It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when he hit the local bar. This was not his usual schedule. He rarely drank in bars lately at all. He liked the privacy of drinking at home, and with that, once his kid and wife were asleep. That way, it was more peaceful and private around the house, and he knew that nothing and nobody would disturb his time alone with a drink.
It was the second day of March, and it felt that way. There was nobody at the bar when he came in. Four tall windows showed the small town’s street with people walking and cars driving by. He was at the local hipster bar on the opposite side of that street. Bar made more sense than anything else.
The bar was lit mainly by the daylight coming from the multiple windows. About six fans were mounted to the top of the toll ceiling, spinning mid-tempo, running the air in the old English-style building. Underneath the spinners were plain mid-size lamps with yellow lights. They did not add much to the bar’s overall situation, as it was still bright daylight outside. These lamps with fans would give somebody a spinning head once drunk and staring at them for too long. Several small private tables were scattered around the bar near the entrance and some against the walls. In case somebody did not want to sit around the square-shaped bar with a bunch of strangers and their looks and possibly get into unwanted conversations with them, these tables were the place. Bar is where if you drink for too long, you might acquire a few new friends, want it or not.
He was on his second Heineken now, looking around, his face serious with his thoughts. The bartender was a young hipster girl with short spiked hair, piercing on her face, and tattoos on both arms, one with a full sleeve. She was of unidentifiable age, but her face looked young, especially when she smiled. Kids, these days, looked so strange and confusing, he thought. She might have been anywhere near twenty-one and up to thirty-five. Who knows? She wore a bar uniform of black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt. She never introduced herself to him, and he didn’t bother to find out her name either, as long as beers kept coming without much wait.
“Want another Heineken?” the bartender asked.
“Sure, thanks.” He would answer. That was the entire conversation he had at the bar all day.
He had a lot to process. A lot of things were on his mind these days. Once in a while, life brings these fucking problems, and there is no better place to go but a local bar to clear your head. He expected the bad news, but the timing was wrong. He knew everything would eventually come down to this but not this kind of suddenly. Not today?! Well, it was in the past now, and the future was still cloudy and obscure with anger, frustration, and general misery. I mean, he tried his best. He had to. There was a house, a child, and his family to care for. Want it or not, somebody had to hustle. It wasn’t always this bad, but somehow with time, things worsened, and he knew for a while that this day would eventually come. He was trying to keep his livelihood going for as long as possible. He loved to live a worryless life and not worry about the next paycheck or bill coming or how much groceries cost these days.
It was still daylight, and some new visitors entered the bar. A middle-aged lady was drinking her white wine and addictively scrolling through her phone screen. A hipster guy was sitting in the opposite corner, drinking who knew what. He couldn’t see him well because of the bar stand in the middle, but he could hear him well. He was having a friendly chat with the bartending girl. They seemed to know each other. Maybe he was a regular? They may have grown up in this neighborhood. Maybe he was there to make some moves on that girl with tattooed arms and face piercing with spiked hair?
He felt like smoking a cigarette. There was no smoking inside the bar. Not in this bar. Not in this neighborhood. There were almost no bars left where you could still smoke inside. You had to take it outdoors. He put on his leather jacket and strolled towards the entrance. He hasn’t paid for the beers yet, but that seems not to be a problem for anybody here. Each bar has its own rules. It wasn’t necessary here. If the bartender stopped him, he would tell her he would be back after smoking. The bartender girl was mainly involved in a conversation with a hipster guy most of the time. Nobody even noticed that he had walked out.
The air outside was fresh, and the street was tiny. The sidewalk was narrow. There was barely a place for two people to walk by one another on those tiny sidewalks. He lit his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in the suburban air. The cars lined up on the street at the red traffic light. He was trying to ignore everything and everyone around him. He knew these people were staring, and he caught a few of those looking at him as he smoked, then turning their heads around back to the street traffic once their eyes met. Did they all know what happened? Why did he get this feeling as they did? Are these their mocking looks? Or are those more sympathetic looks people in the cars gave him? Don’t worry about these cars and these people and the traffic. Don’t worry about the beer you are drinking today. You needed that beer for a long time. You deserved it. You didn’t deserve what happened to you today, for sure. Very few people deserve that. Not you. You did well. You were working hard every time and every day. You are a good man. You are a good man. You are the last good man on the planet Earth. You are a better man than anybody in these cars staring at you right now. You are better than anybody at this bar. Hell, you are even better than that Heineken you are drinking. The whole thing was just unfair. Life is always unfair. Somehow, after the highs always comes to the lows. Life has its balance.
