The Downtime Den

 Days were often meant to disappoint anymore, and that’s how they intended to keep themselves, with Leslie Rose relenting unto his worst habits.

To articulate just how much of a disappointment today had been would be hard met, as the words failed to suffice in any way that mattered. Anymore these were far too common an occurrence, unable to count the days on his fingers where he felt like everything was okay, and felt there was no healthier way to drown himself than the pity of sweet citrus.

The sky could not attest for his mood, as the evening shone with a majestic pink that promised sailor’s their delight. Even as uninviting as the asphalt and parking lots looked against the sky, he’d see the occasional couple gathered to capture the such gaud with one another in company.

The place on his mind- what had become the habit of comfort for him, was evermore exclusive, a miracle if he even still applied as an occupant. Far so many like him had realized their desires for drowning, baptizing themselves in the cool citrine of barmaid promises.

Only so many sad souls could relent themselves to the river of their taps before it became shallow enough to walk through.

And as the moonlight was brought behind the blanket of pink, and lit the city alive, Rose could not deny how serene the streets were. The quietness, so deep into the den of winding streets, alley’s with closed window shops. It was at the helm of a Christmas Eve walk, ever cold but without the snow.

It would not be long before Rose stumbled across his little oasis- but he would be reminded what disappointments such mirages did bring.

“I’m sorry, full occupation? It’s barely six on a weekday in the middle of January, what bar is full right now?” Rose’s protests had filled the streets as much as the looming cold did, warmth present only by the tempting doorway and the bouncer that occupied it.

“Sorry, special occasion, packed early for a party. Ain’t a single person getting in ‘til late tonight-” the stoic man articulated himself, showing antsy as he prepared for the night ahead of badgering drunks. “Besides, I think you’ve already had too much to drink.”

His stance had been clear as Rose ambled to the cold streets again, his mumbles being the only warmth he could reach up and touch.

“I haven’t even been drinking…”

He once again found himself stuck with the worst thing imaginable, a sober mind, left to stew in how awful he felt. At least that would warm his body.

Found again by the window panes of shops, he stared back at the early Valentine's Day gifts that started to align the stores, reminding himself of just how much he hated chocolate.

The more he walked the more he seemed to press into the thicket of the city like a knife, winding through the various nooks and crannies that most citizens stayed away from.

Where gamblers, womanizers and killers would usually mark the sidewalks with their own steps, instead he found something far different.

It was a small building, quaint, tucked away cozy against the cold that persisted into the night. It made him think of those walks to his cousin’s house on Thanksgiving, a turkey refined by its roaster in arms as he felt the warmth resonate to the feeble heart he had in his chest.

He almost felt intimidated- walking past the serene glow of the windows, planting the seeds of orange out to the pavement that they might grow into a welcoming essence.

Yet he did linger, held back by his desire to enter as much as the one to go back.

The name atop read Downtime Den, an allure of tiredness emanating from its broken fonts, like the peace of teetering between the lull of sleep and the comfort of wake.

It was eventually the feel of warmth that brought him in- leaving the cold world behind for the moon to give its wreaths.

Entry had startled him, as the usual ring of a bell was replaced by a loud squeal, looking up to see a rubber duck happily nestled above the door.

And it was quickly after that other sensations wandered in behind him like a bustling crowd, the sensation of warmth and one rather loudly telling him he made a mistake. This was surely a bar- being in the residentials it was but nonetheless sported the look of a Sunday daycare.

The familiar clash of rough night owls you’d have found in any tavern made him guess the décor was just special, but the men expressed a peace, despite their outwardness, conflicted by the orange glow that quelled them.

It couldn’t be ignored how blatantly childproof the place was, something Rose had considered as a cautionary measure for those inebriated by the services. Perhaps an indication of the bar’s pure intensity that such a unique measure was taken, but he again second guessed at the spare look of children around the bar.

He again had to ask if he stumbled into the wrong place or if this building was just catering to irresponsible adults. Who would bring their children to this place?

The floor had been a rather chosen texture of gentle padding, not the drear of the usual splintered saloon floor that ached from termites.

Most of the tables were round or had their corners padded with soft guards. Even the scent of cheap, gnarled cologne or nasty after work body sweat seemed to have been whisked away by the gentle aroma of the room.

