Bar Talk

Why were bar tops always made of some deep, dark wood with so much polish on it that one could see their sad face in crystal clear high definition as they ordered another drink? And why was the wood always so slippery? Just for barkeeps to fling drinks around like they’re in some sort of low-brow curling match? And the music… songs just played again and again. In the three hours that Ted had been at McCarson’s Corner, he had heard the same crappy pop song play at least seven times. As the high snares started up to signal the beginning of the song, he called to the barkeep. 

“What can I get you?” asked the young man, smiling. He was tall, broad, and generally handsome, with neatly cut brown hair and a mischievous grin. Ted thought the man looked boring. 

“Just… is there anything you can do about the music?” asked Ted warily. “Please… it’s driving me absolutely nuts, I mean… the same song? Eight times?”

“Woo! I love this song!” cried a random dancer from thirty feet behind Ted. 

The barkeep looked sympathetic. “Sorry, man… the juke’s over there in the corner-” he gestured to a glowing display on the other side of the dance floor, “-the guests pick the music.”

Ted grimaced. “I see.”

“Uh… Well, is there anything else I can get you?” asked the barkeep. Without waiting for a reply, he asked, “Oh, alright. What’s wrong?”

Ted gave him a sharp glance. “I didn’t say anything was wrong.”

The barkeep sighed. “You don’t have to. Look man, you’ve been here for over three hours now, drinking martinis and beers, and you haven’t said a word to anyone except me. You haven’t even gone to the bathroom!”

“I can hold my liquor,” said Ted, his waistline feeling uncomfortably portly all of a sudden. “Besides, I didn’t ask for your help.”

The barkeep’s warm brown eyes narrowed. “Okay, but you’re really killing the vibe here, man. I mean it’s Saturday night. This is a college town. People are here to turn it up, and you’re over here stirring your martini like it’s some sort of British pub that serves the royal family!”

Ted snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need help,” said the barkeep sternly, “whether you want it or not.”

There was a pause in which Ted heard some more cheers from the dance floor behind him. Some deep-voiced frat guy yelled, “Wet t-shirt party!”, which was followed by more, mostly male, cheers. Ted downed his martini and finally looked the barkeep in the eyes as he said, “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Wow, all that pause just to brush me off again?” The barkeep nodded, looking oddly amused. “Well, I can tell it’s not heartbreak-”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve worked here a long time, my friend,” he said slowly, “I’ve seen a lot of people who look like you do right now. That hangdog face, that messed up hair-”

“What’s wrong with my hair,” said Ted suddenly, flattening the gray-streaked mass on his head subconsciously. 

The barkeep laughed. “Nothing, man. But like I was saying, I’ve been here for fifteen years, and-”

“How old are you?” interrupted Ted, immediately adding, “Sorry.”

The barkeep just smiled and said, “I’m 37.”

“Of course you’d age well,” grumbled Ted. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Ted quickly, tapping his martini glass. 

The barkeep sighed, fixing Ted another drink. As soon as it was placed before him, the barkeep said, “Anyway, as I was saying. It’s not heartbreak. I’ve seen that before, and this ain’t it. And I can tell you’re too old to be flunking exams like some of the young students I see in here-”

“Gee, thanks,” said Ted, taking a long sip.

“That’s not what I…” The barkeep pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, what is wrong with you? That’s all I’m asking. God, I don’t know why you’re so-”

“Difficult?’ asked Ted quietly. 

The barkeep pursed his lips. “Yeah. Difficult.”

Another long pause and a plastered young woman came up to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic. The barkeep absentmindedly put it together and then returned to Ted, his expression patient and yet forceful. Finally, Ted said, “I’m sorry. I… I’m not usually like this, but I… I recently suffered a loss, and I… Well, suffice to say I can’t afford any of the good bars in town-”

“Gee, thanks.”

Ted facepalmed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay,” the barkeep grinned, “keep going.”

He returned the smile, a little embarrassed, but finished, “I just need something to… fill me up, I guess. Literally and…” he trailed off into nothing, taking another hard sip and shaking his head. 

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” said the barkeep, “Was the person close to you when they died?”

“Hm? Oh, they’re not dead,” said Ted absently.

Frowning, the barkeep replied, “Then… if it’s not heartbreak, and it’s not death…”

“It was a friend, okay? Actually, it was a few friends,” Ted took one large gulp and burped up a combination of olive, gin, stout beer, and vermouth. 

“Ah. A falling out. I get that.”

“No, you don’t,” spat Ted, his temper flaring. “These guys… I mean, I really loved them. We met at work a few years ago. I’d always had some trouble making friends after college, but when we found out we all liked cricket - it’s weird, I know, but we just started… hanging out.”

“So what went wrong?”

“Me, I went wrong,” said Ted bitterly. “I… said something I shouldn’t have said. And when I got confronted with it, I tried to play damage control for a long time without apologizing, that when I did apologize it felt fake and like, ‘too little, too late’, even to me.”

