The Empty Glass

Henry Fletcher paced his home office. His computer fan whirred gently as a backdrop to the staccato rhythm of his feet marching back and forth across the carpet. He could hear his wife in the kitchen doing the dishes. He’d made dinner, so she was cleaning, per their deal. He was supposed to be finishing up a presentation for tomorrow. It was a big deal. He’d been working on this ad campaign for months. Blood, sweat, and tears. Not to mention swears and coffee stains.

Come on, Henry, come on. Get to it. Just sit down and fine tune the damn thing. Let’s go.

And still he paced.

“Henry?” His wife knocked softly, then opened the door. He hadn’t noticed the cessation of sink sounds, but he knew by now the dishwasher must be running. “What are you doing in here? Starting a one-man parade?”

“I don’t know.” Henry ran his hand through his hair, managed to stop pacing so he could shrug helplessly. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “This is stupid. Is this stupid? What do you think?”

“Is… what stupid?”

“I’ve been working this job for five years now, and I just realized I don’t even like it. I kept waiting to like it, but…” He looked around the room like he didn’t recognize it, stuck his hands in his pockets, took them out again. “Maybe it’s time for a change. You always said you wanted to move closer to your family, but we stalled on that. For my career, right? Why exactly are we putting my career ahead of our needs?”

“Uh… maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m not having a mental breakdown, Nadine. I just feel…” His hands were in his pockets again. His fingers found a marble that had strayed from one of their daughter’s favorite toys, and he began fidgeting with it, turning the smooth shape around and around. “I don’t know what I feel. I just know I might go crazy if I keep waiting for my life to happen to me.”

Nadine’s expression was sympathetic. She stepped forward and rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his arm. “Sounds like you’re a little restless. It’s normal, honey. Why don’t you take a day or two to think about what you want? Maybe everything will settle again.”

It was as if she’d flipped a switch inside him. Everything stilled. He released the marble so it settled in his pocket once more. His breath stopped short, and he could suddenly hear a rushing sound in his ears.

“Restless,” he repeated.

“I don’t mean to downplay your feelings,” Nadine hastily added. “I just mean… you’re pacing and fidgeting. It’s like you're itching for a change. That’s not a bad thing.”

Henry was grinning now, perhaps a little manically, but he couldn’t help it. He loved when all the pieces to a puzzle suddenly fell into place, and he could definitely see the picture now.

“Restless,” he said again. “Son of a bitch.” He grabbed his wife, kissed her long and hard, then pulled back so he held her at arm’s length. “Son of a bitch, Nadine. Call our realtor.”

Five years prior to his discussion with Nadine, Henry stepped through what had become a familiar doorway—wide glass panels surrounded by warm, golden wood—and took in the sights and scents of The Empty Glass. It was a Friday afternoon. He’d taken off work a couple hours early, and he had found himself seeking the comfort of this particular bar as he did several times every month. Gage was behind the bar, wiping down the empty bottles so that the elegant black script etched into the glass stood out clear and true, easily legible even from the distance at which Henry stood. He stepped further inside, passed an older couple playing chess at a cozy table by the window, and sat on a stool two down from a man who was looking at his shot glass like it had just said something passive-aggressive and he wasn’t sure whether to take offense.

“Welcome back,” Gage said, leaning companionably on the bar. “What’ll it be today?”

Henry scanned the simple, clear bottles on the shelves behind Gage. All of them empty, and yet full of so much more than his mind could ever comprehend. A part of him still wondered if this whole thing might be an elaborate con, but it was harmless and amusing enough to make that possibility acceptable. He had his usuals by now, and Gage knew it, but Henry found himself unsure what he was in the mood for this time around. His eyes flicked over label after label, hoping something would snag him and help him make a decision. The top shelf was dedicated to various forms of nostalgia, the simple script denoting if the bottle contained familial nostalgia, entertainment, friendship, education, etcetera. On the shelf immediately below was a mix of some common favorites.

Cheer

Love

Acceptance

Fun

Whimsy

His eyes caught on Confidence, the first selection he’d ever made. He remembered stopping into the quaint little pub on a whim all those weeks ago, knowing he had a little bit of time before his job interview. He’d had no intention of imbibing prior to meeting with a potential employer, but he’d caught sight of a display case of baked goods on his way past the window. Nothing wrong with a snack to help settle the stomach. Incredulity had struck him when he’d learned that The Empty Glass was not a traditional bar, but he’d played the game, ordered a shot of Confidence. He’d smirked when the bartender—Gage had been the first one he’d met—had gone through the process of opening an empty bottle, tipping its nonexistent contents into a shot glass, and replacing the stopper.

“You expect me to drink air?” he’d asked.

Gage shrugged. “You could walk away now. No charge. But if it’s only air, what’s the harm?”

Feeling ridiculous, Henry had picked up the little glass, studied it, then self-consciously tipped it to his lips. Warmth spread through him, moving slow as syrup through his veins, settling at the base of his skull, straightening his spine. It washed over him, a thick wave of Knowing He Could Do This. It wasn’t that his trepidations about the upcoming interview were gone, just that they no longer intimidated him beyond reason. The first moments were the most intense, followed by a more settled feeling in his gut, a conspicuous lack of nervous tap-tap-tapping of his foot against the barstool. Gage had sidled back up as Henry stared at the glass.

“What is this?” he’d asked, bewildered. “Do you pump drugs through the air vents?”

“Maybe,” Gage replied with a smile. “Others say it’s a placebo effect. You know…” They wiggled their fingers dramatically. “The power of suggestion!”

Henry couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I gotta say, that’s worth the price of admission.”

“Happy to hear it.”