As Rose came to what he could only assume was a bar stool, noting the tired gentlemen next to him having his hair braided by a little girl, he hesitated on humoring the small plastic chair in front of him.

He frankly felt ridiculous as it barely accompanied his size, piling more burdensome feelings on top of his persistent malaise.

Staring back over the counter he was confronted with his own reflection, one now adorned with colorful magnets. A sense of comfort was more notable in his eyes, something that had never been there before, a strange thing indeed.

The ‘menu,’ as he understood, was something else. A seemingly confusing hodgepodge of scribbles and crayon etchings had leant themselves to his eyes, their prices being completely inconsistent, if even there at all.

He wasn’t sure what a racecar being $290 meant but he was definitely not on any budget that would allow him to indulge in something like that.

As he stared in bewilderment at the makeshift bar, everything colorful and plastic, he was equally taken back by the tiny individual toddling behind the counter, whose head just barely reached the top.

After some grunts and the audible drag of a stool, a small bartender made himself visible. He was rather busy cleaning out a sippy cup with a cutesy hand towel.

“Hi.” was all the small boy said, staring at Rose as if waiting for him to follow queue.

“Um– hello?” he paused. “I’m sorry I don’t think I’m in the right…place–”

“This is the Downtime Den. It is sleepy time right now, so you have to be very very quiet." the tiny bartender interrupted Rose with a whisper, seeming to follow a strict script he had prepared for each customer, not keen on breaking it.

He was continuously thorough with the dry sippy cup as he pretended to move things around the counter that didn’t exist.

“Oh, yeah– quiet, of course. I will be very…quiet?” Rose reassured in confusion as the small bartender seemed satiated by his response.

The tiny bartender let out a heavy breath, hopping down and waddling over to more imaginary work as he struggled with a plastic tap on a kitchen set, washing out the cup with fake water, blowing raspberries as he did.

“What can I get you today?” he asked, quite busy with his cleaning.

Rose felt dumbfounded, looking around his chair, seeing if anyone else was responding to the sheer weirdness of what, he assumed, was some after school program. He felt out of place, distracted so much by his surroundings that he did not notice his mood drastically increasing.

His hesitation, and the look he gave over the bar, caught the little bartender’s attention as he waddled back over.

“You’re supposed to buy something from the menu, it’s how you play restaurant…” he whispered, as if sharing some foreboding knowledge with Rose.

Rose nodded, giving into the child’s play and handing across a bit of grandeur at their explanation. “Right, of course.”

He’s not sure what compelled him, if it wasn’t just child-like magic, but he felt to humor the small bartender’s request and looked over the menu. Again, it was quite incoherent, completely stumped as he was only really looking for the sake of playing along.

“Oh no…you can’t read.” Rose raised an eye at the boy, surprised at the remark as the bartender shook his head.

“It’s okay, I know a lot of kids who can’t read. My friend can’t read yet and he works here- but he’s busy with coloring and nap time right now.” the little bartender was rather matter-of-fact as he reassured Rose of his plight. “Let me help!”

The next few minutes were a rather one-sided back and forth revealing all of the potential options for Rose here at the Downtime Den, ranging from plastic food options to commissioned drawings from other’s on staff.

Rose had to point out their odd prices as it would seem the children were charging hundreds for what they meant as a few dollars. He offered a short explanation on how decimals worked.

“Ooooooooooh…” the tiny bartender expressed at his newfound knowledge. “That helps a lot, you should be a math teacher since you can’t read.”

Rose was dismissive enough of the remark, reaching to pay for these services as throwing away a few measly dollars was far more reasonable to him than the previous hundreds.

“No no, wait- we don’t pay with that here.” the small bartender punctuated at the sight of green, waddling over with a tired look on his face.

He seemed rather frustrated that Rose didn’t understand the memo of their establishment.

“Use these instead.” he hushed, handing over some play currency that had clearly been from a board game. “You’ll have to bring your own next time if you want to play properly.”

Rose wasn’t sure, nor could say, at what point he had become entirely snared by their play, but it was not long before he was indulging in as much of their services as he could, far more than he ever anticipated.