“Oh… so your friends…”

“Well, Jacob says he never wants to see me again, pretty sure Devin blocked my phone number, and John… Well, John tried to make amends, and in all fairness I’ve helped him a lot over the years - he was going through a divorce when I met him and I… helped him find the right lawyer. John tried to reach out, but I don’t think I can just be friends with John. And I don’t want to have him be the bridge between Jacob, Devin, and I.”

“That’s fair,” said the barkeep, wiping the counter down, “So you think there’s no chance you all will make up?”

Ted smiled wryly. “No chance. You’d think that since we’re all over forty we could… not hold grudges like we were ten, or know that what was said was wrong, but it doesn’t mean the future has to be… bad.” 

“People never change,” said the barkeep. “Even though they say they do - even though everything we’re taught tells us that people mature as they grow older, nothing really changes. We always feel so egocentric about ourselves, about what’s important to us.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ted took another sip. “The point is, there’s no going back. They hate me now, but I… I miss them.” He couldn’t help his voice from cracking.

“Here you go,” said the barkeep, placing a steaming mug in front of him.

“What’s this?’ asked Ted, blinking. 

“It’s tea. Green tea, to be exact. No caffeine. Plus, it’s got a couple shots of mead in it. My mom always used to give this to me when I was feeling bad.”

Ted frowned. “Your… mom… used to give you alcohol when you were feeling bad? How old were you?”

“This happened when I was a kid,” the barkeep chuckled and added, “I should mention I’m a recovering alcoholic. That… probably wasn’t the worst thing my mom did to me, which I guess paints the picture of my sad young life, right?”

Ted laughed. “Yeah… I’m sorry, my problem must seem so… petty. You… you’ve really gone through something, and I… I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know when to shut their mouths and loses the three most important people in his life outside of his family.”

“So you’ve got family?” asked the barkeep. 

“I’ve got a sister and a set of decent parents, no offense-”

“None taken.”

“But it’s different,” Ted struggled to find the words. “I’ve never talked about my… friend life with my parents too much. I mean, in college I used to spend the weekends getting drunk and crashing frat parties and bars like this one. But as far as my parents were concerned, my friend group consisted of a bunch of chaste, bible-toting virgins who had never so much as looked at an alcoholic beverage.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It was. I hated lying.”

The barkeep pushed a beer in front of a man gesturing for it, and then turned back to Ted. “Y’know… I’m curious. You don’t have to tell me-”

“You wanna know what I said.” Ted shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. It’s too… fresh. But just know I was trying to help. I really was. I wanted things to be better for all my friends. I wanted to improve their lives. I thought that by being… Well, sort of blunt, I could get that done.”

“Ah, so absolute candor is what got you?” 

“What? Oh, candor.” Ted tapped his fingers on the bar. “No… it wasn’t exactly that. I mean, that was a part of it. But another part was my… poor choice of words. And another part was the fact that what I was told was in a sort of… casual confidence that I wouldn’t tell it to anyone else.”

“Your friends keep secrets from one another?” asked the barkeep, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not really, but… sometimes we weren’t always one hundred percent truthful with one another.” Ted laughed in spite of himself. “Sorry, he said, “This must seem awfully weird and complex for a group of four dudes who watch cricket together.”

“That can’t be all you do,” remarked the barkeep. 

“You’re right. But it does seem so… small. I wish they could see that I was trying to help out. My intentions were pure, it’s just…”

“Sometimes intentions get away from us. I remember one of my friends once had a girlfriend who he loved, right? And one day she asks him if he likes one of her dresses. Now, he figures it’s best to just tell the absolute truth. Previously, he had loved all her dresses, but this one was… well, it was bright yellow with pink polka dots-”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeesh is right,” the barkeep smiled. “Anyway, he tells her it looks really bad, and when she says, ‘seriously?’, he replies, ‘Yeah, babe. You look like your mother dressed you!’ Now, of course he means it well. He thought his frankness would just improve their relationship. He’d just help her dress better if he told her how bad the dress was, and she’d thank him. The… ‘mother’ part was just a joke, which he was hoping she’d take well.”

“I’m guessing she didn’t?” Ted took a sip of tea and found it surprisingly warming. 

The barkeep laughed. “You could say that. I mean, she stormed out and broke up with him over text, so I wouldn’t say it went too well.”

“So your point is that sometimes we go into things with the right intentions but what comes out is a giant mess?” Ted felt the warm mug but instead took a big swig of the martini still in front of him. 

“Yeah,” said the barkeep with an approving nod, “that’s what I’m saying.”

“Well, that doesn’t exactly help me, now does it?” said Ted venomously. “I know that, but how do I get my friends to know that? And if… if I can’t get them back, then what’s even the point, huh? I’ve done literally all I can to try and apologize. I even bought Jacob a bottle of 2002 merlot and I got Devin tickets to see India vs. Australia in Australia! I attached lengthy letters to both, and of course I’ve tried texting them, calling them, and even approaching them at work, but they… don’t respond.”

