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Dear Night Guy,
Do you ever imagine your life ending in tragedy?
My whole life has been waking up and dealing with the consequences of your actions. Or sometimes, admittedly, my lack of action. I’m not sure which one tends to sting worse. I know you are me, and we are one, but let’s be honest, we’ve been two different people since you decided to treat drinking like your full-time night job. I’m leaving this note cause I’ve had enough—you need to stop. I can’t keep waking up every morning struggling to escape my bed. Slogging myself to the Subaru to sputter up the highway to Hell. Dragging my ass into the store. Taking bathroom breaks and hovering over the toilet and praying that I puke, just for some sort of relief. You have no idea what it’s like dealing with my mornings. I’m just asking you to cut back a bit, please. For me. For us.
Dear Night Guy,
Days have passed since my note, and it’s easy to tell that you’re ignoring me. I left the note taped to the bottle of Seagram’s in the fridge, and now that bottle is empty, so I know you saw it. I woke up this morning with dry mouth and a splitting headache, lying next to some rail-thin meth addict with Heath Ledger’s Joker tattooed across her bony spine. God, I hope you didn’t cum in her. That’s the last thing I need…that we need. I should probably go get an STD test, I guess. It’ll be a blood test, and you know how much we hate needles. I know it’s easy for you to blow off all your problems and leave them for me to deal with in the morning. But mark my words…one day it will catch up to you. You can’t hide in the night forever.
Dear Night Guy,
Seriously? I woke up in a fucking jail cell with a black eye and a DUI fine I can’t pay. And say goodbye to our driver’s license, I guess. Mom had to bail me out, Jesus Christ, I haven’t seen her so upset since Dad died. You really fucked this up. Do you even care? I know you’re reading these notes…so answer me Goddamnit!
Dear Night Guy,
I lost my job today. I couldn’t get there because, yeah, no driver’s license, and the bank impounded our car anyway. As I was vomiting again this morning, I saw the track marks on our arm. What the fuck have you gotten us into? I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I can’t afford this apartment without a job and—shockingly—all the money in our bank account is missing. Know anything about that?
Dear Night Guy,
I got my blood test results today, and the news is totally fucked. But ya know what? I’m glad. I’m ready for this bullshit to be over. I have a feeling that you’re the one who will truly suffer for this. Shit’s caught up to you now bud, and I don’t care. As a matter of fact, fuck it, I’m gonna crack open a drink while the sun is still high. Maybe mix a Bloody Mary. By the time you take over tonight, you’ll already be too ripped to go out and cause any more trouble. Now it’s your turn to deal with consequences. I have a feeling this is the last letter I’m ever gonna write.
Wait—what’s that thing you always say when you take whiskey shots at night? Oh, yea, “Here’s to feelin’ good all the time.”
Cheers. And fuck you.
*
Hey Morning Guy,
Oh my God I’m so sorry okay? Please save me. Go to the doctor and get some sort of medicine. I’m tired and the headaches are terrible and my bones hurt and you did the last of our drugs this morning! And the landlord says I gotta scram and I thought you would find a way to take care of us and where are we going to live now? Write me back, okay?
Please Morning Guy,
I’m all alone on the street now and it’s cold and I can’t think straight and I think you were drinking vodka all day because the last of my change is gone okay and there’s an empty plastic bottle of Banker’s on the garbage pile next to me. Do you even want to save us?
Goodbye Morning Guy,
I guess you are ignoring me since you don’t respond to any of my notes and okay maybe I should have listened to you and straightened up while I had the chance. I think you and me could have made a decent life if we had worked together. But I guess that wasn’t in the cards and I guess that’s mostly my fault so, shit, I’m sorry. I sucked some trucker’s dick tonight for a lethal amount of black tar. I think this is the last note either of us will ever write.
Regards and Regrets,
Night Guy