The children that he ‘paid’ were generous in the commissions he requested, mainly letting them draw whatever they wanted. In return he got a bountiful gesture of happier days, trucks, animals and stick figures holding hands. He thinks one of the kids tried to draw him too, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

At a point he emphasized how famished he was, followed by an explanation of such a ‘big by word,’ before finding himself in the company of rather- experimental dishes, like the ‘Jelly Bean Hamburger.’

The chef behind the counter was rather open about her secret ingredient.

Eventually a back and forth had broken out, a bickering between the staff about safety after the chef had ‘burned’ her finger on the stove top, something she articulated quite often with little ‘ouchies’ and ‘owies’ from her work station, as if she was doing it on purpose.

Rose found it rather unprofessional, personally, but he was also well aware of his own first wage job, so he didn’t insist upon it.

He felt an unmatched comfort in the tavern’s orange glow, looking across at others who flocked in that night.

He watched a young man explaining chess to three children as they played with a set they had discovered in the back.

He watched another gentleman having his face painted by a small girl, a contentment showing by the smile on his face. She wasn’t inherently doing that great of a job, but Rose figured that didn’t matter to him.

He watched a couple, cozily sitting in the back, nursing fake cups of hot chocolate, as they merely let a child draw and talk to them, a sweetness in their infectious smiles.

As the night drew to its eventual end, the children expressing their desire for sleep through the tired sway in their steps, there had been an impromptu ‘fire’ that forced the tavern to close early.

By fire this was, of course, articulated by drawings and stickers of flames being placed around the bar while the children expressed such concerns for patron safety, quickly escorting the adults out with the push of their little bodies.

With a set of pudgy little hands struggling to flip the open sign to a crudely drawn ‘naptime,’ Rose was left again to the cold- and yet his chest could not have felt warmer.

A shadow loomed over him, pressing its power so much that he might think it was a new moon that night. He stared up at the rough complexion of the gentleman who had been getting his face painted, the rough scrawl of kitten whiskers over his cheeks.

He had a gruff look about him, the stereotypical bike attire doing little to help, yet there was a calm in his eyes that Rose imagined he shared too.

“Don’t take it too personal, they just haven’t found out how to close like normal yet– they feel bad making customers leave so they always make up some reason to rush people out.” the kitten-faced man laughed heartily, reminding Rose of those Mall Santa’s with the charm in his voice and the white beard he sported.

“I apologize, you’re definitely a first timer here.” the kitten-faced man emphasized with a smile, articulating himself in a way that surprised Rose. “I’m Jonathan, a regular at the Downtime Den, same with the rest of these folks.”

He would gesture over at the other strangers from the bar, now tossed out into the fray of the cold.

Rose would note that none of them shook, their teeth did not chatter, no look of displeasure at the iced air, but rather the potency of their warmth, what radiated from their faces as well as the heat from their breaths.

“We’re all recovering substance users. We found this place and have been coming whenever we felt the habits of older nights start to kick in. I’ve been a good six months sober because of it.” he chuckled.

“Leslie.” Rose responded, nodding at the burly man. “I didn’t mean to show up uninvited, I sort of just found my way here…”

Jonathan expressed an all too knowingly look, his happiness almost infectious through the paint that hid his rosy cheeks. “I had a wake up call on this place after an incident at my work, I think it has a habit of showing up where it’s needed.”

“I think most people here can vouch for that experience anyways.”

Those stuck in their own headspace, or just with one another, would nod at Jonathan’s remark, a telling in their eyes of just how far back their lives went and how happier they were to have been here above all else.

Rose wasn’t aware of when it had happened, perhaps it was somewhere deep into their conversation but he found the window shops passing by once more as his feet had guided him alongside these strangers.

His reflection flickered with the bags under his eyes gone and a look of vigor that poured from his cheeks.

He listened keenly to the voices of those in the group and shared his in return, feeling as if he were sitting amidst the warmth of a dinner table.

“Oh, let me be sure to remind you of what board game money to try and bring, the kid’s have favorites and especially like it if you just bring the whole game.” Jonathan said, boasting as much warmth as a turkey roast.

Rose wasn’t certain of a lot of things- he always second guessed. He wasn’t sure of the bar, he wasn’t sure of these strangers and he was far from certain of himself in any way, but if there was one bit of clarity he had found that night it was how great it was to feel warm, and how he hoped he’d find it again in that little bar tomorrow.