was my father. I saw him just a minute ago, and then, poof, he was gone.”
“Pink, Pull yourself together. There has never been a Father Floyd. Maybe your Dad is still alive, or maybe his spirit is haunting you, but seriously man. Your perception of reality is unclear. It just doesn’t make sense.
Pink waved for another drink. The bartender had cut him off. Pink stood up to leave out of the bar. he could barely walk in a straight line.
“Where do you think you are going man.”
“To see my father, he is here, and always has been.”
“I’ll come check up on you in a couple of days Pink.”
“Until you believe me Lucas, you can fuck off.”
Pink slammed the door to Isabellas. Lucas sat there, left to question Pinks destructive mental state.
Three hours late Pink woke up with what could be described as the usual hangover. However, there was something brewing inside of him. It was anger. An anger he hadn’t felt since the band broke up. An anger that started this downward slope he calls his life. Pink picked himself up off the floor, found his balance, and tried to make it to the bathroom. The repercussions of the hangover found the toilet. After he stood up, he looked in the mirror. Pink was stunned when he heard the troubling voice,
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Son?”
Pink startled jumped back. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you even exist?”
“As long as you live, I live as well.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means that I am as real as you make me to be.”
“Then why don’t you go the fuck away.”
“Because my job isn’t done, and you know it.”
“What job? The only job you have is pestering the shit out of my mind?”
“Like I said before, you are only doing it to yourself.”
“So what's next?”
“What’s next is the drinking. If you ever want to restore order into your life, you have to quit those obstacles which hold you back. To begin with is the drinking, plain and simple, you need to stop. As soon as you truly believe you could accomplish that, you may find your son. He is the key to your success. As soon as you repair yourself as the father you should have been, then the gate of this hellish life is forever closed.”
“And if I don’t do any of this bullshit...”
“Then you will never die. I’ll never go away, and you will bring this world down with you.”
“Son, I believe in you.”
Pink found an empty fifth and hurled it at his father. With a loud crash, it hit the amp in the hallway. It went straight through the image of his father.
“Pink, do you believe in the supernatural? I am, as you say, a ghost. But not this bullshit ghost publicized. I am the memory of my physical life. As long as you live, so will I.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Son, would you want your son to forever be haunted by the fact that you willingly gave him up? Do you want him to know that you are a washed up drunk, who quite frankly, should kill himself and do the world a favor? Do you want him to think that?”
“Of course not, why would any father want that?”
“Why do you think I am here Pink? It isn’t for the best Dad of the year award.?”
And with that final statement, he was gone. Pink sat there in the bathroom, in awe. A tear rolled down his face.
Pink, now knowing the truth, grabbed the only knife he had in the kitchen. He slit his wrist, but no blood came out. There was no pain. He really couldn’t die.
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