Henry paid, tipped well, and left it at that. By the time he made it to the interview, it was unclear to him if the confidence he felt was the lingering effect of the Nothing he’d drunk, or if it was his own personal store that had picked up where the non-drink had left off.

Either way, he’d gotten the job.

And become a regular at The Empty Glass, sampling sips of silliness, chatting with fellow customers as they compared experiences with various shades of nostalgia, peace of mind, perceptiveness.

“Tell me something,” he said to Gage now. “How do you stop people from becoming addicted to this stuff?”

“There’s a reason we usually cut people off after one glass. You’d pretty much have to write me a dissertation and provide three character references before I topped you up.” Gage waved at a newcomer, held up a finger to let him know they’d be right with him, before turning back. “There was a woman who came in once. She’d just been at her grandmother’s funeral, wanted a glass of nostalgia. I gave her two. It comes down to instinct. If I thought she was going to get lost in it, or lose her ability to live without it, I never would have given her the second shot.”

“Good policy.”

“We like to think so. One sec.” Gage moved to the newcomer. “Gonna drink it today, Ace?”

“Who knows?” the newcomer said, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe today’s the day.”

“I believe in you.” Gage winked, then turned to grab the bottle of Acceptance off the shelf. He poured nothing out of the bottle into the glass, then slid the shot to the customer, who wrapped his hand around it but did not lift it.

“My divorce was finalized two weeks ago,” the customer explained, catching Henry’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” He laughed without humor. “I keep telling myself to take the damn shot. Think of it as medicine.” He shook his head. “I’m too chickenshit to try it. Or maybe I’m one of them masochists who likes the pain.”

Henry felt a pang of sympathy. Before he could react, the old man from the chess table leaned across the bar on his other side, smiled companionably at Gage.

“When’re you gonna get a bottle of Good at Chess, Gage? My wife’s kicking my ass.”

“Still backordered, I’m afraid,” Gage replied good-naturedly, the quick back-and-forth indicating this conversation occurred as regularly as the one they had with Mr. Non-Acceptance.

“Here.” The recently divorced customer slid his glass across the polished wood of the bar. “You might not win, but you can accept your defeat. On me.”

The old man eyed the glass, glanced at Gage. He’d already had a glass of Nostalgia with his wife, a sip of the past they often shared together on Friday evenings. He knew the unspoken rule that you usually switched to coffee and/or pastries after your shot. But Gage only shrugged. Smiling, the man toasted his benefactor with the small glass before tipping it back. Henry watched the old man’s throat bob with a swallow though he knew there had been nothing in the cup and nothing in his mouth. Then he watched the elderly face change; the smile he wore now could only be described as one of peaceful resignation. He returned to his wife, leaned down and kissed her cheek, then lifted her hand to press a second kiss to her knuckles. Henry saw worlds in their eyes, a thousand conversations in their expressions.

“Decided what you’re having today?” Gage asked.

Henry turned back to them. “Let me ask you this: What’s your favorite? I’ll take your recommendation. Bartender’s choice.”

Gage looked surprised by the question. He studied Henry for a moment as if testing his convictions, then said, “Are you sure? What if my favorite bottle is Regret?”

Frowning, Henry studied the shelves, looking for said label. “I didn’t know you carried that.”

“We don’t. It’s just an example. What I like might not be to your taste.”

Henry shrugged. “One misstep won’t make or break me. These things never last too long.”

“The effects you feel may not last long, but there are ripples that last longer.”

“Now it really sounds like you’re warning me off. What are you pouring yourself back there, Gage? Murder? Espionage?”

Gage chuckled. “We stopped selling those products shortly before Capone was arrested.” 

While Henry tried to discern if that had been a joke or God’s honest truth, Gage turned and bent to unlock a cabinet beneath the wall of shelves. They rose a moment later holding a bottle. Much as a sommelier would do with fine wine, they tipped the bottle towards Henry so he could read the label. Henry felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Restless? Why would you want that?”

Gage set the bottle on the bar with reverent care. “Every now and then, it’s nice to shake things up. Your feet don’t realize they’re stuck on a single path until they start itching for a fork in the road.”

“Huh.”

Henry contemplated the bottle. How bad could a few moments of restlessness be? What he’d told Gage had been true; the effects never overstayed their welcome.

“There’s one thing you should know about this particular bottle,” Gage said, tapping the plastic stopper. “It has a delayed response.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not this time.”

“How long is the delay?”

Gage turned the bottle gently back and forth like a hypnotist trying to subtly capture their subject’s attention. “I can’t say. It’s different every time.”

“Wow.” Henry let out a long breath. So he was in for a surprise… when? In an hour? A month? A year? Gage hadn’t specified. “Alright,” he found himself saying. “Let’s have it.”

“You got it. That’ll be $9.”

Henry took out his wallet while Gage carefully removed the stopper and found a fresh glass. They tipped the bottle, pouring emptiness into the glass, somehow determining when enough was enough—as they always did—and stopping the pour. They replaced the bottle, locked the cabinet, then turned to nudge the glass towards Henry. Henry contemplated it a moment, then shrugged and put it to his lips.

For the first time since he started coming to The Empty Glass, he felt the offering live up to its name. It was like attempting to drink air. Never before had he truly considered that every single experience at this bar was in his own head. He’d always felt… something. He glanced at Gage with a question in his eyes.

Gage only nodded once at him. “Delayed response. Do you want me to comp you this time?”

“No. No, I’ll pay.” He had no problem going on a little faith. Henry handed over his credit card. “Go ahead and open a tab. I’m going to stay for a latte, maybe one of those little croissants with the chocolate in them.”

Gage took the payment, then found their way to the espresso machine to make Henry’s latte. People came and went while Henry chased Restlessness with espresso, wondering how long he’d be waiting.

An hour?

A day?

A year?

He drank his coffee, and he wondered.