Tale of a Tortured Soul

Tale of a Tortured Soul
         
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                In retrospect, I wonder to this day if I could have said something, could have done something. Sometimes when I’m in that period from when your head hits the pillow and you lay there in the dark for a while I go over the last conversation I ever had with him. For some strange reason, I remember every little detail about that night. John Dufrense bringing a girl up and saying “the usual please” to me and her amazement when I poured him a glass of Heineken with no ice and asked her what “the missus” would like to drink. What a big fucking joke. I hate people like that, if you ever watch Cheers, you’d think a bar was full of friendly people who would be your goddamn best friend. In reality, I’m just a servant, a monkey who’s supposed to do as you say at once.

         Or there was Jerry, the only one in the bar I would call my friend. That night he was in some darts match with Matt Conway, a starving artist who rented the studio that was upstairs and came down to the bar every night. All Matt did was order a glass of Coors and play darts till closing. Matt was a damn good darts player. Whenever he tallied up the scores with whatever poor loser was playing him he always knew ahead that he won. Jerry was a young man, about 25 or 26, who was an insurance salesman for Hillsborough Life Insurance up on 5th. Every night he would walk in and say  “Phil, I hope you got the tough bouncers tonight ‘cause I’m going be so drunk I’ll start pissin’ plaid.” Me and Jerry had so many inside jokes that when I’m on my death bed, the priest will be telling me about the goodness of Heaven and all of that, and all I’ll be doing is thinking of stupid jokes involving a man on his deathbed and a priest and the last thing I’ll do is laugh my cold dead ass off.

         At 24, I would suppose owning a very successful upper Manhattan bar would make me a sort of young entrepreneur. At that time, I was living in a nice 1 bedroom bachelor pad in upper Manhattan. I suppose it would take my high school friends about 4 more years to get to the spot of life I was in so I wasn’t complaining. After my senior year at John F. Kennedy high, I realized how much I didn’t want to go on to another school for 4 years. High school was hell for me. I managed to swing by with a C average. I had few friends, only enough to constitute a lunch table, and some people to hang out with. Girls seemed to not like me; I guess I didn’t fit the superficial image that they always look for. In that case, I would have to be tall tan blonde, and not have a clue about anything.

              So after high school I worked at my dad’s lumber mill on South McAdams Avenue. At the end of the day, I’d get in my dads car and he’d drive me home, we’d silently listen to whatever song was on the radio and not talk. I’d be tired, my hands would be full of cuts and splinters, and I’d get home and fall asleep without showering or brushing my teeth. This was 6 days of my week (the 7th, Sunday, I would spend sleeping half the day then sitting in front of a TV watching hours after hours of random shows I had no taste for) from the time I was 18 till I was 24.

         If you look back at it, the days at work that seemed so long are only a blur now. Time does that sadly. However, there is one day I will remember forever. That was the day after another hard days work, my father and I were going home, and then my father actually spoke to me. “Phil? How do you like your life right now?” That question has been burning through my mind since the second he asked. The fact that this was the first time I talked to my father about anything other then work, so many emotions awakened inside me that I directly told him.
         
                “I hate my life; I don’t know what to do with it. I hate this job, I hate the fact that I have no time for anything, and I hate myself most of all because I know I can change it, but I never take risks.”
         
                We continued to drive down the road in silence. On the radio, some AC/DC song was playing but today my dad had the volume turned down low. I began to feel embarrassed at what I had said to him, but my father didn’t seem to notice, he was transfixed on the road for the rest of the ride home. My father is dead now, but I still remember how he looked that day. He was about 52 at that time, he had jet black hair like me, only the sheen of his hair had gone out and was covered with flecks of gray. His face was the beaten face of a man who spends his whole life smoking a pack a day of Marlboros.
         
When we pulled up to my parent’s house, I got out of the car and began to think of this day as usual. It was about 8 pm but I was dead tired. I was walking up to the front door when my old man grabbed me, hard, by the collar of my beaten, dirty, colorless work shirt. Then he spoke the words that I will always remember.
“Phil, no matter how fucked up your life is now, there’s always gonna’ be somebody who has it a lot worse.”

