Read Online All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers: A Novel by Larry McMurtry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Larry McMurtry
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dinner.
“We have to be gone by morning,” I kept saying as I ate the excellent food and drank the wine.
Sally got bored with hearing me. “Quit saying that,” she said. “Nobody’s arguing. I’m bored with this place, too.”
Godwin squinted at his wine glass. “I can’t forget those women,” he said. “Hideous women.”
“They acted like dykes,” Sally said cheerfully. Eating made her look happy. She was oblivious of the fact that the juicy slice of lamb she was eating had once been a live sheep.
“It isn’t because of Razzy,” I said. It really wasn’t, but I was too drunk to try to explain why I wanted to leave. I had been there for three years and had made myself a place and suddenly I didn’t fit it anymore. All the furniture of my life had been changed around. Sally was there, the apartmentwas too small, I couldn’t see much of the Hortons, I had sold my novel, I didn’t want to study anymore, Jenny wanted me, Godwin was around—it was all too much. Without wanting it to happen, I had let myself be dislodged. Dislodged was exactly how I felt.
It was an enormous restaurant bill, but Godwin paid it with a smile. I remember his smile as he paid it. When I’m drunk, things swirl. Once in a while they stop and I notice something before the next swirl begins. I have the ability to drive when drunk, but once I stop driving I have no ability at all. I drove us home and went to the John and puked. When I came out of the John I noticed that Godwin and Sally were sitting on the bed necking. I yanked Sally up and hit Godwin. He hit me back. It was much too small a place to fight in. Godwin went into one of his purple rages.
“I’ll have my revenge,” he said. He picked up my typewriter and went into the bathroom with it.
“Why were you kissing him?” I asked Sally. I had forgotten Godwin. “Why were you kissing him?”
“He just wanted to,” she said, making a face at me. She was very irritated.
There was a screech from Godwin. We went to see. He had put my typewriter in the bathtub, meaning to run water over it, and had started the shower instead. Naturally he had scalded himself.
“Very well then, if I’m not wanted I’ll sleep in your car,” he said. He was drunk but dignified and his suit was wet. He went off to sleep in the car.
“You could be a little nicer to him,” Sally said.
“I hate your red bikini,” I said. “I knew it would make trouble.”
I started packing my things and she started packing her things. It sobered us a little. Sally began looking through one of her high school yearbooks. Fortunately we had fewclothes. Mr. Fitzherbert came driving in as we were packing, and I went out to tell him I was leaving. He was standing in the driveway in a rumpled business suit, looking at Godwin’s feet, which stuck out of the back window of my Chevy.
“Aw no,” he said unhappily when I told him. He shook his head. “You’re not really going, are you? Momma’s gonna skin me alive when she hears I let you get away. You’re the only good renter we ever had.”
For once he was not very drunk. “Now how am I gonna tell Momma about this?” he asked sadly, putting a hand on my shoulder. I asked him to give whatever we left to the Salvation Army, and he said he would.
“Maybe I’ll tell her your folks needed you to help ’em with the place,” he said worriedly. “Otherwise she’ll think I scared you off with my drinking. That ain’t it, is it?”
“No sir,” I said. “I drink too.”
“Son, don’t get in the habit,” he said. “Take care of your body, whatever you do.”
He was about fifty-five years old. We shook hands and he went in. He was a decent man. I felt choked up. I liked Mr. Fitzherbert. I liked my apartment. I liked the table where my typewriter sat. It was only an ordinary brown table, but it was just the right height. I enjoyed sitting at it and writing every morning, through the years. I even liked the smell of the damp floor mats. The
“We have to be gone by morning,” I kept saying as I ate the excellent food and drank the wine.
Sally got bored with hearing me. “Quit saying that,” she said. “Nobody’s arguing. I’m bored with this place, too.”
Godwin squinted at his wine glass. “I can’t forget those women,” he said. “Hideous women.”
“They acted like dykes,” Sally said cheerfully. Eating made her look happy. She was oblivious of the fact that the juicy slice of lamb she was eating had once been a live sheep.
“It isn’t because of Razzy,” I said. It really wasn’t, but I was too drunk to try to explain why I wanted to leave. I had been there for three years and had made myself a place and suddenly I didn’t fit it anymore. All the furniture of my life had been changed around. Sally was there, the apartmentwas too small, I couldn’t see much of the Hortons, I had sold my novel, I didn’t want to study anymore, Jenny wanted me, Godwin was around—it was all too much. Without wanting it to happen, I had let myself be dislodged. Dislodged was exactly how I felt.
It was an enormous restaurant bill, but Godwin paid it with a smile. I remember his smile as he paid it. When I’m drunk, things swirl. Once in a while they stop and I notice something before the next swirl begins. I have the ability to drive when drunk, but once I stop driving I have no ability at all. I drove us home and went to the John and puked. When I came out of the John I noticed that Godwin and Sally were sitting on the bed necking. I yanked Sally up and hit Godwin. He hit me back. It was much too small a place to fight in. Godwin went into one of his purple rages.
“I’ll have my revenge,” he said. He picked up my typewriter and went into the bathroom with it.
“Why were you kissing him?” I asked Sally. I had forgotten Godwin. “Why were you kissing him?”
“He just wanted to,” she said, making a face at me. She was very irritated.
There was a screech from Godwin. We went to see. He had put my typewriter in the bathtub, meaning to run water over it, and had started the shower instead. Naturally he had scalded himself.
“Very well then, if I’m not wanted I’ll sleep in your car,” he said. He was drunk but dignified and his suit was wet. He went off to sleep in the car.
“You could be a little nicer to him,” Sally said.
“I hate your red bikini,” I said. “I knew it would make trouble.”
I started packing my things and she started packing her things. It sobered us a little. Sally began looking through one of her high school yearbooks. Fortunately we had fewclothes. Mr. Fitzherbert came driving in as we were packing, and I went out to tell him I was leaving. He was standing in the driveway in a rumpled business suit, looking at Godwin’s feet, which stuck out of the back window of my Chevy.
“Aw no,” he said unhappily when I told him. He shook his head. “You’re not really going, are you? Momma’s gonna skin me alive when she hears I let you get away. You’re the only good renter we ever had.”
For once he was not very drunk. “Now how am I gonna tell Momma about this?” he asked sadly, putting a hand on my shoulder. I asked him to give whatever we left to the Salvation Army, and he said he would.
“Maybe I’ll tell her your folks needed you to help ’em with the place,” he said worriedly. “Otherwise she’ll think I scared you off with my drinking. That ain’t it, is it?”
“No sir,” I said. “I drink too.”
“Son, don’t get in the habit,” he said. “Take care of your body, whatever you do.”
He was about fifty-five years old. We shook hands and he went in. He was a decent man. I felt choked up. I liked Mr. Fitzherbert. I liked my apartment. I liked the table where my typewriter sat. It was only an ordinary brown table, but it was just the right height. I enjoyed sitting at it and writing every morning, through the years. I even liked the smell of the damp floor mats. The
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