Quinton Pavor drabbles

He staggered from side to side, the hot flesh of his palm slid along the cool wallpaper as Quinton stumbled down the bar hallway.

‘Left. Right. Left.’ He thought to himself as he neared a door at the end of a short hall. ‘Almost there, you can make it.’ With head hung low, he was startled when he walked straight into the bathroom door and quickly grabbed the doorknob to steady himself.

It felt like he’d entered a whole different dimension when he entered the bathroom. The sound of music and chatter disappeared once he’d closed the door and he was left in silence alone with his drunken thoughts. He leaned back against the wall, drawing in shallow breaths and sweating before he retched and doubled over above the toilet. The bile, liquor and whatever was left of this evening’s supper burned his nose and throat as Quinton vomited. He held tightly onto the wall with one hand and the sink with the other while he waited for the next wave, chest heaving and eyes watering. His stomach twisted, another rush of nausea hit him and brought him to his knees.

Once the burning in his nose had subsided, he spat before sitting back on his knees on the bathroom floor. Even after throwing up the room continued to spin, everything feeling blurred and unreal but frantic knocking on the door snapped him back to reality.

“Quinton!” The voice outside the door spoke, “Are you alright, mate?”  

“Aye,” Struggling to his feet, Quinton held onto the sink for balance.

“I sure hope you are because we—we’ve got a bit of a dilemma. Your, uhm—your father just sat down at the table with us.”

“What!?” Quinton threw the door open, nearly losing his balance and toppling over in the process. “He’s just, sitting at the table?”

“Uh-huh.” His friend nodded, clumsy stepping to the side so Quinton could get a clear shot of the bar floor.

There he was, sitting in a chair pulled up next to his empty seat… Red hair stood out in the light against the wood of the bar and Quinton felt another wave of sweat coat his body. This was highly unusual, his father wasn’t the kind of person to frequent such a place as this and Quinton’s mind jumped to the worst case scenario. He was in trouble, serious trouble.

“I don’t look too terrible, do I?” Running a hand through his hair, he quickly adjusted his necktie and jacket in an attempt to make himself look presentable. His friend looked him over, eyes unfocused and eyebrows furrowed.

“You look like you were vomiting just a moment ago.” Was all his friend managed to say.

“Right,” Quinton sighed and straightened his posture. Taking one last moment to wipe his mouth on the cuff of his jacket, he set down the hallway with a sharp sway to the right.

---

“Dad! I, uh, wasn’t quite expecting you.” A waiter had just placed a tall mug of beer on the table when Quinton finally made it back to his chair. His father reached out and pulled the mug closer, looking around the table before looking to his son.

“Just thought I’d come by and see if you were still here. You never showed up to the theater and I was afraid something might’ve happened to you.” He spoke casually, teeth peeking through the bristles of his dark mustache as he smiled. He was a bit relieved to see his father was at least in a good mood.

“Shite,” Quinton said out loud, raising a hand to rub his forehead. “The opera was tonight, wasn’t it?”

His father nodded, raising his mug and taking a couple of large gulps. Everyone else around the table had eyes locked on Quinton, burning bigger holes in him the longer they stared. Slipping into the seat, he awkwardly folded his hands in his lap and prayed silently. The group sat in silence until Quinton’s father spoke up again.

“So, Quin… How about you introduce me to your friends,” Quinton’s eyes darted between his friends as he decided what to do next.

“O-oh, uh,” The other four men at the table shook their heads as Quinton spoke. “I think it would be better to introduce you when we’re, uh, someplace more dignified… Under better circumstances.” His father placed the mug back down on the table with a loud echoing thud. Again it was silent, the entire bar seemed quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“Fair enough. I’m sure you young gentlemen are simply trying to relax after a long day of classes so,” He dug into the pocket of his large overcoat. “I’ll pay the tab and leave you all to it.”

“Don’t—You don’t have to pay the tab, Dad, I can—“ His father was quick to interrupt.

“Ah, ah, ah! I got it, Quin.” He pulled out a billfold and flipped open the top, fishing out and placing a couple of large bills on the table. After that, he swiftly stood and pulled his coat off the back of the chair. “It was nice meeting you, gentlemen. Hopefully we’ll be able to become better acquainted the next time we meet.”

“Allow me to accompany you!” Quinton stood as well, fumbling to quickly take his coat off his chair. He was most definitely feeling sober now after being nearly scared half to death by the sudden appearance of his father. “It’s getting late… I do have class in the morning.”

“I’d be happy to have you join me, Quin.” His father beamed at him, extending a hand and gently patting him on the shoulder. Quinton pulled on his coat, giving his friends a quick glance and small wave before he and his father made their way out of the bar.

---

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends, Quin.” Father and son stood side by side on the sidewalk, Quinton struggling to roll a cigarette with his trembling hands. “It was rude of me to show up unannounced and sit down at that table. I could tell your friends felt the same.”

Quinton didn’t say anything, his attention was focused on rolling this cigarette. It was silent, minutes passing before his father cleared his throat.

“Do you remember when you were small and we went to your aunt’s for the summer? And, Devina pushed you into the pond and I jumped in to pull you out.” His father shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets.

“That’s an oddly specific thing to ask about.” Quinton took a drag off his cigarette. “But, I do.”

“Well, you know how your mother gets sometimes… Usually when she gets uppity she writes but, this last time, she cried. ‘What’s wrong, Mary, my love, my dearest?’, I asked her. You know what she said to me, Quin?”

“What?”

“She told me you were a changeling and that’s why you're so different. She’s convinced I pulled a different Quin out of the pond that day.”

“Ha,” Quinton laughed, “I wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t agree.” His father replied pointedly.

Suddenly it was quiet again, the distant clattering of approaching carriages on the cobblestone the only sound. His father took a couple steps back until he was leaning against the wall. Quinton quickly turned to face him.

“I feel this changeling nonsense is just her way of giving an explanation to things that are beyond her control... You are who you are and you’ve always had a difficult time with things. Instead of finding ways to help you overcome your difficulties, we sheltered you and helped you avoid them. Now you’re here, and,” His father pulled his hands out of his pockets and gestured towards Quinton with both hands. “I can’t help but feel that I made you this way… It’s hard raising children, much harder than people will tell you it is, and I have many, many regrets but, I can’t go back and fix things or change the way you feel about me.”

Quinton blinked, startled by his father’s sudden emotional reveal.

“Err, what i'm trying to say is: don’t force yourself to struggle through life because you feel like you’ve got something to prove, son. I’ll always be here to help you whenever you need it, you ken?” He pushed off the wall and took steps towards Quinton. “Nothing is too big or too small to tell me about.”

The carriage was close enough now and his father turned his attention towards that. Without another word he walked past Quinton, raising an arm out to hail the driver.