         That was all he said. I found myself standing on the porch confused, my father already inside. All I could reflect over was what he told me. He never spoke to me on anything else again, not even a year later when I walked right up to him and said “Dad, I think its time I quit.” All he did was nod and give me my last paycheck. See, after my father had told me that, it had inspired me in some way, I began to get out of this stupid depression I had dug myself in.

         For 4 years I had worked at that godforsaken lumber mill and for 4 years I realized on how much I didn’t do anything with the money I earned from it. I never had a car, I never had a date, and I lived with my parents for free. I realized on how much money I had on me. For the first time in my life, I was in control of what I could do.

         So for the first night, I asked my dad if I could borrow his car and go to Manhattan (We lived in Queens) and look for an apartment to stay at. He said nothing and gave me his keys. I hadn’t driven forever, but I realized on how easy it was to pick back up. It must be like riding a bike, you never forget. I drove all the way to upper Manhattan and it was there I saw it. 

                A red electric sign hung off of the building that said “THE GLASS” In the window were red Budweiser signs and signs that said “YOU MUST BE 21 TO PURCHASE AND/OR CONSUME ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK.”

         The first thing I thought was that I’d like to own a place like that. I thought of what a relaxing job it would be, serving drinks, talking to people. I had 100,000 dollars in my bank account mixed together from odd jobs as a teenager, a college fund I never used, and all the money I earned at the mill. Then I saw it, a cheap pasted black sign with orange letters spelling “FOR SALE” I thought about it then I pulled up to a parking spot and didn’t even bother to feed the meter.

         I was walking on light legs that day; every step I made seemed almost hypnotic. My mind was racing in a flurry of thoughts nobody could keep up with. I opened up the glassy double doors and heard the ring of a bell. It was busy tonight, a few men were sitting at the counter, a Jets-Bears game was projecting from a nice TV, a bunch of smiling young couples were cuddling in booths while the men at the counter were dressed in New York Jets jerseys and yelling at the TV screen. The bartender, a man who looked about 60 wearing a white shirt with a purple vest and a red bowtie, looked at me and smiled a warm comforting smile.

         I took off my light black jacket and hung it on one of several pegs covering a wall pasted over with sports memorabilia and photos of famous people who had visited the bar. I walked up to the bar and absentmindedly ordered a beer. Before I knew it, a tall glass of beer was sitting in front of me on a stein. I had never had a beer in my life so it was very weird to be drinking one. The bartender stopped, looked at me and then said “Do you have any ID?”

         I pulled out my wallet which was filled with a few 20s and showed him my drivers license I had gotten in high school but never used. He looked at the birth date then nodded and went to go watch the game on TV. I took a small sip of the beer in front of me. It was really cold, and had a sort of familiar sour kind of taste to it. I knew I wouldn’t drink the rest of it but I took a big gulp of it just to show everyone else I was just a normal casual beer drinker like them. Another customer, a 40 year old black woman wearing nurse’s clothes sat down next to me. She smiled at me then waved to the bartender. “Mark, can you give me a mango tonic with a twist of kiwi?” She said to him as he turned to look at her. I munched on a pretzel out of the complimentary bowl that was sitting on the bar. Then I waited as Mark made her drink and slid it down to her.

         “Mark?” I said. The bartender turned and looked at me, anxiously waiting to get back to the football game on TV. “Yeah?” he spoke, looking at the TV out of the corner of his eye. “I was wondering how much you are selling this place for.” I said, trying to sound cool like a business man. Everyone watching the game suddenly looked at me, making prickles of sweat run down my face.

         “I’m going 75k, no less.” Mark spoke, his mind completely derived from the game. “I want a deposit of at least 40 thousand cash or check. Are you interested?” I munched another pretzel and took a sip of the bittersweet beer feeling it ease down my throat. “I think I am.” I said.

