A Refreshingly Dry Sunrise

Blake was never good at taking hints. 

His first hint that he was in the wrong place should have been the name of the bar itself. “Dry Jeremy’s” was arched over the front of the building, a shining neon beacon in a quiet town after sundown. The name wasn’t a feature Blake thought too hard on, and even if he had, it still would have taken him an hour or so to clue in to what it implied. All he knew was that “Dry Jeremy’s” was the first on the “bars near me” list currently displayed on his phone. 

He held little doubts as he sauntered up to the establishment, swayed by the look of the sign itself. Neon green lights spelled out the bar’s name in loose cursive, each letter beaming in succession. To anyone who wasn’t trying to drink their cares away, it was a clear parody of the sleazy joints you would typically only find in movies nowadays. To Blake, though, it was the real thing. 

The second hint signaling his mistake should have been the smaller signage stuck onto the outside walls and doors. There were posters advertising the local music artists that would be performing live each night; alongside those were advertisements of the snacks and drinks that were available to anyone wandering in on a late Saturday night. The most eye-catching sign, however, was the one placed directly on the front doors. With unmistakable bricked lettering, it spelled out the message “Enjoyment Without the Buzz”. 

Blake saw the sign, but he didn’t really process what it could mean; he just thought it was cute that a small bar like this could have its own slogan.

There were no bouncers outside to momentarily stop him and check his ID, so he walked in unobstructed. As some indie band played mellow country harmonies in the far corner of the quaint-looking dining room, Blake lazily scanned the area until he found that familiar sight of booze-stocked shelves behind a manned counter. 

The new patron made a beeline for the bar, quickly sliding onto the stool directly in front of the bartender. It was here that he somehow missed the third and final hint, one that should have hammered in the fact that Blake was in the exact opposite of where he wanted to be. Instead, he plopped down and drew out his wallet, sifting through years-old business cards and expired gift certificates for his ID before announcing, “I’d like a tequila sunrise, please.”

The bartender blinked owlishly at Blake, not saying a word as he casually gestured to Hint #3: a propped-up plastic sign that read in large red lettering, “WE DO NOT SERVE ALCOHOL HERE.”

Pausing with his ID tugged halfway out of its pocket, Blake stared at the sign blankly. He drew his gaze to the bartender, took a moment to silently glance around the room, then went back to gawking at the sign. In the end, all he could do was awkwardly slide the ID back into his wallet with an uncomfortable “Oh.”

Both men turned their gazes as a small snrk! was heard from across the bar, only to see a young woman swiftly apologize and hide behind her menu with a giggle. Blake’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Wanting to spare his ego the pain, he quickly gestured to a chalkboard sign off to the side, detailing an array of classic drinks you’d find in any bar. “Sorry, the list sort of threw me off. I mean, it’s full of— oh.” He stopped mid-lie when he read the words “Mocktails (Non-Alcoholic)” written above.

He cast his gaze helplessly at the wall of alcohol-stocked shelves he’d seen before, only to find that they were generic glass bottles with what looked like hand-painted designs on each. With a puff of his cheeks, Blake let out a slow exhale, not sure how to continue. Instead, he just let out a dumbfounded “This is a dry bar.”

“Yup,” replied the bartender, letting the “p” pop for emphasis. Even though he was sporting an amused look, he wasn’t at all annoyed or frustrated (two emotions that Blake wouldn’t blame him for having right about now). 

“Sorry,” Blake chuckled softly, trying to laugh off his own discomfort. “I just wandered into the first bar Google said was close to my house.” He got a nod and a curt hum in response. He thought about just hoping off the stool and heading out, but he had already walked all this way. The look he gave the bartender right then was beyond apologetic, and yet he continued to ask, “So… no alcohol? Not even for guys like me who just wander in?”

“The best I can offer you is low-alcohol beer,” the attendee suggested, already opening the fridge below where the rarely-used drinks resided. Blake wasn’t the first person to waltz in with little to no awareness of his surroundings, after all. The beer was kept just for those who came in disappointed and kept bugging him for anything similar to their drink of choice.

