Excerpt
Instead of dropping the shot-glass into the pint and draining it immediately, Simon goes instead for the glass of water. He takes a sip and puts it back on the table—he’s slowing down, which is probably the best thing for him at this point. I can just see what it’s going to be like for him if he’s already got problems at home and he shows up tonight drunk and with no job to go back to in the morning. His wife is going to hit the roof. There’ll be screaming and hollering. She’ll slam the doors and break the dishes and he’ll just sit there, sheepish, taking it all. She’ll tell him how irresponsible he is, and he’ll believe her. She’ll tell him he isn’t worth the air he breathes, and he’ll believe her. She’ll tell him that she’s just about had enough of his piss-poor attitude and that he better shape up or she’ll ship out, and he’ll believe her. They’ll forget that the windows are slightly open, to let in some fresh air even though it gets cool at night, and their neighbours will hear them … again. ‘One of them should just leave,’ they’ll think and say to each other while they’re raking their yards on the weekend. ‘I don’t know what happened to them—they always seemed like such a normal couple.’ They’ll shrug and go about their business, knowing in their own minds how fragile they really are; knowing that their marriages are just as lost as their kindly neighbour’s is; knowing it could just as easily be them being talked about around the neighbourhood, the realisation slowly dawning on them that people are probably talking about them already.
I don’t envy Simon, not in the least. I know I’m not perfect, but at least I’ve got my freedom. I don’t have anyone at home to answer to; no one to tell me what to do, how to do it or when. I don’t have to worry about making too much noise when I get home. I don’t even have to worry about calling if I’ll be late and I can stay out all night if I want to. I may not know much, but I certainly do know that.
Feeling smugly superior I reach for my glass and take another long, slow sip of beer, finishing off my first and setting the glass aside for Earl the next time he’s by.
“So what do you do for fun, then?” I ask.
“Fun?” he says, giving a short, harsh laugh. He reaches for the scotch sitting in front of him and drops it into the beer. “I don’t know if I know the meaning of the word any more. I can’t remember the last time I had fun.” He picks up the beer glass and starts drinking again, only this time he stops himself half way through and puts the glass back on the table.
“There must be something you do for fun,” I probe. “Life can’t be all about going to work and fighting with your wife.”
“Maybe not for you … but then again, you don’t work do you? And you probably aren’t married either.”
“Right on both counts,” I tell him, “and lovin’ every minute of it.”
“Figures.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Simon. We’re having a pretty good little chat here. What do you mean, ‘figures?’?”
“Well, it seems to me that it’s pretty easy to judge me from your side of the table. You don’t know anything about me, but you also don’t know anything about my life. I bet you don’t know what it’s like to live with a woman you used to love, who used to love you back, and to watch all of that slip away into some forgotten place. A place it goes to die.”
I’m starting to get angry now. “That may be true Simon, but it may not. Remember, you don’t know anything about me, either. You don’t know what I’ve done, where I’ve been. You see me sitting across from the table and see an unemployed, uneducated drunk. You make your own assumptions about me and then sit there and tell me I don’t know anything about you? Well you’re right, I don’t. But at least I’m asking questions, trying to understand you and where you’re coming from. At least I’m making an effort to get to know the real you.”
“The real me? How can you get to know the real me, when I don’t even know?”
“By doing what I’m doing. Asking questions, seeing how you answer them, seeing what sets you off, gets you going. You know, it’s the things that bother us the most that cause the greatest reaction. Something to think about, eh?”
“You are a shrink, aren’t you? Or were, in a former life. What happened? Sleep with one of your patients? Give someone the wrong advice? Did one of your patients kill someone? Did they kill themselves because you couldn’t help them?”
I grab my full beer off the table and hurl it across the room. “Watch … your … mouth.”
Earl and Danny both stop what they’re doing, Earl in mid-scrub of a glass in the sink and Danny in mid-shot. He’s frozen there, bent over the pool table with his elbow cocked back, ready to let fly.
“Hit a sore spot, did I? Hit the nail on the head? What’s the matter, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, is that it? What did you just say? It’s the things that bother us most that cause the greatest reaction? Was that it?”
“I told you to watch your mouth.” I’m shaking, just a little and my mouth is completely parched. I need another beer but I’m not ready to let this go. “You’d best be careful what you say.”
“A little touchy on the subject aren’t we?” he asks and I can feel my anger rising quickly—more quickly than I’d like.
Danny is still watching us, but he’s gone back to shooting his game of pool at the same time—he’s trying not to be obvious. Earl on the other hand is making his way slowly around the bar, a mop in his hands, to clean the broken glass and beer from the floor. He’s looking right at us and not trying to hide it either.
Simon grabs his own beer off the table and drains it quickly, slamming it back on the table when he’s finished. “Another one!” he yells to Earl.
