Another Drink
By
Robert Dominguez Jr.
December 8th, 2004
“Could you please turn the television up?” asked the elderly gentleman dressed in an old flannel coat and worn blue jeans with dusty dark brown boots with mud at the heels
“Sure thing,” replied the overweight bartender as he lifted up the remote towards the television, “can I get you anything else?”
“Another whiskey would be great,” said the old man as he half-heartedly smiled. With each opening of the pub door a bell would chime. The old man had occupied his seat for the last hour and heard the chime only twice; once when he walked in and the other when the bar-help left for the night. He glazed over his shot glass with great intent as if searching for answers like a witch peering into her cauldron. He felt a sense of urgency to be somewhere unknown to him. His family must be worried to death with his whereabouts, but going home was not an option at the moment. Christmas was just around the corner and with his wife’s death just a week ago, home for him was merely a hollow shell of existence.
He missed her terribly and the yearning for solace overflowed his being. He took another drink and tried to remember as he simultaneously tried to forget how and why she died. Why dive into a well of sorrow when the present situation is out of control, he thought. They were married for forty years and in that time they raised of family of five children and eleven grandchildren, a beautiful family many would say. The door chimed as it opened letting some of the snow and cold air in. He kept the glass to his lips as he stared into the mirror that lined the wall in front of him. He was mesmerized by the broken down figure that sat before him. He appeared weak and feeble lost in his own selfish pain. Then it hit him, why was he here when what was left of his family needed him the most; to be there to shelter them with his love and understanding. A new feeling of purpose rushed through his veins as he swallowed the last bit of whiskey. Placing the glass on the counter he attempted to stand when a heavy hand fell upon his right shoulder keeping him seated.
“Now Mr. Peterson, how many times have we told you that wondering out at night is very dangerous and on top of that drinking too,” said the burly orderly dressed in all white with a blue name tag that read “Robinson”.
“What the hell is the meaning of this,” shouted Mr. Peterson, “unhand me at once!” The orderly then proceeded to lift Mr. Peterson out of his chair where he then escorted him towards the door. Mr. Peterson shouted and flung his arms about the whole time yelling, “I have to go home to my family, let me go . . . my family is waiting!” The bartender stopped cleaning his glass until Mr. Peterson was no longer in view and out of the pub.
“Here is some money to settle his tab and I do apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused,” said the well dressed young woman carrying a leather maroon medical binder with the word Harvard written across the front.
“Really,” replied the bartender, “it’s on the house.” With that she withdrew her money and left the bar. A woman from the kitchen came into the pub and stood next to the bartender and asked, “What’s wrong, you seem a little sad?” The bartender folded his towel and said, “That guy comes in every year looking so sad as if the world around him fell apart. I’ll be here next year to look after him.”
“Well I hope so,” said the woman jokingly, “it’s your bar and if you leave I don’t have a job.” She then smiled at him as she turned off the lights. “If it’s okay with you I’ll be leaving for the night, I’ve got a lot of Christmas shopping to do in the morning.”
“Sure,” said the bartender, “be careful driving through the snow.”
“Okay.”
The bartender then counted his money and closed the register for the night and before leaving placed his name tag on the counter which read, “Peterson”. The door then chimed for the last time.
“Copyright © 2004 by Robert Dominguez Jr. All Rights Reserved.”