Blake quirked a brow. “How low are we talking? Like, 2%?”

“Like, 0.5%,” the other corrected, unable to help his light mocking.

Blake did some mental calculations, going through mental hoops to figure out how many of those beers it would take to get him wasted. The numbers he came up with told him that the chances of him getting drunk that night were improbable. He then bumped those chances up to impossible because he was awful at math. 

Defeated, he set his eyes back on the employee in front of him. He looked like he’d be the top search result for “vegan man” on Google, faded man bun and all. Even just looking at him made Blake want to consider picking up yoga; that was until he imagined himself positioned in a downward dog, a thought which promptly smacked a bit of sense into him. 

The name “Jer” was embroidered in red onto the breast of the man’s pine green shirt. It gave Blake a proper name to remember for the future when he would curl up in embarrassment at the memory of this night. He’d stumbled into a dry bar in clothes he hadn’t changed out of since yesterday and demanded a drink from someone who (with his luck) probably just completed his fifth year of sobriety.

“So… Do you know where the nearest bar is? The kind with alcohol?” he asked, glancing down at his phone to check his location.

“About a couple miles down in Fenrick Park,” was the reply as Jer shut the fridge.

The smile on the blond’s face was tight and painted with regret. “Well, that’s what I get for walking here,” he laughed humorlessly. “I left my car at home because I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive back.”

Jer’s grimace was sympathetic. “That’s rough.”

A period of silence passed before Blake finally asked in a sheepish voice, “Can I still have a sunrise? Minus the tequila, of course.”

A light smirk graced Jer’s lips, one that seemed more playful than teasing. “Yeah, sure thing.”

Blake watched with a light smile as the mocktail was made for him. “Even if I can’t get wasted, at least I can still enjoy the taste,” he reasoned with himself, just speaking idly to fill the silence between them. “It’s been forever since I’ve had one of these. Though, since it’s a dry bar, I’m guessing this stuff gets pretty expensive.”

“Pssh, nah. Not here, anyhow,” Jer corrected, beginning to add the key ingredients.

“That’s good to know.” The reply was a bit dull, but Blake couldn’t help but note how proficient Jer was at mixing up the drink. It wouldn’t be any surprise to him if it turned out he had some real bartending experience before this job.

Blake smiled as the sunrise was served to him, finding the paper straw placed lastly to be fitting for the establishment. ‘So progressive,’ he thought. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Jer waited until Blake was properly drinking the mocktail before saying, “That’ll be seventeen dollars, by the way.”

Blake’s brow flew up to his hairline, pausing mid-sip and staring at Jer with wide eyes. It wasn’t until the laughing began that he realized it was just a joke. His sigh of relief could be heard throughout the entire room.

As Jer turned to take the order of the woman several seats away, Blake found his eyes drawn up to the array of painted glass bottles. He noticed that they were all wine bottles, and while he was sure there was some deeper meaning there, any attempt to figure it out was swiftly abandoned. Doing so felt like it would be a lecture to himself. The soft glow of the LED lights behind them allowed the colored glass to glow where they stood, each positioned and painted just right to allow a perfect gradient of multiple hues to shine through. Blake stirred the straw in his glass idly as he was charmed by the sight, saying to the bartender, “That’s a real pretty display you have going on.”

Jer visibly brightened at the compliment, taking a step back to admire the bottles for himself. “Thank you! I painted them all myself.”

Blake was surprised once again, but for the first time that night, he found it to be a pleasant surprise. “You did?” When he got that nod of confirmation, he couldn’t help a smile. “That’s impressive. I’m sure the boss appreciates it.”

Jer looked away for a moment to see if the girl who had snickered earlier was listening in. She was nursing her root beer and lazily browsing through her phone, which gave him the opportunity to discreetly tap his nametag in front of his newest patron. Blake furrowed his brow for all of two seconds before his brain connected “Jer” with “Dry Jeremy’s”. He visibly winced at the realization, but was thankful the other had been kind enough to not to correct him out loud in front of others. “Ah. Sorry about that,” he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been a rough day.”