The barkeep nodded in grim acknowledgement and then went to serve a group of young men who’d just walked in with a wild look in their eyes. Once they had their light beers, and once the barkeep had taken care of another customer who wanted some complicated, fruity drink, he returned to Ted and crossed his arms. “So what’s the solution here? You’re just gonna keep drinking until it’s three in the morning, trying to fill the space in your heart your friends left you with booze? Isn’t that… cliche?”

“Cliche?” laughed Ted, “Of all the words, that’s the one you use? Not pathetic, or depressing, or moronic? You think it’s cliche?”

“I do,” said the barkeep with surety. “I mean can you be more cliche? You’re sitting here in a black jacket and wrinkled dress shirt with jeans thinking you can hide your gut by tightening your belt-”

“Hey!”

“And,” continued the barkeep loudly, “you seem to think there’s some possible way this will help you. Have you never read… a book, any book? I mean even in Harry Potter there’s people trying to cure their problems through drinking, and that’s a kid’s story! And y’know what? It never works.”

Ted stared into the dark wooden mirror of the bar top. “I know. It eats me up inside, too. You know what I do? For a living, I mean?”

The barkeep arched his eyebrows. “No, what d’you do?”

“I’m a literature professor specializing in theater. My friends were all professors in my own department.” Ted once again chose the martini over the tea. 

“Ah,” said the barkeep, “So you teach these kids?”

“Well, the school’s pretty big, so I can’t say I’d recognize many of them by sight, but yes. The problem is, we all have tenure here. So… we can’t leave, because that’d be disastrous for our careers. I can’t fire them because they do great work and honestly, I think that would be grounds for one of them strangling me in my sleep.”

“So you gotta see those guys everyday until you retire?”

Ted nodded gravely. “Yep. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it.”

There was a pause, but then the barkeep said, “I don’t know either, to be honest.”

“What?” Ted leaned forward. “I thought you were supposed to help me!”

The barkeep frowned. “Well, I tried. But it’s not like I have all the answers. I’m just a guy in his late thirties who isn’t married and works at the same small bar every night watching eighteen year olds get wasted with their fake IDs. I’d try and stop them, but that’d mean half the client base goes out, and my boss would kill me.”

“That’s nice,” said Ted dismissively, “But what about my friends?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Well, you’ll make new ones. Life is long, man. You’re only a few years older than me, right? Well, that means you got at least half your life left. Go join a club, start going to bookstores, or try getting a girlfriend.”

Ted laughed and shook his head. “I can’t get a friend and you want me to get a girlfriend? Do you realize-”

“How impossible that sounds?” said the barkeep frankly, “Yes, I do. But I also know that the answer to your problem isn’t at the bottom of that martini, and it’s not at the bottom of that now-lukewarm tea either.” Someone yelled to get the barkeep’s attention, so he went to attend to them and left Ted to wrestle with his muddled thoughts. 

For some time, Ted stared at the dark wood of the bar top, trying to lose the polished image which stared back at him. The dark blue eyes were haunting, the hair too thin, and the cheeks just a little too puffy. He wanted so desperately to just talk to one of his friends, but aside from John none of them were even entertaining his messages. They probably thought he was trying to buy their friendship back with the tickets and the wine, but all he wanted was to get their group back together. His mistake had been rooted in good intentions… and the knowledge that that wasn’t enough wasn’t itself enough. Ted knew there was nothing left to do, so why did he feel… hopeless? As though the world had shrunk back and revealed itself to be a black, frigid, void where Ted would roam for the rest of his diminutive existence. He shivered, reaching for the martini when the barkeep returned. 

“Look, you never asked me,” the barkeep’s arms were folded. 

“Asked you what?”

“If I… liked cricket.”

Ted snorted. “No one likes cricket. My… friends and I used to joke that even the players looked like they hated it.”

“Y’know, I grew up for some time in London,” said the barkeep, his eyes gleaming. “Cricket was the only sport I was ever really good at.”

Ted froze, looking up with just the faintest hope etched in his face. “You… You like cricket?”

The barkeep nodded. “I watch all the highlights on Youtube. I can’t afford the channels, so I just catch up when I can.”

There was a pregnant pause, but eventually Ted said slowly, “D’you… want to come over some time, catch a match? I’ve got the channels. And plenty of non-alcoholic drinks.”

The barkeep grinned and said, “Sure. Sounds like fun. Here’s my number-” he scribbled it down on a napkin, “-call me this week.”

“I will,” said Ted, pocketing it. The barkeep went to tend to other customers, and Ted smiled, feeling his heart thud happily in his chest. He looked at the bar and sighed, a little piece of him returning from the cold black canvas of the world and grounding him in reality. His hand moved from the martini to the green tea, and he sipped its lukewarm sweetness with pleasure.