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         And that was it. I had to study and learn all of the aspects of bartending; Mark had to teach me how to serve drinks fast and in any way. I had to memorize the stupid bar lingo the Manhattan yuppies would sling, I learned how to set up before a night of business, and close down. I learned how to fix the jukebox if it went ape shit when some asshole tried to play “Ain’t Nothing but a Hound Dog” over and over. I learned of how the bouncer would work and how much Jenny, the only waitress there, got paid.

         And then Mark retired, leaving me, a 24 year old kid from Queens, in charge of his lifelong business. The first night I opened the Glass by myself for the first time, I was a little worried. However, after one hour of throwing drinks to customers and listening to them talk, I knew I had found my calling.

         This is what brings me to a year later, when I met John.

         It was a normal night; Matt had come down and was in the middle of his one a night Coors getting ready to get at the dartboard. A few business men walked in and sat down at a corner booth. Freddy, the bouncer, a muscular Italian fellow from the Bronx was leaning against the bar smoking a cigarette, and I was serving drinks and watching Seinfeld waiting for the Yankees-Astros game to come on at 8.

         Then, he walked in. A simple looking man with messed up brown hair, a stained white t-shirt under a long black top coat and blue jeans leading down to a pair of dusty and scuffed blue converse shoes. I noticed about a 2 days growth of beard on his face.
He didn’t even bother to hang up his coat on his pegs like I had done that day only a year before. He slumped down on a corner stool without saying anything and just stared a little off focus at what I could best guess was the picture of Andy Warhol smiling next to a young looking Mark. Warhol had apparently been to the Glass in the 1960’s and had called it an “albatross of good karma.”(That was written in Sharpie on the black and white picture.)

         I walked up to him and smiled. He looked up at me, but for some weird second, it looked as if he was almost looking through me. His mouth stayed in its confused almost dumbfounded grimace and his eyes kind of glazed over. “What can I do ya for?” I said in a bartender-friendly voice. His hair was sticking up and looking greasy as if he hadn’t had a shower in a very long time. It was running off his ears, so it didn’t look like this guy had seen a haircut in months.

                For a second, I started to wonder if this was another homeless guy who came in here looking for a nice warm place to stay in and eat some free pretzels. I was about to tell this to Freddy who was eying the guy suspiciously. Then, all of a sudden, he spoke. “Do you mind if I just…sit here?” He said. His voice seemed to be 100 miles off, and it kind of made me shiver. Freddy got out of his cool guy leaning pose and looked at me. We had done this almost a billion times to the homeless people who came in and said shit like that.

         “Sorry buddy, if I knew you as a friend then I’d let you stay, but you have to order something or leave.” I spoke matter-of-factly. The man let out a sorrowful sigh and then pulled a wallet out of his black vampire-looking coat. I saw Freddy relax back into his cool guy pose and I felt a lot better. “I’ll have a Coke.” The man said. Jenny, the waitress who was busy talking to her friends from NYU suddenly stopped and looked at the man, almost humerously.

         Nobody had come to the Glass for as long as I owned it and ever asked for a soda. I mean, we had a metal Coke product dispenser that was right next to the Beer taps but nobody had ever used it except for Freddy, Jenny or me on occasion when we were thirsty (We weren’t allowed to drink alcohol on the job.) Still, I grabbed a glass, threw some ice in it then filled it up with brown Coca-Cola and threw a napkin on the bar and put it on top. “A dollar fifty.” I spoke and watched as he put two singles on the counter. I threw them in the register and got out two quarters and put them by him. “Keep them.” He spoke again. I nodded and threw them back in the register, then got back to work.

