Bar Stories

Oh, how he had hoped the future would have been different than this. It is out of his control, but he had wished and hoped for something. But he’s still looking.

Even after the accident, and even though he truly cannot afford it, he goes to the same bar every night, drinking minimally, or if ever.

His mood changed with the atmosphere, but it always seems that something is missing.

He is not sure what that something is.

He goes so frequently he becomes a regular. He learns about the man who plays the piano, and how his wife is sick, and his daughter doesn’t see them anymore. (It’s because she cannot stand seeing her mom, her best friend, sick and her parents fight.) He learns that the beautiful young couple who sit on the lush black sofas are married-but to other people. (He promises to keep the secret.) He learns that the bartender is just working his way through college, but he really wants to move to Europe. The girl he loves moved to Paris. He talks to the waitresses, who are brilliant. They just need someone to believe in them.

He believes in them.

Night after night, he goes from table to table, getting to know the people, but if they want to. A pretty young sophomore in college cries to him over his father. Another girl does not speak, just stares at him with narrow eyes. There is a frown etched on her face. He does not know why.

Talking to the people who own the same hopelessness as he does makes him feel, not better, but less alone. He is slowly forgetting about the times her and Liv spent together, in lieu of all of these people.

He memorizes the sad, sultry tracks that play on the old school jukebox in the corner of the bar. It is a relic, but is up to date on records. The narrow-eyed girl sometimes sits on the floor by the jukebox, her short dark hair covering her eyes, but still watching everything. She always wears dark clothing, and fingerless gloves. She chooses the same four songs, night after night until the pulls her, gently, away. She giggles, mutters to herself underneath her breath, but never talks to other people, save for the pretty young sophomore who always is wearing some shade of pink, whether it is a ring around her tiny little finger or the pendant of necklace that sits at the base of her hollow of her throat. The narrow eyed girl always looks at her through the curtains of her choppy, dark hair when she is escorted out. If he squints, they almost look alike, the sophomore and the narrow eyed girl. Their eyes are the same shade of dark dark green.

They are sisters, the sophomore explains to him one night. It is not a fact she is truly proud of.

He talks to the elderly couple that sometimes comes to the bar. They sit together, with their knees just almost touching. The man met her while working at one of those flower stands on the streets. Nate likes how they sit, like a king and queen on the tasteful black plush couches, and he holds one of her hands in his, gently stroking it with his thumb. Nate feels bad about pestering them, but he does. The lady tells him about growing up with six sisters. Six! The man tells him about working in the navy, and recounts how he fell in love. Nate ignores the twitching of his heart. Olivia would have loved these two. Except it isn’t about Olivia anymore.

He talks to the waitresses, who rotate every week. He talks to one waitress, who wears the same fake smile and hides behind muttered pleasantries. He finds out that she may be a runaway, and no one truly knows her story.

He stays longer on weekends, longer until the last call bell has rung, and the elderly couple have left and the few college kids who thought that they could handle this bar, and the star crossed lovers who soak up every last moment because it could very well be their last make their way out of bar into the rising sun and waiting taxis, and the bartender smiles and shakes his hand and the girl who sits at the corner has disappeared. He leaves then, with the bartender, walking out past the taxis, and to the nearest train station.

He prefers the bar to anywhere else. Sure, it is filled with strangers, and people who could not care less about him, because they have their own problems, and can’t deal with his, but that is okay, because he likes listening to them talk, and letting them vent. The place, although it is so grown up, and sophisticated, feels like home, even more than his actual home and his sister who needs him more than he realizes. He likes sitting, and talking to the patrons and hearing stories of a much more fabulous time. And holy fuck, he prefers this to his boring classes, his boring job. He knows Olivia would like it too, but he can’t think about Olivia anymore, even though that is exactly what he wants to do. Instead, he returns to the bar every night, and talks to the sophomore about her father nad, recently, er sister. He tips the piano player, listening to the few coins land softly into the dirty glass jar.

Finally, he finds out, but not from her, that the elegant girl who sits in the corner of bar with a self-satisfied smile on her face, who smokes, drinks and watches his every move, one gloved hand on her lap, is the daughter of the man who owned the bar. He died. It is hers now.

He wants to know more about her.

As he talks to that pretty young sophomore, or asks the couple on the couch where they met, he can feel her watching him.

They lock eyes. She lets one eyelid fall, slowly, keeping him in suspense.

He will find out soon enough, that that is how she keeps everyone.