"Angel's Share"

Bombastic applause erupted from all corners of the bar. A chant crescendoed from the middle of the scene, whose slurred language was so inviting that Joel would have to be stone-cold sober not to chime in. The meandering chants merged into a single name, that of a woman who started off in the mailroom and who, after nearly a decade, had just been named a new partner at the firm. The associates and a few courageous interns lifted her, shouting, “Saltzman! Saltzman! Saltzman!” Bubbles and spirits spilled all over them but they paid no mind. Joel leaned back in his chair and let the drink in his hand envelop his mind in his own silence; a silence that trickled down his throat in a fiery dance that ended with a sigh of relief so pleasant, not even sleep could hope to compare. The last of the whiskey entered his mouth and the ice cubes burned his upper lip. And now the sigh.

Off-key singing, unnecessary yelling, a misplaced step or two, and the occasional tumble; a chaotic ecstasy that had become all too familiar to Joel but had never lost its charm. Joel’s roommate, Eddie, would not approve of such pleasant barbarity. Eddie was the worst kind of judge: a passive one. Joel would have more respect for him if he only said what he was thinking instead of simply sitting in the corner, offering different types of facial distortions that hinted the same smugness of superiority. Eddie had even tried to convince Joel to stay in the apartment with him for the night, to tone down the nightly routine. Joel lifted his empty glass and bellowed to the empty seat beside him, “Cheers, Eddie!” He sucked in an ice cube and crushed it between his teeth.

“What are we celebrating?” The voice ripped his attention. The empty seat had been filled by a young woman whose pointed nose and crooked smile was framed by long jet-black hair. She swirled the contents of her glass in front of her mouth. “What are we celebrating?” she repeated.

Joel straightened himself and bit his lower lip to prevent himself from saying anything without properly thinking about it first. “My roommate,” he finally said. “He doesn’t usually come to these things so I’m taking a drink on his behalf.”

She gestured to Joel’s hands with her dark, reflective eyes. “Your cup’s empty,” she said. She set her own glass down between them. “Sounds like he’s missing all the fun.” The way she smiled made him want to tell her everything, and yet it was the smoothness of her voice that made him feel as if she had heard it all before.

“Do I know you? Are you with the firm? Are you a friend Tamara Saltzman?” It was only after the last syllable slipped from his tongue that he realized he had bombarded her. An embarrassment washed over him that he hoped the shadows would hide.

Another smile from the woman told him that he did not need to hide his face. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” she said. “I would greet her but she seems rather preoccupied at the moment.”

“What’s your name?”

“People call me many names,” she said, “but you can call me Yama.”

Joel interrogated every curve, every wrinkle, every detail on the woman’s face, but everytime he tried to capture her face in the moment, it would evade him, like floaters in the eye. “That’s an original name. I don’t think I’d forget it.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever known it.”

Silence filled the space between them. “Where do I know you from?” said Joel.

“Who’s to say we know each other?”

The shadows kept moving, her face becoming less visible. “Just a feeling.”

Yama served another smile, but it looked more like a wince than a smile. “I have those moments too. Sometimes I feel like I’ve lived so long that I’ve seen every face there is even when I haven’t. It’s funny how some strangers look more familiar than friends. I don’t work at the firm. I don’t know who Tamara is. I work at a brewery not too far from here. I always smell like a brewery so you know I’m not lying.” Joel could not resist but to take a whiff, pleasantly surprised by the earthy perfume that tickled his nose. “I can smell the oak barrels even now,” she said. She dove deep into his eyes. “Can you smell them?”

To entertain the woman, Joel sniffed the air once more. He froze. Such a smell, one so smooth and yet so bitter, simply could not be mistaken. He let the aroma of porous wood enter his body and course through his veins. “I can smell them.” He laughed. “I could bleed whiskey right about now.”

Slow in her movements, she leaned closer to him. A potent gust of damp oak caressed his face and he bathed in it delightedly. She parted her smile once more. “When you’re standing in front of rows of hundreds of oak barrels, you can’t help but treat yourself to a big whiff of it all. Evaporated whiskey fills the air and coats you in fire.

“Sounds like heaven,” he said.