         I refilled a bowl of pretzels on the bar, made 4 Heinikens and gave them to Jenny who served them to a group of men, I watched Jerry Seinfeld’s closing monologue, then served more drinks till the game came on. After I bought the bar, I began to become a huge sports fan. Especially of New York teams and I loved baseball more then anything else. I watched the game a little, served more drinks, refilled the Bud Light tap, watched Freddy gently push some drunk business man outside then stand in the doorway till he left, then served a few more drinks till it was 10:50. “10 minutes, last call!” I shouted to anybody still in the bar. Then I watched the end of the game, pissed that the Yankees lost to Houston. I served one last beer then told Jenny and Freddy to start closing up.

         What I hadn’t noticed, was that the man was still sitting at the bar. Still looking off focused at that Andy Warhol picture, the glass of Coke I had served him was still sitting there, only now it was flat, covered with condensation and the ice had melted. I walked up to him. “Sorry buddy, we’re closing.” I said gently. The man silently got up, looked at the coke for probably the first time that night, and then walked morosely out of the bar.

         As we were putting up the chairs, sweeping out cigarette butts and refilling the taps so they’d be full for tomorrow, Freddy finally spoke. “That guy was weird, the whole night he was just staring. What the hell is wrong with him?” I laughed and undid the black tie I always wore. “I don’t know,” I said. “He seemed to be thinking about something.” “No shit!” Freddy said and we both laughed like hyenas while Jenny rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna go Phil, see ya tomorrow.” I clapped her on the shoulder and said bye, then turned off the pool table lights, the jukebox, the bar lights and the bathroom lights. Then put on my coat and hat and walking out into the cold New York night with Freddy.

I locked the door behind me, and pulled out my car keys. Freddy lived across the street in a decent apartment complex. “See ya boss.” He said as he jogged across the street. I waved and got into my Jetta and drove all the way home to Magellan Court. I got into my apartment, ate a late supper of Corner Bistro microwaveable Salisbury steak and a glass of milk. Then I watched TV for a few hours then went to bed. The last thing I thought of before falling asleep was the strange man.

He came into the bar every day from that point, every day he would speak to no one, he would order one coke, and just sit there all night looking at something and not speaking to anybody. I wouldn’t talk to him or bother him because I always had some work to do, something to keep me busy. He became another piece of the furniture, just like Jerry and Matt, who I knew by name and could always dick around and joke with. Soon, I never noticed unless some regular comer would go “Who is that guy?” and I would tell them I didn’t know and ask them what the hell they’d want.

Then, there was the one day that I told you about a while back. The day I will remember for the rest of my life, a day that will haunt me and bother me till I die. It started out the same. We opened up at 6, usually nobody would come in till like 6:30 so Freddy and me would play darts or foosball or pool or something against each other till somebody came in. The strange man would always come in around 7. It was a rainy day; there were no sports games on that night so I was wondering what to do to fight boredom.

Sure as hellfire, in he walked at 7:00 almost on the dot, this time it was really burning into me to talk to him. He ordered his usual coke and then I finally got the courage to speak something. “Hey man, I don’t want you to waste your money on something you won’t drink. You can stay here if you really want to though.” He started to persist but I told him it was fine and walked off to serve Jennifer Feeney a Bloody Mary. After that, I realized that the man was off in his usual place, staring off into space, thinking about something.

I walked up to him then finally spoke. It was spontaneous; just like what I said when my father had asked me how I liked my life in the car in what seemed like ages ago. “What is wrong with you man? You come here every day and stare off into space. You get a Coke but you never drink it. You look like shit, and you never talk to anybody.”

Freddy looked at me, mouth agape. Jerry was facing Matt in a darts match and wasn’t paying attention to anybody else. Jenny was serving a middle aged couple beers.
For a minute, the man shifted in his seat like he was just going to get up and leave. He looked up at me with cold eyes, and then looked at the door, and then he put his hands over his face and began to cry.

         I just sat there, shocked as the man tried to fight away tears and didn’t know what to do. I handed him a napkin absentmindedly, and told him that it was alright and that maybe he should leave. Finally, after 10 minutes (the rest of the bar was already half drunk and not noticing the guy crying) he stopped and looked at me again. Then he finally told me what was bothering him. By the time he finished, there was nobody left in the bar but me and him well past closing time.

