By Reza Jabrani
Word to the wise: sober. That’s the word my ex tells me. We’re at the park. I’m drinking sake out of can and offer her some and she says “word to the wise” touching her nose meaningfully “Sober. Have been for three months and so is Judy, so if you think sitting here slurping cheap sake at three pm in the park is going to get you any points with her, forget it.” So I forget it. It being Judy. But I keep drinking the sake. It cost me nearly five bucks. It’s a lot cheaper in Japan. In the Japan I remember. Cheaper in Korea too. I taught in both places for years, chatting up the high achievers, the test-takers, the TOEFL brats. I used to wear a suit and tie everyday and battle crowds in the train and hang out with my boss for mandatory socializing in bars in bustling cities until the wee hours of my twenties. I feel old. The sake doesn’t taste good. My ex smells terrible. Judy looks good. She’s half-Irish, half-Chinese. I cross the park and buy three more cans of overpriced sake. The afternoon heats up. The park fills. I try to hit on Judy. “Word to the wise, it’s going to be a scorcher tomorrow. Maybe we could go to the beach?” She smiles politely, noncommittal. She must have not heard right. My wisdom. My words. “Word to the wise, I heard they’re renting sailboats at the point. I used to sail. Did you know that? Windsurf too. Word to the wise, it’s great for your health, your head. The wind rushing and rushing. It’s beautiful. Judy, did you hear me? Hello? Word to the wise, Judy, word to the wise…”
I wake up hungover and alone. No words come, wise or otherwise.
Reza Jabrani writes coarse prose and crude poetry @coarseprose