Other pedestrians were walking around randomly on this and the other side of the street. They had their own business to do and places to go. They all looked like they had a plan. I don’t have any plans. I don’t even want any plans for the next few days. I am just a bit overwhelmed with life at the moment. Beer is helping, and so does the cigarette. But hell, it takes time to heal. There will be tonight, and then there will be tomorrow, and then there will be the next week and the next month, and the next year. Things will be much different a year from now. Life will be much different a year from now. It all could be so much better a year from now. There are certainly some great mysteries in the future for all of us.
People walking around did not look specifically weird except for a guy wearing a cowboy head and some cowboy outfit and the teenage girl with purple hair. In a hipster neighborhood like that, there are usually more strange people per capita, and they all somehow had to be on the street doing nothing but walking around, going about their business. There were no more blondes and brunettes, as most of the kids these days had their hair in a color of a rainbow. All had some weird piercings and hairstyles and lots of fucking tattoos. They were just some random strangers who he would never see again in his life. So, why bother? Please don’t stare at them. It’s their own thing. Why does it bother you? Don’t you have more important things to worry about? Yes, you do, yes you do. I don’t mind anybody. I don’t care. I am trying to distract my thoughts with something else and just trying to refresh my mind by looking around, smoking a cigarette, and wondering. I like to wonder. Nothing specific. I mean, sometimes you have to live. There is no need to overthink anything. There is no need to worry about anything until something terrible happens. And even if something terrible happened, you can still think of something good. You can still change your mindset. You have to try it sometimes. You can always change your life.
The cigarette was burning to the end, and he threw it out with his last long drag. He turned around, exhaling the cloud of smoke into the air, and grasping the entrance door handle, he walked back into the bar. Something changed inside of him. He felt better inside. He felt like he belonged there. He felt like he had returned home. A home, that only place where we all, no matter how fucked up, feel safe, warm, wanted, and all the troubles go away at home.
He ordered another beer and a shot of whiskey. Let’s speed up the recovery, he thought. The whiskey shot went down smoothly. It felt liberating. Sometimes people must fill themselves up with rough shit to feel better later. It helped. Beer chased it all down well, and the feeling of easiness overcame him. His problems didn’t seem to bother him anymore. The lamps with spinning fans on the ceiling looked good. The random pedestrians walking by looked better. It is what it is, he thought. It’s true what they say; the end of one thing is the beginning of something new. New life was about to start. It’s not dark yet. It’s too soon to feel that way. Life always comes at you in waves. Things change with time. Time changes who you are, and sometimes even you have to change at the end.
“You want another one?” The bartender asked.
“Sure, thank you.”
She brought a new beer in about a few seconds, perfect service. He smiled and thanked her again after seeing the new cold beer on the bar top. There was this beer, and there were a few more. Then it was time to go home. It was getting late. He was getting lit. He had to drive home regardless. He had to be careful. Who needs more trouble in one day?
He paid his tab and put on his leather jacket. He went to the bathroom. The bathroom was a narrow room with a high ceiling and black and red walls. He washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror. He was still there. He looked more serious and sad than usual, but it was him in that mirror. The man who just parted with his past and will be moving into his new life right after he leaves this bar. It’s going to be ok, he thought. You’ve had enough for one day. You did what you could. It was time to move on anyway. He knew it. He knew it all along.
He walked out of the bar and onto the tiny street. It was getting darker now and felt a bit colder too. He pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. He strolled towards his car, smoking his cigarette, not thinking about anything anymore. The wind blew a bit harder as he turned the corner of the street. Trees moved their naked branches, and the dead leaves from the last Fall along with his six-figure salary, were blown away just like that. He didn’t pay much attention to the wind, leaves, or anything. He just wanted to go home to his wife and son. Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow will be a new future – the future which we all always anticipate so much but also are so afraid of at the same time. He started his car. The twenty-year-old engine roared cold and tired. The white exhaust clouds came out of the muffler polluting the cold suburban evening air. He pulled out of the parking space, onto the street, and into his new life.
