The
pub door swings open, the light rushing in like a wave. The dim tavern is bathed
in light for a moment until the man that entered scurries into the back of the
bar, into the shadows. Tommy wishes he could do the same thing. Although, one
could argue darkness is what got him into this mess in the first place.
Tommy
sits alone at the bar. He has a whiskey that’s grown warm over time, causing
the once round ice cubes to melt within the bourbon and make it slightly
lighter in color. He keeps an eye on the
door. Every time it opens, letting that telltale blast of bright sunshine into
the dark recesses of the pub, he glances behind him. His eyes are a constant carousel
of tension, hope and disappointment.
He
uses his hand to turn the tumbler in front of him, then he swirls the liquid
around inside without drinking. At that moment he wishes he would’ve sat on the
other side of the bar. He could’ve seen the door more clearly, would’ve had the
bartender’s television to pretend to watch.
Tommy
suffers a deep breath, the effort causing a racket that rattles up through his
chest and out his mouth. He labors to stifle his coughs so he doesn’t draw attention.
He grimaces both before and after the sip of whiskey that follows.
The
door opens again, but this time it’s another member of the wait staff. The kid has
a cool pluckiness about him; his hair slicked back and parted on the right. It
was the type of cut that was standard issue for men back in the 1950s. Tommy hadn’t
seen one in awhile, it was almost enough to make him smile. Tommy watched the kid head to the backroom,
balled up apron clasped in one hand.
“Good
afternoon Thomas.”
Tommy
nearly clenched his chest due to shock. He hadn’t even heard anyone plop down
next to him. “Joe-” Tommy started to turn and speak but the man raised a hand
quickly, signaling him to stop.
In
an even toned cadence, Joe, the new man at the bar began to speak, “You didn’t think
I was going to walk right in the front door, so you could ambush me with your
crap did ya? Here’s how this is going to work. I will sit next to you for five
minutes. You don’t look at me or touch me, if you do I leave. If you mention
her name, I leave. If you say anything about that night, I leave. Got it?”
Tommy
nodded solemnly.
The
bartender approached Joe placing a small square napkin in front of him, but he
was curtly waived away, “Ok, other than the fact that I’m a better man than
you, tell me why I’m here?”
Tommy’s
face flushed, this was what he wanted, and this was the moment. The line that
he had rehearsed in his head a thousand times, hell, the line he had spoken to Joe
ten thousand times as well. Tommy had broken out in a sour sweat, the kind that
produces the odor only weak nerves and awkwardness can create.
“Well?”
Joe prodded.
Tommy
did his best not to look at Joe as he finally began to speak. “I’m…ah…I’m dying
Joe.”
Face
forward, stiff bodied, Joe barely reacted, “Aren’t we all…” he twirled his
finger motioning for Tommy to get on with the story.
“I
um, wanted to see if you’d want something from me?” Tommy’s voice seemed
dreadful and hopeful at the same time.
“What
could I possibly want from you?”
“Closure?”
Joe
began to laugh, softly at first, but then the chuckle grew into a long and mighty
roar. His face reddened and he nearly fell, rocking the stool on which he sat.
Tommy’s
face was as red as it could get. “I’m serious Joe. Isn’t there anything you
want to say to me?”
Still
staring straight ahead, “Oh Thomas, there’s a lot of things I wanna say to you.
I could let you have it; I mean really let the four letter words fly. Or worse
yet, I could hit you. And ya it might be satisfying- even though according to
you I’d be clobbering a dying man and all- but hey we both know you deserve it.
Come to think of it, I’d bet you’d somehow see that as atoning for what you
did.” Joe paused, let out a sigh, “But all that said, none of it would really
change anything. That momentary satisfaction, that second of pleasure as I call
you every name in the book, or stand over your unconscious body, eventually it
would sour, I’d feel regret. I’d feel shame at acting against another person,
let alone a friend, in such a way.”
Tommy
was stone silent, facing forward. Joe was confident from his peripherals, he
could see more than a few crocodile tears trickling down the side of Tommy’s
face.
“I
meant what I said Tommy. I am the better man. I won’t speak of that night- not
with you, not with anyone- not ever. But I will say this, you are the selfish
one, you acted in the moment, did what you did without thinking, and when it
was all over you got to go on your way. Wham-bam-thank
you-ma’am. And I got to do what had to be done, deal in the aftermath, all
the filth and muck you created. But it’s not about what you did to me. It’s
about what you did to her…” it was now Joe who was getting emotional, his own
words getting caught in his throat.
Joe
paused, took a breath. “Last thing; you don’t get to come here asking for
closure. You did what you did, and got off scot-free as far as I’m concerned. She
lived in hell because of what you did. Day in and day out, the suffering, the
pain. There was no respite, no easy days there at the end, and then she was
gone. You don’t get to seek solace for
that. You don’t get closure because you robbed her of hers. And now you’ll die
suffering, knowing every day you wake up and every night you go to sleep, until
you draw your last breath that you aren’t forgiven.”
Tommy
was shaking, his hands clasped before him to mask the tears.
Joe
looked twenty pounds lighter than when he had sat down. As swiftly as he
arrived, he departed.
Tommy
was alone again. He drained the glass of whiskey and wonders foolishly why he thought this might go another way.
