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Thursday , December 13 2018
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Home | Tag Archives: ISAAC JACOB MEDINA

Tag Archives: ISAAC JACOB MEDINA

FlashFiction: Isaac Medina’s ‘Do I Know You?’

It’s 10:30 pm and the night was already starting to get a little mundane. These type of nights were expected, not only because it was technically the “weekday” but also because it’s just the way the city functions; all the “fun” stuff happens much later at night and Lloe was not having much of it.

A slight drizzle started and she still wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to head to Intl on Mills or take in the dusty trainyards near LaterLater. Too many choices and not enough time in the night to spend debating with herself, she settled on a personal favorite… Blackbird.

Granted it’s a Thursday night and now 11:15 pm most of the patrons have already put themselves three drinks deep and now came the task of pushing herself through a crowd of millennials way too jazzed for the type of night it was, a work night. “Don’t these kids have a job or even school to get home to,” she groused under her breath. After putting in a quick order for an Old Fashioned-Neat she finally made it to an empty booth. There was no way in God’s green goodness she was sitting outside in almost 50% humidity along with the cloud of obnoxious cigarette smokers.

After putting in some hard work Lloe had developed herself into a “tough as nails” type amongst her peers at the Downtown offices. This is where her staff meets periodically to catch up on stories and talk shop about the days work. You see, Lloe is a “reporter/experiencer” of sorts at this underground Zine she works for and manages called “IMagazine.” She’s had this gig for a while now and it’s on the up and up or that’s at least the talk amongst the team.

Her drink comes out and its stiff… just the way she likes it… The burn of the alcohol reminds her about the grittiness of the job she has, however, the finish is sweet when the truth gets out to the masses. As she shuffles through some paperwork, while looking for her stupid voice recorder, she hears a body plop right across from her with the most eager face she’s ever seen in her life. “Shit”

Lloe?! Lloe…Phi?! Is that you?

The idea of her lack of vigilance to survey the room before entering to see if there was anyone she knew made her absolutely ill, she was 100% sure, no 200% she didn’t recall seeing anyone familiar. She had a knack for sensing when she knew someone in her general surroundings. She gazed over and looked at this strangers face.

“And you are?!”

Lloe Phi, come on you know who I am! It’s me… Debbie from the Courrier!

This cold wave of distrust and just a dash of shame started to bubble up as she had absolutely no recollection of anyone with that name. Much less anyone who worked in the small circle that was the Courrier.”. The Courrier was sort of “dumping place” for overeager, fresh out of college Journalists who just wanted an excuse to call themselves writers. On top of that, there is an undeniable streak of rebelliousness in Lloe that not many outlets could probably tolerate, so what does one do? Live on the fringes of course.

“I’m sorry,” she said… Mustering as much civility as she could in between sips…

I don’t know a “Debbie” from the “Courrier.” She almost used air quotations but she decided not to. This was a complete stranger who has this delusional idea of her. There was no need for theatrics at 5 till Midnight. At least not yet.

“Yes!” She insisted “We were both linked to the same story back in 2015! I helped cover that crazy political campaign. Remember? We both nearly got arrested!”

Lole looked insanely sharp at Debbie, sharper than any knife. She searches her eyes for a sign of confusion or maybe a glimpse into some repressed memory. Nothing. The goal was to make Debbie feel violently uncomfortable from the silence while the sip of her drink lasted what seemed like an eternity. The whole damn bottle was in her glass and she loved it.

She sets down her glass with significant force, enough to cause Debbie to jump a little.

“Look,” she said with confidence and an electricity that could have shorted the whole lounge.

“I don’t know who you are. I’ve never had a friend named Debbie, I’ve never worked at “The Courrier” and I sure as hell have no Idea why you wasted your time coming over here with the faintest idea I was who you thought I was… ”

She pays her tab and leaves with the striking feeling that she was way to hype about being mistaken for someone else. But who does that? At a bar, at well past midnight?!

“I knew I should have gone to Intl…”

***
by Isaac Jacob Medina

The Musings of a Silent Man

It’s 11:47 pm on a Wednesday night and I’m not dressed for the heat of this city. Jeans and a button down were way too daring, but in my defense, I have to look the part of a city photographer

It’s good to see that drinking establishments have risen in popularity here in El Paso. You get used to seeing sloppy people going to the nearest bar and drink cheap beer and watered down spirits. It was time to class up a bit.

Walking to the door, I pass two people having an engaging conversation of sorts. The atmosphere is light – the sounds of glasses clinking, taps pulled and shakers being shook.

We took our seats and that’s when I felt it. The glow of the pendant lights above the table and dark wood of the booths gave a cavernous sense of old world charm. Where are my typewriter and cigar? My Pipe?

I’m grateful that these establishments have drink menus. I wouldn’t have known that the mixed drink I ordered comes with an “Absinthe Rinse,” pretty snazzy if I do say so myself. As my friends banter away across the table, I find myself in this fuzzy, cloudy state of mind. Not drunk or buzzed but definitely an obscured level of consciousness/awareness. Whatever was in my drink was doing the job very well. I was locked in.

Some time passes by and we find ourselves outdoors with two complete strangers. The bad part about this whole ordeal is that 1.) I’m not as alert as I’d prefer to be to entertain the mind-numbing conversation I’m going to have to pull out of thin air and 2.) This is the most cliche thing I’ve ever participated in.

I have no recollection of the stranger’s names. Jacob? Joseph? Drew? Tammy? Abigail? Chloe? From what I remember he was a careless fellow. Stereotypical “Bar Bro” dragging on a cigarette as if they were going out of style (They are,)…. wait, isn’t this supposed to be a Tavern of sorts? Where are the pondering of minds and careless conversations of love and art? Ugh… Damn you “A Midnight in Paris.” At least he mentioned he has always wanted to play the sax.

The woman he was with was something else. All I remember was her age, and that she traveled between the states and Spain, teaching conversational English. A noble profession in my eyes, but her eyes did not exude the same confidence I was hoping. It was the liquor. It was 15 till 2am and people near us were getting louder and more obnoxious. Don’t they have pets or a ficus plant to get home too?

She had this long draw when she spoke. The alcohol was not messing her much, but it was noticeable in her sway. A soft face of sorts, I could imagine her sober, very bubbly even a bit airy but definitely more fun when sober. She was sloppy though, shame. My friend I was with, “Dave,” was into the conversation with this girl. It was about this time that I had the urge to start writing down some thoughts on the night. Dave noticed, I got embarrassed so I put my phone away.

“Stacy,” my other friend had beat me to the bar to cash out. We hadn’t seen each other in 5 years so Fireball shots were an appropriate way to end the night. That crap is vile, like liquid “Big Red,” it’s sweet, horrid and lingers like a nagging ex that wont admit the relationship is half past over. I noticed some Hipsters at the bar now, screaming and hollering Prince lyrics.

I need to get to Paris, preferably 1920’s Paris.

Adieu

J

***
by Isaac Jacob Medina
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