It was wet outside and so was he when he walked through the shadows of the bar against the candlelight sitting me down as I tried to stand to greet him.
“How was the flight?” I asked.
“Good. Up and down. You know.” He answered shaking off excess drips.
“Maker’s?” I asked.
“Please.”
He sat down as I ordered. The barman was thick and capable keeping to himself. He seemed to be quick when we needed him, disappearing when we did not. We always had had our usual spots when he flew in, but the night called for an out of the way place where no one knew us.
“You alright?” I asked.
“Fine. Cheers.”
He raised his glass touching mine gently. We touched wood after as I waited for his lead to see if we threw it back or sipped. So we sipped.
“Where’d you find this place?” He asked.
“The thing, Google, Whatever.”
“I like it.”
“It’s growing on me.”
The years between us seemed as thick as the wood in front of us. Life had taken us to different points, though the bar, in any city, had brought us back.
“When do you have to go back?” I asked.
“Open ended if that’s all right?” He glanced at me, his green eyes as wet as the windows.
“Of course.” I said.
“I just need to think.” He said.
“I got you.” I said. “The last thing you need to do is thinking though.”
“Not tonight anyway.”
“We tying it on then?”
“Huh. Did you drive? I didn’t.”
“I don’t drive.”
“You think I got on a plane to come see you for light refreshment?”
“I do not.”
His usual razor sharp face was grizzled as he gazed off. His hands engulfed the glass never letting off; his thick salt and pepper hair was slightly careless as it dried some of it from the rain, the rest to disregard.
“How far you in?” I asked.
“I had 3 on the plane, one on the ground, roadie in the cab. You?”
“I got here early to make sure. 3.”
“That’s about right.”
“You bring clothes or anything?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. Not for me.”
“Me either.”
Moments passed in an uncomfortable manner. For the first time in my life I did not know how to approach him. I felt that my sincerity would be dejected, my humor spit on, my hand on his shoulder shaken, my advice so far from reason, it would be as if I had never met him. His energy was vapid and I felt our only gift was time, so far from the usual bash that we had always shared.
I was glad he was with me and no one else. I felt it the highest form of respect I had ever been paid.
“I bought a pair of those oxfords you were telling me.” I said just to say.
“She got ‘em for me.” He said.
“Sorry I—“
“Don’t worry about it.” He said.
“They’re nice though right?” I asked.
“They were.” He said.
“Look man I know you want to sit in silence but you’re here in front of me, so I gotta ask…what the hell happened?”
“Listen, I don’t know what to tell you, and I don’t know what you want to hear. She looked at me, and said she found something better. Essentially. What I thought, what I trusted as breath itself, became a falsehood. Now I I’m in disrepair, borderline disheveled, there’s no joke, no silver lining, it’s black.”
“You got on a plane.”
“Did I?”
Their wedding flashed in my mind. How it rained finishing with a sunset over looking the city. The night I first met her over veal piccatta at Carmines. Rushing to a time where I caught her naked down the shore, being un impressed, all the snarky judgmental notions of what I was doing with my life. All the hugs we pretended to love each other for him. Deciding I was glad she was gone.
“Listen brother, I know you’re hurting—but I hated the bitch.” I said.
“That’s the coldest thing any one has ever told me.”
“I’m sorry. I—“
“Just shut the fuck up.”
He stood up and sat back down. I noticed his Chuck’s were unlaced. I was going to tell him, deciding against it. I was going to shut my mouth and perhaps the rain against the windows would bring some sort of peace, with the smooth use of glassware, and the hum of conversation. For all its faults, it was a beautiful night to drink.
“Two more.” He told the barman.
“Before there were fucking stars I loved her.” He said, and instead of crying he sipped his whiskey.