“Forget it, you’ve had enough,” comes the reply. Earl is calm but he’s got a wary look about him. He’s seen enough in his time behind the bar to know when things are getting set to turn ugly. Unfortunately, telling a man who’s intent on getting pissed that he can’t have any more to drink isn’t always the quickest way to diffuse the situation. He walks over to the table and stands looking down at us. “I don’t know what the hell is going on over here,” he starts, “but I won’t have shouting and full glasses of beer being thrown around my bar. Not today, not any day. You hear me?”
“Bring me another boilermaker, barkeep.”
“Get out,” Earl tells him. He looks down at the credit card Simon threw down before, that he left on the table when he took the empties away. He slides it over to Simon. “It’s time for you to leave … your drinks are on the house.”
Simon looks from Earl to me and back to Earl again. He glances behind him at Danny, who is no longer pretending he’s not paying attention and now stands there staring at us, his pool queue held in one hand and his pint glass in the other.
“Fine,” he says, taking the Visa card off the table and shoving it roughly into his pocket, not bothering to put it back in his wallet. “I don’t need this shit. I can always go home if I want to get shit on by someone other than myself.”
“You do that then.”
“Shut up, Barnes. You’re not helping.” It’s Earl.
“Yea, shut up Barnes,” comes Simon’s echo, a little more derisively than Earl.
“Get out, right now. You’re no longer welcome here.”
He stands up, nearly knocking the table over in the process, the empty beer glass tipping over with the shot glass still inside it. It rolls towards the edge and nearly falls off, except Simon reaches out and deftly snatches it just as gravity is about to take its natural course. He puts the glass gently back on the table, his demeanor switching so quickly it’s like he’s a completely different person now.
“I’m sorry if I caused any ruckus,” he says to Earl as he slips from between the table and chair. “I’m having a pretty bad day … I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You don’t owe me an apology,” Earl tells him. “You’re not the one who threw the beer glass across my bar.” He gives me a pointed look as he says this. “But I gotta think about my own situation—I can’t have you getting pissed up all day if you’re gonna get my regulars all riled up. Why don’t you go home, sleep it off. You’re welcome to back here another time.”
Simon sticks out his hand and Earl takes it. They stand there for a moment pumping their hands up and down a few times and then they separate.
“No hard feelings?” Earl asks.
“Not for you.” He looks at me. “As for you …”
“Look buddy—I don’t need any more friends in this world, I’ve got enough of them already. But if you’re looking for an enemy, boy you found one that’ll knock you flat on your ass if you so much as look at me sideways again.”
“Maybe that’s your problem, Barnes,” he says. “Everyone needs more friends.”
Without giving me an opportunity to respond, he moves past Earl and starts heading towards the door. He’s weaving a little, but not too bad considering the amount he’s had to drink so far today. Probably on an empty stomach too.
“Good to meetcha, Danny,” he calls over his shoulder, almost at the door.
“You too, Simon. You too.”
He reaches the door and pulls it open, letting in a blast of fresh air with the scent of recent rain on it. The bell over the door rings and Simon walks out into the moist afternoon. The door swings shut again.
Ding.
I don’t envy Simon, not in the least. I know I’m not perfect, but at least I’ve got my freedom. I don’t have anyone at home to answer to; no one to tell me what to do, how to do it or when. I don’t have to worry about making too much noise when I get home. I don’t even have to worry about calling if I’ll be late and I can stay out all night if I want to. I may not know much, but I certainly do know that.
Feeling smugly superior I reach for my glass and take another long, slow sip of beer, finishing off my first and setting the glass aside for Earl the next time he’s by.
“So what do you do for fun, then?” I ask.
“Fun?” he says, giving a short, harsh laugh. He reaches for the scotch sitting in front of him and drops it into the beer. “I don’t know if I know the meaning of the word any more. I can’t remember the last time I had fun.” He picks up the beer glass and starts drinking again, only this time he stops himself half way through and puts the glass back on the table.
“There must be something you do for fun,” I probe. “Life can’t be all about going to work and fighting with your wife.”
“Maybe not for you … but then again, you don’t work do you? And you probably aren’t married either.”
“Right on both counts,” I tell him, “and lovin’ every minute of it.”
“Figures.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Simon. We’re having a pretty good little chat here. What do you mean, ‘figures?’?”
“Well, it seems to me that it’s pretty easy to judge me from your side of the table. You don’t know anything about me, but you also don’t know anything about my life. I bet you don’t know what it’s like to live with a woman you used to love, who used to love you back, and to watch all of that slip away into some forgotten place. A place it goes to die.”
I’m starting to get angry now. “That may be true Simon, but it may not. Remember, you don’t know anything about me, either. You don’t know what I’ve done, where I’ve been. You see me sitting across from the table and see an unemployed, uneducated drunk. You make your own assumptions about me and then sit there and tell me I don’t know anything about you? Well you’re right, I don’t. But at least I’m asking questions, trying to understand you and where you’re coming from. At least I’m making an effort to get to know the real you.”