“Close to it, I guess. Do you know what that’s called, when that precious drink evaporates?” Joel shook his head. “It’s called the angel’s share.”

Memories and realizations seized his throat. A violent storm of coughs erupted, as if the previous six or so drinks were clawing their way out of his body. “I know you,” he said out of breath. “I swear to God I know you.”

The young woman shrugged. “I’m just a stranger. It’s like I said, some strangers have familiar faces.”

“This isn’t that,” he blurted. “The thought of you is so hazy, but I swear it’s there. We’ve sat down here before. We’ve had conversations at this table before. On my life, I can’t find your face, I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. You’ve been in my head before.” Tears moistened the rims of his eyes. “I just can’t remember.”

“Maybe this will help.” She pushed the glass towards him.

Joel recoiled at the sight of the drink. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

“I insist.” She pushed the glass closer. “Drink.”

“I can’t,” he said. 

“Why not?”

“I just can’t. You know I can’t.”

“That’s not an explanation. Drink.”

Joel breathed shakily. “I can’t. Because I know what happens if I do. I’ve seen it. I don’t know how, but I’ve seen it.”

“What do you see?” she said, savoring his fear.

“I see my dad carrying me on his shoulders. I see my mother taking me to see a movie on a school day. I see my little sister being born. I see how she became my best friend, and how she copied my every move until she was smart enough to find out that that wasn’t the best idea. I see my tenth birthday when all the lights went out and we lit the fireplace we never used. I see the day my sister came crying because of what some girls said about her, and how she had enough trust to tell me about it. I see my first kiss on the hood of my car and how happy I felt. I see the day mom got sick. I see the day we cried believing it was her last. I see the day mom got better. And now I see broken glass. Lots of it, all over the street. And lights. Red, green, and blinding. And then nothing. Nothing.”

They sat in silence for several heartbeats. Yama’s smile faded.

“Is this not fun for you anymore?” said Joel.

She shook her head. “For all the times we’ve been through this, this is the most aware you’ve been.”

His mouth twitched, fighting back a cry. “How many times has this night happened?”

“You’d be better off not knowing. But no matter how many times we sit here at this table and have our little conversation, it always ends the same way.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” said Joel.

Yama signaled her dark eyes to the table where Joel had taken a firm grip of the drink. “That’s not how this works.”

Numbness crawled up his toes and chewed through his body. “I didn’t do that,” he said. “I didn’t do that!”

“Yes, you did. The first time and several times after that,” she said.

The glass lifted off the table. “Please make it stop.” The medical stench invaded his nostrils. “Don’t let this happen. Please!” The young woman sat there, every muscle undisturbed. “PLEASE!” All Joel could hear now was the ice dancing in the firewater as he tipped the glass into his mouth. The infernal kiss forced itself down his throat. He was prisoner to the endless stream that burned his gullet. It went on and on, burning and burning. His eyes were open so he could witness the brown waves that rushed into him. The ice finally hit his lip and he let out a shudder.

“Now go home,” said Yama.

The numbness dissipated in his right hand only to reveal the icy touch of his car keys. Tears painted thin streams down his cheeks. Those too had the scent of whiskey. “Will it hurt?” he said.

“For you, no.”

“For me? What do you mean for me?

She offered him silence and nothing else. She let him revel in his grotesque imagination.

“Do they suffer?”

“Only the one that survived,” she said. All Joel could smell was burnt rubber. The sound of the chair as he stood up sounded like the screeches against asphalt. Yama seized his arm before he could go any further. “If it’s any consolation, your sister is doing well. She decided to follow in your footsteps and has made quite a living for herself as an attorney. She still grieves at times, naturally, but now she’s got a husband that cares for her, makes her laugh at the right moments, makes her feel safe when it’s most important. They have a son. Do you want to know what they named him?” She saw in his drowned, puffy eyes that he knew. She let him go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His body dragged itself out of the bar and into the rows of cars parked out front. His hands were kept in front of him in case he fell, but he knew that eventually he’d find the door handle of his car. And so he did. He sat in the driver’s seat, though all he was but a passenger. Joel took a deep breath and tried to scream, but all he heard was the ignition.