The Last Semester

By Andrew Charles Fischer

Zach Gilbert is a depressed, alcoholic college student attempting to finish up his undergraduate degree at Drake University. This is his story. Follow along with Zach as he struggles with his inner demons, meets new people, spends time with his friends and enemies, and even becomes acquainted with a ghost. Drawing heavily upon real experiences and real people from the author's life and culminating in a project more than 10 years in the making, The Last Semester is a tale of solitude, friendship, self-doubt, addiction, and perseverance. In the second novel from Andrew Charles Fischer, Zach finds that every crowning achievement comes with a cost. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Charles Fischer
• Release date: Apr 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201254032

Book preview

The Last Semester

By: Andrew Charles Fischer

1

Like so many days and nights before this one, Zach Gilbert sat on his couch alone in his one-bedroom apartment. He’d grown used to the solitude. He had to. The alcohol helped in the short term. And that was all he was concerned about really, was the short term. The long term, being in the abstract, and not being guaranteed, may as well have not existed to Zach. When he drank, it wasn’t that his problems disappeared, it was that they no longer mattered. A few hard drinks, and Zach could feel it in his head, in his gut, in his mind, and in his soul that no matter what happened, everything was going to be all right. The next morning was a different story entirely. But that was then, and this was now.

As Zach sucked cheap vodka mixed with lemon-lime soda over ice through a bendy straw, he felt the familiar warmth of the booze as it coursed through him. He didn’t really like the taste of most hard alcohols, but he enjoyed getting quite drunk quickly, so he concocted drinks that were mostly 50/50 alcohol and soda. The straw was so he could drink it faster if he chose to, and because, later in the night after he really started feeling it, he could drink without having to pick up the glass. He’d learned this lesson the hard way after spilling numerous times. Zach had spilled more than most people drank. It wasn’t that he found heaven at the bottom of a bottle, but more that he was freed from hell by the time he was halfway through it. And that was good enough for him.

Something odd had been happening to him recently though, and he didn’t know if it was from lack of sleep or something else. After he’d get good and drunk, while sitting on his couch and watching TV, he would get this strong feeling that someone or something was in his apartment with him. He’d have friends over to drink and hang out every once in a while, so he just chalked this up to getting confused when he was drunk and thought nothing of it. Until it happened today.

As Zach finished his drink, his straw made an audible sucking sound, and the shriveled ice cubes clinked in the bottom of his glass as he swirled the straw around the bottom to make sure he got all of the alcohol. He turned to get up to go to the kitchen but stopped. He was having that feeling that there was a presence in his apartment with him. But it was stronger now, the sense pulled on him and nagged at him. He decided to call out to it.

Hello?

...

Is someone here?

...

"If there is someone here, can you at least talk to me? Just tell me what you want."

Hello Zachary, a man’s voice whispered. How this entity knew his name, Zach did not know.

Hi, how do you know my name?

I’ve been with you before. You’ve felt it, I’m sure, the voice was growing louder now, closer to a normal speaking volume.

Yeah, I have, but only when I’m drunk. What’s your name?

The voice was speaking normally now, but it sounded like it was filtered through a white noise machine, I’m Henry. I was like you once. Drunk. Alone. An alcoholic. If you feel my presence with you when you drink, do not be afraid. I simply don’t want you to be alone.

Zach hemmed and hawed a little bit before replying, I mean, I appreciate that, but how am I not supposed to be afraid? I’m talking to an invisible person while I’m alone in my apartment drinking. Are you saying you’re a benevolent force?

Henry’s voice crackled like it was coming through a radio, before it snapped sharply into tune, I wouldn’t classify myself as necessarily benevolent, or a force. I’m more of an entity. See, watch.

With an eerie whooshing sound, a figure appeared in front of Zach. It was a tall man who was mostly transparent, but there were bluish-white gossamer strands reminiscent of smoke that outlined his figure. He was dressed in old timey clothes from the turn of the twentieth century.  Sporting a formal suit, tie, a bowler hat, and a thick wooly mustache atop his upper lip, a dapper gent appeared before him. Henry doffed his hat, revealing close-cropped curly hair.

Zach recoiled in fright and cowered up against the corner of the couch. A chill ran through him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and goosebumps formed on his arms. Struggling to speak, he was able to stutter, Y-You’re a ghost.

