End of a boozehound

Johnny spit hot copper onto the pavement. A trail of salt and warmth clung to his lips. Licking his lips he shot angry words into the greasy plastic receiver.
“Well maybe I don’t want to talk about it!” His left foot slid a foot away from him. Johnny flung an arm around the pay phone to steady himself. The metal was cold, his mouth was hot and swelling. Briefly, he wondered where his jacket was.
“Where the fuck is my jacket, anyway?”
“I don’t know, Johnny. I don’t even know where you are.” The woman’s voice was alarmingly steady. Her tambour bore all the earmarks of the calm which always precedes a violent storm. “Johnny, you’re drunk.”
“Your mom’s drunk. Oooh! How’d you like some of that!?”
“Impressive.”
“I said ‘your mom’. Did you hear?” Bubbles of pleasure leapt in his voice.
“Yes, Johnny.” Christine remarked drolly, “It was biting.”
“Ha.” The street canted forty-five degrees on the disheveled twenty something. A replanted arm on the cold steel of the phone booth kept him from spilling completely onto the sidewalk. “That’s what you get.”
“John,” she sighed, “I don’t even know where you are. Where are you calling from?”
“Payphone.”
“Where’s your cell?”
“In my jacket.”
“Jesus, it’s freezing out there! Where’s your jacket?”
“A man took it.”
“My god.”
“No, but he was still pretty strong! Haaaaa.” His laugh trailed off into a silent chuckle.
“That’s not funny.”
“Tellin’ me, it’s fucking cold out here.”
“What’s the problem, John? Why are you drunk? And more importantly, why did you decide to call me while you’re drunk?”
“I’m trying to break this curse.”
“Huh? God, you’re wasted.”
“Yeah, well, I still know something.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
Leaning into the phone stall, Johnny cradled the cold plastic receiver closer to his face. Earlier in the day, two teens at two separate times spit on the very same piece that he pressed into his ear. Ten minutes earlier, a bum urinated on the metal paneling that leant on to stay upright. He didn’t know or care. He was Johnny and only Christine ever called him John.
“You cried when I told you we couldn’t see each other any more.”
“Point being? I have things to do.” The ice that her voice carried made the chill air feel like a sauna.
“Your mom has things to do. Oooh!”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No!” The conversation hung by a thread of silence for half a minute. The neon from the bars that had ejected Johnny only moments ago burned pink and orange into the night. “You have to listen.” He rubbed his stubble on the part of his jaw line that swelled as a result of the divine punch that sounded his departure from the last bar. Johnny’s lips smacked as he gathered the ingredients to continue, saliva and courage.
“You called me John.”
“You want me to call you something else? Because ringing me at midnight on a Tuesday as drunk as a sailor brings to mind a lot of other names I can use.”
“You’re the only one that does. Did. Does. Whatever.”
“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”
Johnny continued, unscathed. “You smell like flowers. I’d tell you what kind but I don’t know fucking shit about flowers.”
“I know. You never seemed to know enough about them to get me any.”
“When you laugh, it makes me happier than… Well, than…”
“This is the part where you use a metaphor.” Her voice leveled.
“I don’t know about all that, but I was gonna say something else that makes me really happy so you’d know what I was talking about.”
Six miles away, she could feel him grinning on the other end of the phone. She used two hands made of pure will to keep the giggles that started to bloom in her chest from coming to the surface. Christine made an effort to keep her voice steady. “Cute.” She kept her voice as dry as, well, something that’s really dry.
“I know that you snore. It used to really bother me when we started dating, but now I can’t live without it.”
“I do not.”
“Your voice sounds like church bells. You’re smarter than me. You laugh at my stupid jokes, even the crude ones.”
He paused, but no response came from the dirty phone. “You keep your apartment too god damned hot. You get mad at me for the stupidest shit ever.”
“Used to. Not anymore. And for the record, it’s because you do the stupidest shit, ever.”
John sniffled into the night, his throat cleared and he continued. “I know that I had to call you, but I’ve been too scared. Because I’m the dumbest son of bitch ever for letting you go.”
Frustration rang from the earpiece, “Then why the fuck did you break up with me, John?”
“Because I’m stupid! Because I was scared.”
“Oh, and now I suppose this shit is supposed to win me back.”
Now it was his turn to be silent as he formulated the most articulate way to respond. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t say it was a good plan.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“But it’s all I got.”
A glimmer of laughter started from his ex. “You are such a fucking nerd, John, I swear to god.”
“And I can be all yours.” A dreamy smile swept his face. “Can we at least talk?”
“Maybe when you’re sober. You didn’t drive, did you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not driving home, are you?”
“That wouldn’t be possible.”
“I know, you’re shit-faced.”
“Yeah… And my keys are in my jacket, too.”
In her apartment, Christine buried her face in her hands. “You know what I know?”
“What?” John stood up straighter by his phone booth.
“I know you’re the biggest retard on the planet. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“Will you? I think around fifty ninth and Indian.”
“You think?”
“I got lost looking for the pay phone. There’s not so many around these days.”
“Why are you doing this, John?”
“Honestly?”
“Please.”
“Because you suck dick like a gay sailor.”
Silence chilled the air again.
“Come on, that was funny.”
A fit of giggles foamed over the phone line. “Fuck you!”
“It was a compliment!”
“Stay on the line, asshole. I’m coming to find you.”
“You’re the only one who can.”