There’s nothing scarier than blank space, Maryanne thought. The freedom is offered was unbearable almost suffocating. Everything can go wrong with blank space. Everything can go perfectly with blank space. It was the not knowing what could happen, and the all encompassing finiteness of possibilities.
She just wasn’t used to it. Her life was the opposite of blank space. In fact it was a lot like one of those crazy paintings, what is that artist’s name again? Pollock, she said out loud, smiling at herself with oozing pride.
It was the third of the month which, to most, merely means it’s two days after the first of the month. Probably the day that the rent check goes through and a third of your paycheck goes to shit. To Maryanne it meant that it was her official scotch tasting day. Scotch was banned in her town because of some stupid event years ago involving Molotov cocktails, prostitutes, and a church. It was all so unclear, and this upset Maryanne because she didn’t like limitations caused by other people’s stupidities. In fact, before the ban Maryanne had never even tried scotch. Macallan was merely a charming Scottish last name. But once she got word of the stupid ban she went straight to a town just two miles north and tried her very first scotch. “I’ll haaaavvvve the second best Scotch you have.” The bartender quizzically looked at her, “on a tight budget I see.” “Nope! I just don’t want to be disappointed when I try the best and don’t like it.” “Umm…okay! Would you like it in a shot glass?” “Shot. Definitely a shot glass. Please. Did I say that at first? I meant to. Anyway, how about that scotch?” The shot glass appeared suddenly and she stood in a showdown with scotch. I’ll either love you or hate you, $20 shot. And with that thought the liquor was sliding down her throat burning it and making the stubbly hair on her shaven arm stand on end. She loved it. She loved the burn, the chills, and the way it made her eyeballs want to secrete fluids.
After looking at the blank space for a while Maryanne decided it would be less scary if she had her scotch tasting first. She went to her cupboard and opened up a whole new bottle of Laphroaig 10 Year Islay Malt, poured a three finger drink into her crystal tumbler; as she brought the glass to her mouth she sneezed right into it. Deeming the drink useless she poured its contents in into Ben, her new fern. “Drink up, Ben…this is your lucky day.” On her second try Maryanne sipped ever so slowly as she realized this scotch whiskey might change her life. The oaky taste made her feel like she was taking a bite out of the forest. She smiled as she poured just a smidge more. She walked to her living room, sat down on a herd of dust bunnies and stared at the blank space--a concrete urban looking wall rife with nothingness. Pollock she said to herself. Perfect.
Rusty lay next to her riding out the buzz he acquired from Ben's alcoholic soil.
She smiled as she envisioned chaos staring right back at her.
