The Need

“What will it be?”

“Give me a whiskey on the rocks, and make it a double.”

“Sorry, sir, we don’t serve that here.”

Gabriel looked up from following the wood grain of the bar counter. “You mean you’re all out?”

“No, sir, we don’t serve that here.”

Gabriel scoffed. It was just his luck that he ended up at the one bar in town that did not serve whiskey. 

“Fine, I’ll take a gin Old Fashioned. Double.”

“My apologies, we don’t serve that either.”

Gabriel audibly groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “Beer! Just give me a beer.”

The bartender folded his hands behind his back. “We don’t have beer either, sir.”

Gabriel slammed both hands down on the counter. “Do you serve any drinks at all?”

“May I offer you a glass of water?”

Gabriel froze, his mouth open, staring at the bartender. His blood began to boil, sure that the man behind the counter was mocking him, but before he could bite back he noticed in his peripheral what he had not noticed before. 

Pulling his focus away from the bartender, Gabriel swept his eyes over a back wall of empty shelves. Not a drink to be seen. A barren wasteland, devoid of even a glass. 

“What kind of bar is this?”

The man smiled softly. “That depends on what you need.”

When Gabriel stumbled across the new bar in town, he thought he had found a quiet place to drown out his misery. Now he had new concerns. 

He swiveled his head slowly, taking in the tiny space. It was only the two of them. 

“And what if what I need is alcohol?” Gabriel asked, turning back to the bartender. 

The man chucked. “I find that’s hardly ever the case.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that’s hardly ever the case.”

Gabriel frowned. 

“Tell me,” said the bartender, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter, “what were you looking for when you came in here?”

“I told you what I was looking for. I want a damn whiskey!”

“If that’s what you needed, it would be here.”

“It should be here because this is a bar!” Gabriel wasn’t sure why he didn’t just leave, thinking this man clearly enjoyed pretending to be wise. 

“Look,” he stood up and started to put his coat back on, “I didn’t come here to talk in circles. All I wanted was a moment of peace and silence—I think I deserve it after the week I’ve had—but if you’re just going to waste my time, I can go somewhere else.” 

The bartender placed a hand on the counter and leaned forward. “Please, sir, just humor me. I want to hear your story. Tell me what happened this week.”

Gabriel paused, one arm halfway into his coat sleeve. His first impulse was to tell the man to mind his own business. Then, he took a moment to consider. 

No one had taken any notice of his plight all week, or asked him to share anything about his life in a long time. Now, this oddity was showing a real interest in his problems, and he felt something in his chest loosen ever so slightly. 

What could be the harm in getting a little off his shoulders? 

Still standing, Gabriel said, “Well, if you really want to know, my father died Monday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you. He was a good man.”

“How did he go?”

Gabriel’s throat closed. The last few days, he had been telling people his father died from a broken heart. Only his ex-wife knew what that really meant. 

Yet, the man behind the bar stood so still with him, eyes unwandering, breath so steady, face so peaceful. Gabriel was surprised at the unfamiliar urge to be honest with him. 

Could he tell this perfect stranger the truth, he wondered?

He couldn’t meet the man’s eyes as he spoke. “He… well, he shot himself.”

He peeked out the corner of his eye. The bartender’s face remained unchanged, gaze and posture on Gabriel. 

Gabriel nodded to himself and took a shaky breath. “He wasn’t the same after my mother passed last year. Lost a lot of weight, didn’t talk much, you know?”

“Mmm, he was grieving?” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, he was grieving. It was horrible. I tried to be there for him, but I,” another shaky breath, “I was grieving too.” 

Sleepless nights flashed before him, empty whiskey bottles, streams of sympathy cards and phone calls. He heard the record he had played endlessly, piano keys echoing in his ears. He felt his father’s shoulder shaking in his hand. 

He clenched his fists. 

“He became completely inconsolable. It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“Everyone grieves differently.”

“But he never stopped!” 

Gabriel jerked his head to finally meet the bartender’s gaze, but his jaw went slack when he saw brown eyes shining and rimmed in red.

“What do you look like that for?”

“You must have felt so lost.”

Gabriel’s face burned. His next words came out like vomit, unearthed from the deepest trenches of his gut and coated in red. 

“I visited him almost every day. I picked up his groceries and made him food. I talked to him even when he wouldn’t talk back. I cleaned his house, I did his laundry, I brought his friends, I did everything a good son should have done. I did it all, and I didn’t complain. He should have gotten better. Why wasn’t I enough for him?”

He heard the gunshot.

Gabriel couldn’t see his reflection in the brown eyes before him, but he didn’t need to. When a tear fell down the bartender’s face, he felt his cheek wet too. Then the other. Then tears were pooling at his chin and dripping on his shirt. 

He turned his back as sobs wracked his body, the dam finally breaking. The bartender was right, he had felt lost. He felt lost to this day, now more than ever. He didn’t understand why his father had left him, and he knew he never would. All he could do was ache. 

His sobs sounded too loud in the tiny bar, cut short by erratic gasps that shook his whole body. On and on they went. 

Gabriel didn’t know how long he stood there and cried, but eventually, the tears subsided. He hung his head low in embarrassment, yet despite the remaining pressure in his head, his chest did not feel quite so tight, his shoulders not so heavy. 

He cleared his throat to cover a sniffle. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried in front of anyone, not even his ex-wife when they had still been married. He cringed at the mere idea of it. 

 “Sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re not the first man to cry in front of me.”

Gabriel chuckled. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. 

He looked down and saw one arm still halfway through his coat sleeve. Slowly, he pulled it off to wipe at his face with his hand, turned, draped it over the bar stool, and sat back down.

“You’re a good listener.”

The corners of the bartender’s mouth lifted softly. “That’s a relief. It’s why I’m here.”

“To listen?”

“That’s how it usually works out.”

Gabriel sighed and placed his head in his hand. “I don’t understand you at all.”

The bartender shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

Gabriel had the brief urge to ask the bartender what he was really doing there. He had the wild notion that the man knew he would walk in, as if he had been waiting for him. However, the urge passed with the instinct that he wasn’t meant to know the answer. It wasn’t what he needed. 

“I’ll have that glass of water now, thank you.”