As Henry was replacing and straightening his bowler hat, he replied, Ghost, spirit, poltergeist, specter, apparition, phantom, entity. Call me what you like, but I am here, and I am real. I’d like to help you if you’d let me. But if not, that’s ok too. It’s up to you.

Zach was still pasted to the corner of the couch farthest away from Henry, eyes wide with fright, I don’t know if I can deal with this right now. I just want to drink. Alone. In peace. Do you think you could let me do that?

Henry nodded in acknowledgement, Of course, sir. But I will be back at some point. Hopefully, you’ll be ready to talk then. Farewell.

Goodbye.

2

Stricken with fright , Zach watched as the ghostly figure waved at him and then seemed to dissolve in the air. He could no longer feel the presence in the room with him.  Cursing loudly, Zach walked briskly to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He braced his hands on either side of the sink and began speaking. Not so much to himself, as much as he was talking just to talk.

What the fuck was that? So, there’s a fucking ghost in my apartment now? Cool, guess I’m never getting any sleep ever again. He looked away from the mirror for a moment, and turned back, towards it, speaking directly to himself this time, Come on! Get a grip Zach!

He held his head in his hands as he gazed straight ahead at himself in the mirror. Not knowing what else to do, he turned on the faucet and ran water into the sink. Cupping the water in both of his hands, he leaned his head down and splashed it into his face. The water was freezing, and he felt a jolt through his body as the water hit his skin. Twice more he did this before reaching for a towel to dry himself off. His face dried off; Zach stopped to look at himself in the mirror. His face had become puffy from the drinking, there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his hair was a greasy mess from not showering that day. Having been sufficiently disgusted by himself, Zach sauntered into the kitchen to make himself another drink. That was his solution to everything: drinking.

A lot of the reasons he drank stemmed from fear. Having anxiety his whole life, Zach often felt uncomfortable, out of place, or just that he didn’t quite fit in. This was especially apparent in social situations. When interacting with someone socially, Zach was deathly afraid of saying something awkward, making a faux pas, or having the person he was talking to form any kind of negative thoughts about him. There was a whirlwind inside of his head telling him not to say certain things because the other person would think less of him. Each social interaction to him felt like walking through a minefield. He had to be incredibly careful where he stepped, (what he said) so that he wouldn’t get blown up (whoever he was talking to wouldn’t like him). And this happened a lot. Because even with all this worrying, and an ever-present, all-consuming fear of saying the wrong thing, there were times, many times in fact, where Zach did say something wrong and people did in fact think less of him. Compounding the problem was his memory. When Zach listened to someone talking, he was so intently focused on their words that years or even decades later he would recall exact quotes from people with whom he was having seemingly mundane, everyday conversations. Because his brain was like this, Zach assumed that everyone else’s brain was like this too. And for a while, all of this was shaping up to be too much to bear. But, then one night, Zach tried alcohol at a friend’s house. He remembered drinking orange liqueur in his Mountain Dew and feeling nothing and being disappointed. And then he stood up.

When he stood up, the next ten years of his life changed. He felt the alcohol in his head, and in his body, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way it felt. He had seen the face of God, and it was smiling. Zach drank again a different time, and it felt better the more he drank. Suddenly parties and gatherings of people weren’t things to be afraid of, they were things to be excited about. If socializing was a like walking through a minefield, for Zach alcohol was like wearing a bomb defusing suit and having x-ray vision. And because he was less afraid of stepping on these mines so to speak, he naturally avoided them. Just when he thought he’d gotten the most out of alcohol, he realized another ancillary benefit. Memory loss. Now, if he did make an ass out of himself or say something stupid, he would have no recollection of it, so according to his brain, it didn’t really happen. Or, if it did, he would be unable to beat himself up about it because he could not remember it, which was just as well. Blackouts were not a bug; they were a feature.

Alcohol was the missing puzzle piece for Zach. It provided a richness and texture to his life that he never thought possible. Now he could actually talk to girls without being all up in his own head worrying about screwing it up. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t still get lonely back then when he first started drinking. He did. And there were many times when he would drink alone. As a teenager. He soon found that this was frowned upon, but he didn’t care. He liked getting drunk and instant messaging people, because talking on the phone and slurring his words would give away the fact that he was drinking. Somehow, alcohol opened social avenues for him and made him feel less alone while also consoling him when he was by himself and actually did feel alone. It was always there for him, and he felt that he was taking more from it than it was taking from him. But that didn’t last long.

