Screen Burn

Episode 17

"I know a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol is not the answer."

"We're not here to drink," Mateo asserted, glaring at Jake. "And alcohol is a great solution to many problems. Let's put that topic aside for now, we can discuss it some other day."

"Then why are we at a bar?" Jake asked, squinting at the decrepit building in front of him. Mateo had brought him there after visiting hours at the hospital were over.

"I'll tell you once we're inside."

"If I wake up in jail the next morning, we're never talking again."

Mateo rolled his eyes at Jake before strolling into the bar. Jake followed him reluctantly. He regarded his surroundings with mild interest. There were a few tables placed haphazardly on the dirty floor. Only four of them were being used by customers. Peanut shells were strewn across the counter behind which the bartender was seated. He was reading an old magazine, flipping the pages slowly.

"It's nice to see you spending your time reading something worthwhile," Mateo commented, peeking at the cover of the magazine.

"It's nice to see you bring another boy in here to listen to you whine," the bartender shot back, grinning.

"I bring life to this dump and you know it."

"Sure, whatever makes you feel better."

Jake could tell that there was sincerity beneath the sarcasm. He probably knew something about Mateo's life and felt sympathy for him.

"We're going to use the stage now, if you don't mind," Mateo declared, his eyes focused on a raised platform in a corner of the room.

"Go ahead," the bartender replied, shrugging.

"The stage?" Jake asked nervously. "For what? Stripping?"

"You can do that if you want," Mateo said, snickering. "But that's not what I'm here for."

"Did you feel the sudden urge to take part in a karaoke competition?"

"Does this place look like a venue for a karaoke competition?"

"No," Jake conceeded.

"This is one of the ways I deal with my disorder," Mateo finally explained.

"What?"

"See these people?" Mateo pointed at a few men who looked like they had passed out on tables near the stage. "They are so drunk, they'll cheer at whatever you say. Whenever I desperately crave validation and attention, I come here and whine, like Ray said earlier."

"Really? Whatever you say?" Jake questioned, looking skeptical.

"I'll show you."

Mateo ran up the stairs leading to the stage. He stood in the middle, cleared his throat once before declaring, "I'm a fuck-up who just had a meltdown in a hospital's parking lot!"

Two men who appeared conscious, but not entirely aware of their actions, raised their glasses and screamed words of encouragement.

The strange sight made Jake's mouth fall open slightly. He hadn't expected such an enthusiastic response to Mateo's statement. No wonder he indulged in this peculiar activity often.

"I hate people with small minds and big mouths!"

"I feel you, brother," a man responded, nodding.

"One of my closest friends got hurt and I could do nothing about it."

Jake saw Mateo's confident posture change, as he appeared to deflate like a balloon pricked by a needle. After a few tense moments, he seemed to shake off the despair that had clung to him and smirked at his audience.