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         “My name is John.” He slowly started. I pulled out a dirty old rag and began to wipe off the counter where somebody had sat earlier and had a quick beer before getting back to work. He thought I wasn’t paying attention but then he saw me staring at him begging at him with my eyes to continue. Wiping off the bar constantly was the sign of a stereotypical bartender, but when you work with all these assholes spilling drinks and crumbs all over, you almost are always doing it.

         “When I was 18, I graduated high school at John F. Kennedy high school out in Queens.” That was haunting. We had both gone to the same school; He looked about a year younger then me, so he must have been in the junior class when I left. “When I graduated, I immediately saw college as where I was going. However, my father wanted me to join his accounting company, Market Accounting. I didn’t do so well in math though, I wanted to be a writer. But my father said that there was no possible way he’d let me do that. He said writing was for little pussy kids who wouldn’t be known for anything. He said writers made shit, and I tried to argue that I didn’t care about money when he told me that he would hear no more of it.”

         “I still went to college though. The first year was the toughest year ever. I was put in this little cardboard box sized hell. I was roommates with this dickhead Shane Morrissey who was majoring in pre-med. He would be virtually gone during the whole day, and then when I wanted to sleep at night, he’d bring some girl in and tell me to fucking wait in the lobby till he was done with her. He’d lock the door and it wouldn’t open till like 12 the next day. I was trying to major in lit but the classes were hard as hell and full of professors who thought that you had your whole life and schedule devoted to doing work for them.

         “My social life was bad. I had had a girlfriend in high school, Jamie Matheson, and we stayed in e-mail and phone contact, till my friend who was going to the same school as her told me that she had been going out with one of the football players. I wasn’t crushed because I knew that long distance relationships don’t work. Because of my busy schedule of running back and forth from one of my seven classes a day to another, then studying for a test every other day, I had no time for anyone or anything. Whenever Shane would kick me out, I’d bring a sleeping bag down to the Student Union, and work on short stories till I couldn’t focus anymore, then I’d fall asleep for 2 hours, before it was 6 and I had to go to my first class of the day.

         “It was that way all freshman year; my grades had been really bad, but subtly passing. I knew that if I had performed that bad sophomore year, I could kiss any hope of a Literature degree goodbye. I spent all summer living at my parents and studying great works of literature by Shakespeare and many other great writers and wondering what I was going to do with my life if I failed the degree. Then one day, my dad walked in, drunk off his ass, and asked me what month I was going to come in and start working at his accounting firm. I told him I was going to go back to college in late August and he told me to get out. Just like that he told me to leave the house and never come back again.
         
“So I packed all of my clothes and stuff from my room, my little red FiveStar folder I kept all of my short stories in. I lost that folder about a month ago. I left the house and never went back again. I wandered around the city for awhile before finally deciding on sleeping at a hotel for the night till I could find a place to stay.

         “It was at this hotel when I met Virginia. Virginia is 2 years older then me, and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She had long brown hair and was wearing a beautiful dress; I wish I could recall it. She was sitting in the lobby crying, only she was trying not to let anybody notice you know. I had checked in and got my room key, and I was waiting for the elevator when I saw her. The first thing I thought was to do nothing, just act like I didn’t see anything and go up to my room. However, I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was.

         “So I walked up to her you know, and sat on the opposite couch. I looked over and saw the elevator open to nobody, and watched it sit there for a few seconds then close again. Then I just looked at her, I mean, I didn’t know what to fucking do but just to stare at her, she was so beautiful. And before I knew it, I was quoting Shakespeare to her. I forgot what play it was from, but it was the passage I thought was the most beautiful thing I could think of.

“O powerful love,
that in some respects makes a beast a man,
in some other, a man a beast”

         “And when I told her this, she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. I smiled to her, I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing, but I smiled like a stupid jack-o-lantern. Then I said words that I will remember forever. “It’ll be ok.”