Soon his drinking began getting him into trouble. He was an athlete in high school and his drinking led to multiple suspensions. He got more than one underage drinking ticket. His parents were constantly yelling at him whenever they caught him with alcohol or when he was drunk already. They just didn’t understand, he thought. His coaches, the cops, his parents, they couldn’t comprehend how marvelous alcohol made him feel. The feeling that it gave him was otherworldly, and there was just no way he was going to stop, for anyone or anything. Soon the costs to drinking began to mount. He got in fights, people ridiculed him, called him an alcoholic. Zach’s parents were at their wits’ end with him. The greater the costs of his drinking climbed, the greater his urge to drink climbed along with it. It was the problem and the solution. His drinking career in his teenage years was harmful, strained, secretive, and at times shameful. When he went to college, all of that changed.

3

When choosing a college , Zach really wanted to make sure that it was somewhere far away. There were two reasons for this. First, he wanted there to be a zero percent chance that his parents were going to show up on his doorstep. He was sick of living with them and by their (many times inconsistently enforced) draconian rules. Second, he wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him. He had a bit of a reputation in his hometown that was equal parts party animal/class clown/alcoholic. If he went somewhere new, he could become someone new. Though the fact that he would know no one there terrified him, it was a risk he willingly took. Growing up, Zach had always had an affinity for Nebraska football. So that’s where he ended up. He chose a school that had Division 1 sports and was 3-4 hours away by car. This was far enough away.

When Zach got to college, it would be fair to say he had a warped view of how things were going to be. He surmised that college would be a cross between Animal House and a Van Halen tour. Everyone was going to be drinking a ton, doing drugs, and having lots of casual sex. But most of all, Zach would be free. His parents forbid him from even hanging out with his friends on weeknights, to the point that he stopped asking them if he could. He’d have no such troubles on his own at school. The possibilities were seemingly endless.

Socially, Zach’s first semester away at college could not have gone better. He was in a fraternity, had an endless number of friends, and had even managed to find a girl that he liked. Her name was Hannah.

She had kinky blonde hair and periwinkle eyes that glittered like sapphires. She stood a few inches shorter than Zach and had an athletic build from playing sports in high school. She was from Louisiana, and she was honestly unlike anyone (male or female) that Zach had ever met. Hannah wasn’t like other girls, but, more importantly, she didn’t feel the need to tell Zach explicitly that she wasn’t like other girls. She had a warm personality (if you were on her good side), a caring heart, and a booming laugh that sounded like she was doing an impression of someone laughing as loudly and obnoxiously as they possibly could. Unlike other girls, she was legitimately funny. She was loyal, she could be playful, and she was persistent. God was she persistent.  

That first semester was a whipping, lightning-fast cyclone of entertainment. Nebraska’s football team was amazing that year, and at one point they were ranked number one in the country. Zach was feeling more confident and comfortable in his own skin, to the point that two different girls were interested in him at the same time. He had friends to drink with, to smoke weed with, and to just sit around and play video games or shoot the breeze with. There was one problem though. Zach’s grades were not up to par and would only get worse as his collegiate career in Nebraska continued. But at the end of his first semester, those fears were nonexistent.

The second semester for Zach was a rough one. His grades plummeted and Hannah, who he was seeing officially now, was giving him some trouble. She had never been in a serious relationship before and was beyond clingy, constantly texting him, calling him, showing up at his fraternity house without his permission when he wouldn’t answer her. The fraternity’s exterior doors required a 4-digit code to open them, and she obtained the code from a sorority sister of hers and used it to let herself in. Hannah’s tenacity bordered on insanity. He even tried to dump her at one point, and she continued to text him. Zach tried to dump her again another time and mere days later she showed up at a fraternity party in the basement of the fraternity house where he lived. As much as he wanted to shake free from Hannah, he had a really difficult time doing it. Zach became less and less interested in school, and more interested in smoking weed. Classes were often skipped so he could hang out with his friends or Hannah and smoke weed. He drank a lot too, and for some reason it didn’t seem as fun as it had the semester previous. Maybe it was the newness of everything that had made it shine and shimmer so much before, or maybe he was just getting used to how things were going to be. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, and he knew it. The darkness residing inside of him began to show through.

That summer, Hannah