by Mark WOLTERS

Christ help Me, My­self and I. So I yap at My­self. It’s not im­por­tant to even take note of it be­cause who am I to judge Me? Over and over and over again the same thoughts rain on Me.  Hold out the help­ing hands as Me, My­self, and I cross the rainbow.

We walked to the bar, Me, My­self and I. The walk was short, on­ly fif­teen min­utes in the frigid wet cold of Jan­u­ary. The birth of a new year with old res­o­lu­tions for­got­ten and new ones to be­hold and for­get in time. A week, a month, a day, a moment.

Me, My­self and I bel­lied up to the pub to drink a lot, smoke cig­a­rettes and find mean­ing for all three of us.

Usu­al­ly when we’re to­geth­er at the bar we don’t talk much be­cause we’re all so sim­i­lar and dif­fer­ent si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly that we’ve dis­cussed every­thing in pas­sion­ate vo­cals sound­ing out a melody of rea­son and con­fu­sion. To sep­a­rate ran­dom thoughts slog­ging around my head, I’ll go and search as Me lis­tens in and of­fers pitiable ad­vice which I and My­self must re­fute. This tends to bring Me to tears. Of course, I kick Me and My­self or­ders an­oth­er beer to relax.

“A drink, please,” My­self said. “Beer.”

“Good choice,” I said.

“I know,” My­self said.

“I hope we’re not get­ting drunk this evening,” Me said. “That week­end a week ago crushed me.”

“Please no com­plaints this evening,” My­self said. “We’re go­ing to rav­age a liv­er and a brain for a short time, then we’ll cab home. It may sound friv­o­lous, but we have a lot to talk about. Might as well be so­cial­is­tic about it.”

“Here it comes,” Me said. “And here it goes.”

Silent­ly obliv­i­ous to all that’s around us, we con­tin­ue to swal­low malt­ed bar­ley bev­er­ages un­til the stom­ach tight­ened. We ap­pealed to the tune mas­ter to make loud­er the dance‑beat co­ma-wak­er. We’ll make it through the night. We al­ways have.

“Woe to ye who come to re­lieve re­al­i­ty,” My­self said. “A plan made for a pur­pose be­yond that which we can know.”

“Fig­ur­ing on that lev­el,” I said pour­ing an­oth­er glass and quick­ly drain­ing half of it. “We can over­come, pre­vail. Get used to it.”

“I’m in for just be­liev­ing the worst as­pects are what we delve in­to,” Me said. “Evil is as fas­ci­nat­ing as good.”

A drink more. Down the hatch to the gut. The tongue doth taste and the stom­ach churns. The liv­er strips the poi­son with fil­ters and leaves it numbing.

“You can talk all you can about want­i­ng a life in the lap of lux­u­ry, but in­stead you well know the fac­tors,” My­self said. “Lead to the rivers of ever­last­ing life you fish­ers of men. Take the black­ness in my soul and make me white as snow, but much warmer.”

“Kook­ie,” Me said. “Kook­ie, kook­ie. More beer?”

“We’ll drink more,” I said and urged them to continue.

“Re­mem­ber the feel­ing you had when you first heard Ser­e­nade by Mr. Di­a­mond?” Me asked. “The man on the left is a man un­done and the man on the right sits alone, silent­ly pen­sive about his sit­u­a­tion and that, while the man in be­tween, hands pulling hair and eyes beam­ing wild­ly in­to the past and fu­ture, stands rigid, his ra­tio­nale on the line. The mid­dle­man took the call and prayed to the trum­pet at his lips to be sure that what­ev­er un­seen forces that might be out there heard it all. It makes me wan­na take the sounds that once ful­filled my in­ner­most sens­es to the brim, like an over­flow­ing rain bar­rel, and send them to the far­thest star for in­tense in­spec­tion. I float­ed the first time ‘Longfellow’s Ser­e­nade’ sang in my ear.”

“Ob­scu­ri­ty in­deed,” My­self said. “The fact and art of ob­scure al­lu­sions you taste and spew out your mouth. All is il­lu­sion and sound. What is mu­sic? Well, we know what it is, we just like some more than oth­ers. Peace? Peace­ful! You are worthy!”

Such a sil­ly man. The beer pitch­er was dry, so I or­dered an­oth­er. No one complained.

“Take this pub,” My­self said. “Ob­serve the peo­ple. Do you be­lieve every­one in this place is evil?”

“No,” Me said.”

“So how about it?” My­self asked.