         “She never told me what she was crying about, she never explained it one bit. She just stood up, shivering a little, tears rolling down her face, and then she went over and hugged me, tightly, and put her face on my shoulder. I held her there for a long time, and I knew that no matter what happened, I was madly in love with this woman right then.

         “Slowly and gently, she moved her head off of my shoulder and grabbed my hand and clasped our fingers together. We walked hand and hand to the elevator and pressed the button and waited, not saying anything.

         “Out of respect for Virginia I won’t tell you what happened, just that I lost my virginity in that hotel room that day. Virginia had an apartment and I moved in with her that summer and slept in her bed. We were in love with each other and it was the greatest time of my life. In August, I registered in school again and when they asked for first semester’s payment, I gave them the check my parents had wrote out for me and expected nothing wrong with it. The lady thanked me, and I had to wait while they called the bank and automatically cashed it to avoid fraud. It was totally unexpected when she came back and told me that the writer of the check had canceled it out with the bank recently.


“What’d you do?” I suddenly heard Freddy speak, he was as transfixed with John’s story as I was, I snapped out of it and looked around for a customer, I saw Jenny standing in the bar serving drinks, sometimes if there wasn’t a lot of people in the booths, Jenny would come and take over at the bar and I would pay her extra. I was glad she was doing that now.

         “I didn’t go to school that semester, or ever again. My father won. So I began to work at his goddamn accounting firm every day. I still lived in Virginia’s apartment; however, we barely saw each other. Let me tell you something, if you’re looking to be in the shittiest job ever, look no farther then being an assistant to an accountant. My father treated me no longer like a son, but like a stupid slave. He wouldn’t even acknowledge me as his son. Everyday I was carrying finals to this dim lit room the size of a closet, and filing them in the order of their decimal number to the nearest one thousandth.

         “However, the job did pay very well. It was around this time I began to develop an almost severe addiction to liquor. It was one day after work a year after my dad refused to pay for me to go to college and earn a ‘pussy’ degree. I was 20 then. I came home from work and Virginia was sitting in the living room watching TV. She had a brown glassy bottle of Budweiser in her hand and waved to me. ‘Hey honey.’ She said. I dropped my briefcase in the foyer and took off my shoes and went to go be with the woman I loved more then anything else in the world.

         “She asked me how my day was, and I told her it was horrible. I wish I remembered what indeed was so horrible about that day, but I can’t at all. All I know is that it probably wasn’t that bad at all since I really just hated my dad and I was looking for a little sympathy from Virginia. I laid my head on her lap and she kissed me and I was feeling better already. She handed me the bottle and said ‘You need this more then me.’ I sat up and took a sip, this was the first time I had ever had beer in my life and it was the sweetest, greatest tasting liquid in the world.” I gagged in my mind remembering that day I had walked into the Glass and gotten a beer simply to talk to someone.

         “It became that way every day, it wasn’t bad for the first week, every day after work I would come home and lay on the couch with Virginia and have a few beers. It finally gave me something to look forward too in that hellish office I worked at. However, after a few weeks it got worse. See, I discovered the wonder of bars like this one, a place where I could talk with other assholes like me and discuss how much life sucked. A place where I could get off my ass drunk then have to call Virginia to come pick me up because I was too wasted to even move.

         “Finally, Virginia confronted me about it, a year ago. When I was 25 and got fired from the Accounting Office.” It struck me for a second that I was wrong about his age, and that he was actually a year older then me. “She said ‘John, I love you more then anything, but you really need to stop. You’re getting worse.’ I had no idea what she was talking about, but I listened anyway.


         “She told me about how bad my drinking alcohol was, that one day I had actually punched her in the face when she was dragging me out of the bar. This struck me as funny, just ‘cause I could not imagine myself punching the woman I loved so much or any woman for that matter. So I laughed. And then she did it. She slapped me right across the face as hard as she could. She hit me so hard it left a red welt. It was then that I realized how serious she was, and how bad I was becoming.