“The real me? How can you get to know the real me, when I don’t even know?”
“By doing what I’m doing. Asking questions, seeing how you answer them, seeing what sets you off, gets you going. You know, it’s the things that bother us the most that cause the greatest reaction. Something to think about, eh?”
“You are a shrink, aren’t you? Or were, in a former life. What happened? Sleep with one of your patients? Give someone the wrong advice? Did one of your patients kill someone? Did they kill themselves because you couldn’t help them?”
I grab my full beer off the table and hurl it across the room. “Watch … your … mouth.”
Earl and Danny both stop what they’re doing, Earl in mid-scrub of a glass in the sink and Danny in mid-shot. He’s frozen there, bent over the pool table with his elbow cocked back, ready to let fly.
“Hit a sore spot, did I? Hit the nail on the head? What’s the matter, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, is that it? What did you just say? It’s the things that bother us most that cause the greatest reaction? Was that it?”
“I told you to watch your mouth.” I’m shaking, just a little and my mouth is completely parched. I need another beer but I’m not ready to let this go. “You’d best be careful what you say.”
“A little touchy on the subject aren’t we?” he asks and I can feel my anger rising quickly—more quickly than I’d like.
Danny is still watching us, but he’s gone back to shooting his game of pool at the same time—he’s trying not to be obvious. Earl on the other hand is making his way slowly around the bar, a mop in his hands, to clean the broken glass and beer from the floor. He’s looking right at us and not trying to hide it either.
Simon grabs his own beer off the table and drains it quickly, slamming it back on the table when he’s finished. “Another one!” he yells to Earl.
“Forget it, you’ve had enough,” comes the reply. Earl is calm but he’s got a wary look about him. He’s seen enough in his time behind the bar to know when things are getting set to turn ugly. Unfortunately, telling a man who’s intent on getting pissed that he can’t have any more to drink isn’t always the quickest way to diffuse the situation. He walks over to the table and stands looking down at us. “I don’t know what the hell is going on over here,” he starts, “but I won’t have shouting and full glasses of beer being thrown around my bar. Not today, not any day. You hear me?”
“Bring me another boilermaker, barkeep.”
“Get out,” Earl tells him. He looks down at the credit card Simon threw down before, that he left on the table when he took the empties away. He slides it over to Simon. “It’s time for you to leave … your drinks are on the house.”
Simon looks from Earl to me and back to Earl again. He glances behind him at Danny, who is no longer pretending he’s not paying attention and now stands there staring at us, his pool queue held in one hand and his pint glass in the other.
“Fine,” he says, taking the Visa card off the table and shoving it roughly into his pocket, not bothering to put it back in his wallet. “I don’t need this shit. I can always go home if I want to get shit on by someone other than myself.”
“You do that then.”
“Shut up, Barnes. You’re not helping.” It’s Earl.
“Yea, shut up Barnes,” comes Simon’s echo, a little more derisively than Earl.
“Get out, right now. You’re no longer welcome here.”
He stands up, nearly knocking the table over in the process, the empty beer glass tipping over with the shot glass still inside it. It rolls towards the edge and nearly falls off, except Simon reaches out and deftly snatches it just as gravity is about to take its natural course. He puts the glass gently back on the table, his demeanor switching so quickly it’s like he’s a completely different person now.
“I’m sorry if I caused any ruckus,” he says to Earl as he slips from between the table and chair. “I’m having a pretty bad day … I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You don’t owe me an apology,” Earl tells him. “You’re not the one who threw the beer glass across my bar.” He gives me a pointed look as he says this. “But I gotta think about my own situation—I can’t have you getting pissed up all day if you’re gonna get my regulars all riled up. Why don’t you go home, sleep it off. You’re welcome to back here another time.”
Simon sticks out his hand and Earl takes it. They stand there for a moment pumping their hands up and down a few times and then they separate.
“No hard feelings?” Earl asks.
“Not for you.” He looks at me. “As for you …”
“Look buddy—I don’t need any more friends in this world, I’ve got enough of them already. But if you’re looking for an enemy, boy you found one that’ll knock you flat on your ass if you so much as look at me sideways again.”
“Maybe that’s your problem, Barnes,” he says. “Everyone needs more friends.”
Without giving me an opportunity to respond, he moves past Earl and starts heading towards the door. He’s weaving a little, but not too bad considering the amount he’s had to drink so far today. Probably on an empty stomach too.
“Good to meetcha, Danny,” he calls over his shoulder, almost at the door.
“You too, Simon. You too.”
He reaches the door and pulls it open, letting in a blast of fresh air with the scent of recent rain on it. The bell over the door rings and Simon walks out into the moist afternoon. The door swings shut again.
Ding.
posted by Paul Keetch at 8:23 PM
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