“How about what?” Me said. “Rid­dles, rid­dles, rid­dles. The Fri­day night syn­drome of leak­ing brain cells and uri­nat­ing urges stronger than sex­u­al prowess.”

“The lungs of these hap­less folks are no bet­ter off than our own,” My­self said.

That re­minds Me of the urge to smoke. I of­fered a cig­a­rette. My­self jumped on a tan­gent train and I couldn’t stop it.

“Down past the ketchup,” My­self be­gan and point­ed. “No, a lit­tle past that weird look­ing condi­ment con­tain­er. It stands to at­ten­tion like G.I. Joe dolls salut­ing their play­mates. Screech­ing chil­dren pulling cats’ and dogs’ hair stick­ing in fin­gers cov­ered with can­dy stick­i­ness and dis­col­ored from every mi­cro­scop­ic dust dam­aged par­ti­cle. If and when the day comes to re­veal judg­ment, tribu­la­tion, and Ar­maged­don, we know the price of things will sky‑rocket. What for do they call it Arm‑a‑gettin’? The arms they’ll be us­ing will be in­cred­i­bly pow­er­ful. Drink more — smoke. Cig­a­rette. Paci­fist with long hair and to­bac­co. Drink to get drunk to feel the heat of de­gen­er­a­tion. It makes you wan­na go find a place to de­vi­ate in a dance made for 200,000,000. In such a gath­er­ing can all the mul­ti­tude be of one pur­pose? Imag­ine the pow­er of that cu­mu­la­tive thought. It takes Me to an­oth­er place, cool, qui­et, and even sen­si­tive. Yet I bab­ble un­end­ing­ly. Please drink.”

“You are!” Me said.

“You two,” I said.

“We three,” My­self said.

“We three kings who sit at this bar,” Me said. “Drink so much we can see stars. Sit­ting, drink­ing, get­ting wast­ed — fol­low that yon­der star. Oh, oh, beer and whiskey, smokes and rum. Lit­tle do you know…”

Pas­sive re­sis­tance, that’s what the body is af­ter a few pitch­ers of beer. I called to the bar­tender to in­crease the lev­el of liq­uid in the con­tain­er. Me and My­self were do­ing fine, on­ly Me was a touch sulky. Lit­tle did they know, yet they did know, how drunk I was and didn’t care whether their con­ver­sa­tion ram­bled be­yond the bound­aries of the barroom.

“Seems like a long time!” My­self said.

“It does,” Me said. “Can I tell you something?”

“Any­thing,” My­self said. “You know me well enough.”

“I’m feel­ing the effects.”

“Me too.”

“Yes,” My­self said wav­ing his hand in a ges­ture of futility.

“Should we con­vince I to head out so we can get some sleep?” Me said feel­ing dizzy.

I know I should have gone right there, but in the haze of soft blue lights and al­co­hol graze, my sens­es fad­ed like rose buds in a sum­mer swel­ter. A sense of in­se­cu­ri­ty sur­round­ed Me like a fence and My­self want­ed to walk out the door. I held out for one more cig­a­rette and an­oth­er glass of beer.

“Don’t do it,” Me said. “The regret.”

“Oh,” My­self said. “The hangover.”

“Let it be,” I said.

“If so,” Me slurred on­ly slight­ly. “May Me and My­self take a break from your denial.”

“No,” I said.

“Id­iot,” My­self said.

“You’ll be sor­ry,” Me said.

My­self left Me and I alone, but Me soon fol­lowed. Me passed out and I sat alone with Myself.

A con­stant rage of tears ran through­out be­cause of this treat­ment. Con­sid­er all you and I have been through to­geth­er. Me and you, My­self in­clud­ed. Look Me. Wor­thy he is even in his sleep.

I looked at My­self and then I looked at Me. It’s time to call the soul cab and bring Me, My­self and I home. The long­ing for an en­ter­tain­ment calls home to Me, My­self and I. It’s time to take the cake slice of drunk­en rever­ie home and go to sleep. 

Wish­ful think­ing to­day, yet it all comes down to know­ing who you are and that’s im­pos­si­ble when we cov­er it up with so much booze. I’ll bring My­self and Me out again to­mor­row and search the end­less search be­yond the foun­tains of eter­nal for­get­ful­ness. There I’ll be lone­ly, and still un­ful­filled. I’m not pleased to meet Me. I’m not pleased with Myself. 

And I ask the same ques­tion Me and My­self ask when­ev­er I stay too long at the bar, drink­ing so heav­i­ly my hands can’t even hold a cig­a­rette, “When will I ever go home?” 

Filed under Fiction on November 7th, 2025

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