         “So I told her I would never take another drink again. I would go to the support groups and all of that, and I would make myself stop drinking. It was then, when she revealed another little surprise.”

         He stopped for a second as if he suddenly thought ahead in the story, and shook his head sorrowfully. “Can you get me a coke?” He said to no one in particular, “I really could use a drink now.” I moved to go get it when Jenny slid it down and John caught it. He took a really long sip before continuing his story.

         “She told me she was pregnant. That she wouldn’t want her child to be raised by some alcoholic. Those words hurt me so much; I didn’t know how to respond. Finally I did, “I will never have another drink ever again, even if you still don’t want me to be the father of your child. I’ll always love you, you know that right? She sat there for a long time, before she told me what she really wanted to say. “I don’t love you anymore John.”

         At that, John stopped talking and took another big gulp of his drink. I looked at the clock and realized it was 9:00. 2 hours had just blown by and we didn’t even notice it. I realized that Freddy had gone back to work sheparding drunks out of the bar. I didn’t even know what to say. Finally, I choked out a question “That was this year?” John finished his Coke and I signaled for Jenny to slide another one. John chugged down half of it then spoke. I realized I was still wiping off the counter with the rag even though it was completely clean.

         “Yes, it was last March.” (It was December when he was telling me the story.) “That night, I slept on the couch while she was in her room. I woke up at 6 in the morning and realized I didn’t have a job anymore. I fell asleep again and woke up at 11. Then, she was gone. I never saw her again. She left the apartment behind to me. I still live there now, but I won’t be for long. I’m gonna get evicted probably in a week or so. For weeks I just stayed at home, I didn’t shower, barely ate. All I did was just sit and watch TV. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I still don’t.

         “I thought about killing myself, you know what the only thing more depressing about killing yourself is? Not being able to kill yourself, I’ve tried. I had the goddamn rope around my neck, and I just stood on my kitchen table, just stood there, not wanting to move. I always think about it, I was gonna do it yesterday. I just can’t, I just hope someday I’ll be able to do it.”

I’d seen this before. My brother had once told me he thought about killing himself, but I never said anything. How can you? There is no good response for that. I knew that anything I’d say would make it worse for John, so I just kept my mouth shut.

         “One day, I told myself I would try to get a job. Try to straighten my shit out and try to get back on the rail you know? I thought about seeing a psychologist and seeing if he or she could help me, but I just couldn’t. I ended up somewhere on 31st and 32nd wondering where I was at and if I was lost.

         “Suddenly a man came up behind me and stuck a gun right into my spine. ‘Don’t turn around man!’ he told me. I have been living in New York all my life and I’ve never been robbed so it was quite scary. I gave him all of my money I had in my pocket and he ran off.

         “I wandered around New York, something in me wanted a drink, but I remembered the promise I made to her. So I eventually found myself in a strange free clinic hospital and I wondered if they had anything that would make me feel better. I made my way in there and stood in what seemed like a 30 person line of people. I was behind a very beautiful teenage girl; she had to have been like 14 or 15 years old. She was leaned up against a very scared looking young boy wearing a ‘Beatles: Shea Stadium ‘64’ t-shirt. He could have been 15 or 16.

         “So I waited for like 2 hours before the kids in front of me got to the front. The boy spoke for both of them. He told the nurse that they were looking for some kind of morning sickness drug. At first I was dumbstruck on why they would ask that, but then I realized what he meant. The nurse told them that there was no stopping morning sickness and it was a natural part of pregnancy. And the way the nurse told them, she had no feeling at all. I couldn’t believe it, I watched as the kids walked away, the guy holding the girl closely and telling her it’d be ok, the girl was sobbing. Suddenly, the nurse was asking me what I wanted. I slowly backed out without saying anything and left.

         “I wandered and wandered slowly trying to find my way home, and eventually I ended up at your bar 3 weeks ago. I don’t know what led me there but all I wanted to do was just to sit still, and let my thoughts simmer for a second.”

