Alcohol’s Advocate
Stage 1: Denial
Somewhere, tucked away between the edge of town and the pinewood forest, laid the Midnight Owl, a bar only known to the locals. Open everyday, all year long. A soft, warm glow emanating from it, lighten from the fairy lights that were spun around it like the final thread holding the place together.
It’s almost Christmas.” The bartender told me.
“I know.” I whispered into my nearly empty glass of old fashioned.
“You know, I don’t recognize you. Are you new to town?’
“Not really.”
“Huh, well you should come by more often. And talk more, too. Been here an hour and just started talking now.”
“I don’t think I ever got your name, stranger.”
“It’s--”
“Have you seen the birds?!” A short, young, man plopped down beside me, interrupting my conversation.
“The birds?” I asked.
“The birds! The government’s birds!” He exclaimed. “They’re watching me!” He leaned in too close to me and whispered. “Just this morning, after I got out of the shower, I saw one. Looking at me. Dead in the eyes. While I was naked.”
“That’s an image.” The bartender muttered to herself.
“I’m telling you! They’re on to me! The government is watching because I know the truth!”
“The truth?” I echoed.
“I know the truth about the Milborrow Fire!”
“Oh, I heard about that!” The bartender gasped. “Didn’t it kill like five people?”
“Four citizens and one fireman!” The man exclaimed.
“Tsk. A real tragedy.”
“You know, I was nearly killed by it too!” The man claimed. “I had an interview near there the day of the fire! But then, the bus I was on had a flat tire going over a pothole I never made it there!”
“That’s lucky.” The bartender commented.
“No it not! I’ve been unemployed for four months! Every time I try to get a job, something goes wrong! And it’s all the government’s fault!”
“That can’t be true.”
“Yes it is! The government takes care of the roads! They left that pothole there on purpose! Just so I would miss my interview.”
The bartender had a puzzled expression. “You can’t seriously blame the government for that, can you?”
The man pouted. “It is the government’s fault that I can’t get a job. Not mine. They should have made a better economy. It’s all their fault.”
I quietly finished off my drink, unsettled by the talk of the Milborrow. It’s a tragedy I’d rather not talk about.
Besides, I’ll see him tomorrow. I always do. Nothing’s changed. But for now, I just need another drink.
Stage 2: Anger
The next day, I plowed my way through a growing snowstorm to get to the Midnight Owl. Though, I’m not sure how there was even any snow left, considering the angry steam from my ears should have been enough to melt it all.
I took a seat at the bar next to a brunette man with a bushy mustache and a tomato-red face. “Hey, stranger.” The bartender greeted.
“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks.”
“Sure, thing.” She slid me a drink. “I still don’t know your name, though.”
“It’s--”
“ARGH!” The man next to me exclaimed. “I hate this snow!”
“Woah, Frank. What’s got your underwear in a bunch?”
“The roads are fully plowed so I accidentally drove my car into a snowbank on the way here! The engine was smoking and everything! It’s gonna take a fortune to replace!” He screamed with his face turning ruby-red now.
“Easy there, Frank. You know what the doctor said about your stress levels. Once your face gets to crimson, I’m gonna have to call Dr. Loward.” The bartender teased. They turned to me. “Don’t worry about, Frank.” They told me. “He’s normally like this. Frank’s a sweet guy, though. A real family guy. However, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without his signature red face. Ain’t that right, Frank?”
“How am I SUPPOSED TO PAY FOR MY DAUGHTER’S BALLET LESSONS NOW?!” He hollered. “JIMMY HOW COULD YOU LET ME DOWN?!”
“Jimmy?” The bartender asked.
“Jimmy Douer! He usually plows the roads, and he was the best damn plower this city has ever seen! But he was volunteering as a fireman during the Milborrow Fire!” Frank screamed. “We may have never met, but I’ll always miss you and you’re plowed roads, Jimmy!”
“And that’s it, you’re crimson. I’m calling the doctor.” The bartender declared.
“What?! I can’t afford a medical bill now!!!”
“It’s for your own good! You want to live a long life and see your daughter grow up, don’t you?”
“YES I DO! I LOVE MY DAUGHTER WITH ALL MY HEART!!!!”
While, they continued to argue, I began to fade off into my own head. He didn’t come home today. It’s always those freaking jobs that keeps him away from me. I hate it. I’m still angry.
Stage 3: Bargaining
When I walked into the bar the next day, the bartender was in the midst of an argument with another man. “Oh come on!”
“Sorry, you have to pay for drinks here.” The bartender noticed me sitting down. “What can I get you, valued, paying customer?”
“Volka.”
“Hitting the heavy stuff? Alright.” She filled up a shot. “But you have to tell me your name this time.”
“It’s--”
The broke man cut me off. “I’m only a few short! Cut a guy some slack. I’ve been a regular here for years!”
The bartender crossed her arms. “Well, I just started working here, so that doesn’t really matter to me.”
“But, Jimmy always used to cover me!”
“Jimmy? Jimmy Douer?”
“Yeah! You know the guy! Shame what happened to him. I didn’t know much about his personal life, but he was a great guy. I heard he got married just before the whole fire. So can’t you cut me a break? For poor Jimmy’s old drinking buddy?”
“A sob story doesn’t change the price of alcohol.”
The man grumbled and settled on one of the cheaper beers.
I stared down the middle of my glass. I never should have let him go. Maybe I should go to church more often. See if I can strike a few favors.
Stage 4: Depression
I didn’t go to church. Only the bar. Always the bar. This time, I didn’t talk much--not that I ever did. No, this time, I didn’t talk at all. I just listened.
On Christmas night, there was only one other customer at the bar there: a college girl who just had her heart stomped on. With puffy eyes and a sore throat, she cried into her tequila as the bartender fetched more tissues from the back.
“I just…” She sniffled. “I just loved him.”
I loved him.
“I thought he would have loved me back!” She wailed. “But the only person he loved was that slutty stripper!” The girl sobbed. “What does she have that I don’t? A crappy boob job?”
Her mascara ran down her cheeks. “And on Christmas? That’s when I find him hooking up with another?”
The girl collapsed on the bar in a fit of sobs and sniffles. I gazed down at my drink. Tequila as well. I felt my eyes sting. Carefully, I got up to leave. I didn’t want to be here any longer.
Just as I headed out the door, the bartender called open behind me. “Oh, hey. It’s you again. Lady, are you ever gonna tell me your name?”
“April Douer.” I calmly replied as I stepped out and into the chilling night.
Stage 5: Acceptance
The next night, I didn’t go to the bar. I didn’t go to church. I didn’t go anywhere in town. I went to the forest. Just the edge of it. Just to the graveyard. I stared at the mossy, carved stones from outside the iron gates. Keeping me out. I’m always on the outside now. Always alone.
Slowly, I pulled the gates open. In a state of semi-awareness, I walked inside.
All the graves had names, but to me, there wasn't anyone I knew. Just letters in stone.
I stopped. I knew these letters.
Jimmy Douer.
This is the first time I’ve seen those letters. The first time I’ve accepted his death.
Somehow, I managed to choke out the words. “Happy one month anniversary, love.”