The apology was shrugged off quickly. Jer took a moment to thank some people for coming as they were heading out before turning his attention back to Blake. “Do you usually drink on rough days?” 

The blond gave him a warning look, but from the tone alone, the question appeared more genuine than simply a lead-in for a reprimand or lecture. After studying him for a second or two, Blake just shrugged. “I mean… yeah, but a lot of people do.” A pained grimace crossed his face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “I promised my daughter I’d lay off the alcohol for the month — you know, ‘Dry January’ and all that — but… man, I just need a drink.”

Another patron rose from their table and came to order a faux mint julep. Jer nodded and waited until he was done mixing the drink to return to Blake. “So, what happened today to make you quit?” he asked earnestly, checking the date to see that it was the 15th of January.

A distinct sourness overcame Blake’s features. His sneer wasn’t directed at Jer, but it was still unpleasant to see. It was the same look he had come in with — the features of a man who just wanted to get as drunk and as alone as possible. “I dunno. People, I guess.”

The deliberately vague answer signaled that it was time to change topics. Jer noted that despite Blake’s affinity for alcohol, this was his first time coming into the dry bar. This was despite the fact it had been open for close to six years now and was supposedly the closest to his house.

Jer’s observation wasn’t brought up.

“How’s the sunrise, at least?” he inquired.

Blake already had the answer in his mind, but he still pretended to consider it for a moment longer. “It's pretty good,” he admitted at last. “Can I have another?”

Jer’s expression twisted into one of mock concern. “I don’t know, man, I think you need to slow down. You’ve had a few too many.”

A loud snort of laughter left Blake, who immediately covered his mouth with his fist to quiet himself down in embarrassment. “Ah, sorry about that.”

The owner couldn’t help his smile. “No, no, don’t apologize — it’s cute.” Blake’s lips parted in surprise, but Jer smoothly moved forward as he began to make the second drink. “But seriously, this will be your last one. We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”

Brow furrowed, Blake quickly checked his phone to glance at the time. “You’re closing already? It’s only 12 — oh, yeah. You’re not a real bar.” He looked up from his mumbling to catch Jer’s unamused look. “Man, you know what I mean.”

Jer got over the slight with a chuckle and a shake of his head, serving the second sunrise soon after. “I have some chores to handle at home, so I’ll be leaving just after we lock the doors while my crew clean up the place.” He turned to begin shutting off some of the neon signs plastered on the wall. “If you stay around, I can drop you off at a bar. There’s one near my place.”

Blake dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand, lifting the glass so he could drink from it directly. “Thanks, but nah. I’m not making the owner of a dry bar drive me to get booze.”

“How about I drop you off at home?” Jer countered right after. “The bus around here doesn’t run this late, and it can get sketchy around here at night.”

The rim of the glass was at Blake’s lips, but he didn’t drink just yet, for he was searching for a trace of pity other’s features. There was none to be found. “I mean, sure. I won’t pass up that offer, but you don’t have to.”

Jer’s shrug was relaxed and came with a smile. “Tell you what. I’ll drive you home, and the next time you feel like drinking, you can come down here. Nights can be a little quiet here — not counting the music.”

The older man stared at him in silence for the next fifteen seconds. He then narrowed his eyes with heavy suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re being legit or if you’re just flirting with me,” he murmured, lifting the drink back to his lips.

Jer scoffed out a laugh. “Oh, so now you can take a hint?”

Blake nearly choked on his sunrise, having to messily wipe at his mouth with his sleeve so he could give Jer a proper middle finger. Despite that, he found himself laughing with the bartender. 

Watching Blake down the rest of the mocktail, Jer was quick to pick it up and set aside for washing. “So, how about that ride?”

The offer was considered and promptly accepted. “Sure, why not?” Blake agreed, his voice now mellow with traces of sober thoughtfulness. “No bar, though. Just take me home. I’m… I’m gonna see if I can last a couple more days.”