         I felt like an asshole when I recalled how I almost threw Freddy on him and made him pay me money to stay, but again, I didn’t say anything.

         “I became addicted to that, just sitting and being able to think clearly. I came here every day just so I could relax. Then today…”

         “Today, I wanted to know what you were doing.” I said, and then added “I’m sorry for being so selfish I…” “No,” John spoke. “You had every right to.”

With that, an awkward silence, John’s tale had been told. I slowly realized that it was way past 11, it was almost 12. The bar was cleaned off, all of the tables were up, and the jukebox was turned off. Something in my mind told me that the taps were filled and I didn’t even need to check them. I looked down and realized I’d been wiping the same spot of the counter for almost 6 hours. The rag was completely destroyed, and the paint on the bar had been scratched up and it looked almost burgundy.

         “Wow, I didn’t realize that I had taken so much of your time. I’m sorry.” John got off of the stool and I didn’t say anything. I was still taken back by his story, everything about it. Then I looked at John, he was looking for something in one of his coat pockets. What I saw makes me feel guilty to this day. John looked even more depressed and sadder, probably, from having to relive all those bad moments of his life.

         He pulled out his wallet, and then put 10 bucks on the counter. “I forgot how many Cokes I had…” I did too. “But this should probably cover it.” I suddenly snapped back to reality and was about to tell him that they were on the house when he put another 10 dollar bill on the bar. “Thank you for listening to me.” As he was leaving, I yelled for him. “John! Are you going to be here tomorrow?” I said. He turned around and looked at me, tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll see me anymore.” was all he said before leaving out into the streets and out of my life.

         I sat there in the bar. Looking at the 20 bucks John had left, looking at the doorway he went out, wondering what he had meant when he said “I don’t think you’ll see me anymore.” I wondered if he was thinking of suicide again or of leaving or of anything. I stood there, trying to gather the pieces of reality together, when I realized where I was and what I was doing. And then, almost hypnotically, I got myself a beer.

----------------------------4------------------

         I remained hopeful, the next night I waited for John to come in at his usual time. He never did. Freddy had left that night to go home, so he didn’t see the last I saw of John. John never came again, we waited every night, when the clock hit 7 I was hoping he’d walk on in and I could tell him everything I’ve wanted to tell him. About three weeks after the incident, I began going to the library before work and searching through newspapers, looking at obituaries every day. The only problem was, the obituaries were sorted out by the area of New York City they lived in.

         I looked and looked and couldn’t find any John, it drove me crazy. At first I was relieved because I thought he was alive and ok. Then I started to think, the mans name may not have been John, he may have made that up. I eventually gave up searching through dead beat libraries going through days of recycled newspapers and being doubtful about if his name was even what he said it was.

         Like John, after I had that drink, I went into an alcohol phase for a few months. I began to drink more and more and even removed the rule at the Glass that workers could not drink beer. One day at work, I got so drunk Freddy himself had to throw me out. He dragged me out to the alley and I puked my guts out and then, while he was holding my head back he finally spoke to me. “Don’t you remember John? I’m beginning to believe you’re going to end up exactly like him.”

         That’s what did it, I stopped drinking cold turkey, and things began to set back into normal. In fact, I started to follow religion a little bit. It was one Sunday not that long ago when I was going for my morning jog, and I ran past a church that was in the middle of a sermon. I decided to walk in, and see what it was like. I became hooked. I read the Bible all the way through and began to pray every night. One of the things I occasionally prayed for was for John, the stranger who had walked in and changed my life forever, then as quickly as he came, he left.

I wonder if he committed suicide right after he left the Glass, but then I wonder if maybe Virginia came back and everything was ok again. The truth is I will probably never know.

         However, whenever I think of John, I think of my father and what he said to me that day oh so long ago. “Phil, no matter how fucked up your life is now, there’s always gonna’ be somebody who has it a lot worse.” I never could see so much truth in any statement as that one. And god, I just hope wherever he is, he is happy.