Bar Rat Short Story Contest

 (This message was edited by arloso on 11-18-04 @ 2:45 pm EST)

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Not a Regular

By Aurelio Sanchez



          I had just sat down at the long bar in the Little Creek when the damn cow bell on the door clanged. Even worse, it was a heavy wooden door and it slid across an uneven wooden floor. It sure made a racket every time somebody walked in. I was tired of telling the bar owner, Linda, that she ought to fix the door.
         "You got money?" she asked. "Why don't you fix it?"
         "I'm a paying customer. I ain't supposed to fix it," I said, but she was already gone.
         I picked up my beer and turned to look at the door, where a woman stood in surprise at the loudness of the bell. She was also definintely uncomfortable about people staring at her. She wasn't the kind of woman who came to a bar like the Little Creek. This woman looked like someone who'd go to the bar at the Hilton, or the Marriott, but what do I know, I've never been to either of those places.
          She looked a little embarrassed at all the staring faces as she stood paralyzed for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights, and then she quickly moved to an empty table near the juke box. Everybody went back to what they were doing, which was mostly just sitting and drinking.
          I couldn't help stealing a glance every minute or so over to where she was sitting. She had ordered a mixed drink of some kind and was just sitting and drinking.
          "What you need?" Gloria, the bartender asked, as I motioned for her to come closer.
          "I need a Bud, and I need to know who that woman is," I asked, dropping a couple of bucks on the bar. Gloria looked in the direction of where I gestured with my hand, and squinted.
          "Never seen her before," she said.
          Gloria took the dollar tip and looked at me as if to say, another big tipper, hooray.
          I could see that if I moved to a bar chair a little closer to the door, I'd be able to see her in the mirror behind the bar without having to turn around, so I moved down a couple of spots. She hadn't noticed my interest yet. I set my beer down on the counter, and looked at the names carved into the wood, some of which I recognized as belonging to regulars, and others that I had no idea who they belonged to. The bar was tiny; about the size of a railroad car, and had the shape of a railroad car, though the walls were thick adobe. The floors were wood, but uneven, as if the wood had been laid on a foundation not completely level. One pool table occupied the back of the bar, right in front of the restrooms, so people going to the john frequently interrupted an ongoing pool game, and that created friction, sometimes erupting into fights.
          I looked at my own reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall behind the bar. I mentally counted how many beers I had since I walked in about a couple of hours ago, three, maybe four. Still, I looked a little bleary.
          "What's up," Leroy asked.
          Leroy pulled up a tall chair and sat next to me.
          "Wondering who that girl is," I said, gesturing at the mirror where Leroy saw her.
          "Oh yeah, she's fine," Leroy said.
          "It's almost nine, why don't we play a little pool?" Leroy asked, dismissing the woman.
          "Naw, you play," I said. Leroy picked up his beer and threw his quarter on the green beer-splotched felt of the pool table, moving the quarter with his fingers under the bumper lip. The burly, black leather-jacketed player who held sway over the table by virtue of beating all challengers so far, acknowledged the new challenge with a nod of his head and went back to playing.
          I decided hell with it, I was going to go and talk to the lady. I'm not usually so shy, but this time, I was. The juke box was just a few feet from her table, and it was playing loud. I think it was distracting her because she never saw me walk up.
          "Hi."
          She looked up, a little startled.
          "Hi."
          "Mind if I sit?"
          "No," she said simply.
          I pulled out a chair at sat at her table.
          The table either had a short leg or it was sitting on an uneven spot on the floor because it wobbled. I ordered a beer and asked her if she wanted another. She was drinking a gin and tonic. The juke box was playing "Free Bird" so loud it was hard to hear. I leaned over the table.
          "Never seen you in here before."
          She didn't acknowledge me. The bar was dark, but our table was near a bar light on the wall, illuminating her face enough so I could see she had been crying. There were trails on her cheeks, and her eyes were red. Some of the bar flies sitting at the bar looked at me like they wish they had the guts to go up and talk to the lady like I did. But now as I sat next to her in silence, I felt like maybe it had been the wrong move.
          Maybe sensing I was about to leave, she spoke up.
          "I've never been here before, but my husband's a regular, maybe you know him?"
          "Don't know, what's his name?"
          "Don, Don Chambers."
          As soon as she repeated his first name, I knew who she was talking about. He was an asshole. He thought he was good looking, and he was loud and obnoxious, and he always had a lady on his arm, but I had never seen him in here with this lady. He hadn't been in all week. I decided to pretend I didn't know him.
          "No, don't think I know him," I said. "Why you looking for him?"
"I didn't say I was looking for him, in fact, it'd be fine with me if I never saw him again," she said, picking up her gin and tonic. I watched as she sucked on her straw. It was smeared of red lipstick. Her eyes were hazel, though they were more red than any other color right now.
          "What's your name?" she asked.
          I hesitated, transfixed momentarily.
          "Uh, uh, I know it, give me a minute," I said.
          "Bobby, knew I'd get it," I said, trying to make a joke of it. She just smiled, and twirled her straw. She was looking at me now.
          "Bobby? Like Bobby McGee?"
          "No, but I like the song. You like Janus Joplin?"
          "Sure, why not?" she said. "Didn't she say if you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose?"
          "Yeah, she's the one," I said.
          "Then I like her a lot," she said.
          She abruptly got up and asked if I wanted to go outside. I said sure. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and the bottom scraped the floor; the cow bell clanged. Outside, it was dark, a crescent moon shining in the east sky. A freight train blew its horn in the distance; it would be passing soon. The railroad tracks were across the street, maybe 100 feet away. She sat on an old bench outside the front door of the bar and put a cigarette to her lips.
          "So you don't know my husband, huh?"
          "Well, yeah, guess I do," I said. "Told you I didn't because I hadn't seen him and I didn't want to get involved in any domestic situation."
          "Domestic situation?"
          "Yeah, you know, fighting with your hubby."
          I sat down next to her. But it was more than a hunch about her domestic situation. I had seen a small, crescent shaped scar in the middle of her forehead right above her nose. The tiny knotted scar told me she did more than argue with her husband.
          The train was rushing past us like a tornado. She said something but I couldn't hear her over the roar of the train. When it passed, I asked her what she had said.
          "When?"
          "Just now, when the train passed."
          "I said I had killed my husband. He's home now, bleeding, but he's dead alright."
What she said shocked me, but I didn't know how to respond. Did she have a gun, or a knife now, was she going to shoot, or stab me, and why did she tell me?
          "Well, guess he deserved it," I said.
          She looked at me, amused at my response.
          "Yeah, he did."
          We sat there for a long time, each of us not saying anything. Finally, I asked her if she was alright.
          "Yeah, I'm OK, but I have a feeling I'm going to go away for a long time. How about sharing a drink with me? I'll buy."
          We went back in the bar and I waited with her until the cops got there. I got her another gin and tonic, but she didn't touch it. Just sat there, looking off in the distance. I don't know who called the cops, but as soon as they came in, she got up and went peaceably with them. As they were putting her in the car, I called out that he deserved it, and I told her I thought for sure they'd find her innocent. She looked back and smiled at me through the car window.
         I followed the trial later in the newspapers. A jury said she was not guilty. The jury decided she jsf killed her husband in self-defense after a long history of abuse. If she ever comes back to the Little Creek, I think I'll buy her a beer.