Never Forgotten

I stared at the smoke curling around the lights that lined the ceiling. The familiar smell of cigars comforting the ache in my chest. I turn on the leaning barstool, glancing over the people that fill the old bars room. 

I often come to the dirty spot that sits beside the towns burger and fry walk up. The owner didn’t care if you dropped grease, ash, or blood on the bar top. He kept it rough and straight forward, just like his father did. It was a family only operation. 

The bar offered a prime spot to overhear the local gossip and watch people make fools of themselves. It made me feel a little less alone in the world. It gave me something to look forward to after a long day of bullshit. 

Kole, the newest owner in the family rotation, shuffles by and looks pointedly at my empty cup. Due to his lanky arms, all he has to do is some minimal effort to grab the bottle of top shelf whiskey I’d been sipping from. He leans against the bar top, pouring my glass half full. 

“Anything worth debriefing?” He knows my penchant for collecting gossip. He and I often spent nights guessing who was fucking whose spouse. I sipped on the new pour, shaking my head after coating my throat with a comfortable burn. 

“Nothing yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I hear something juicy.” He gives a grunt and heads to the other end of the bar to chat with the other regulars. Most of them leave me alone if they’d been coming often enough. They know I’m not much for small talk. 

Time passes and my drink slowly lowers again. I contemplate on grabbing a bite next door and then heading back to my quiet home on my quiet street. To continue living in my grey life felt like too much weight some days. It had been a while since I’d felt anything above “okay”.  

As I come to the conclusion to drag my sorry ass out, a heavy presence appears to my right. I feel someone directly next to me, even though most seats lining the bar are available. 

Something settles in the air. It feels charged, like this moment is somehow more important than the ones before it. Like a force is begging me to not look away.  

I turn to the person next to me, facing the curiosity. I find tall, dark and handsome leaned against the bar, his elbows bracing against the counter with his jaw cradled in his palms. Feeling my stare, he meets my convicting look with a soft smile on his face. 

“I like coming in after a successful work day. Marks the occasion appropriately. How did your day go? Hopefully in your favor!” The man holds my gaze comfortably, as if he has no feeling of the resistance meeting a stranger can hold over initial interactions. I pause for a moment, caught off guard. I then find I like his ease. He feels welcoming, as if everyone he meets must become his friend. The way he holds himself feels so familiar, almost like we’ve met before. Although, I’m confident I would’ve remembered meeting a man that looked like him.  

“I’m normally the opposite. Long day means lots of drinks. I also enjoy people watching under any circumstances.” I give a half smile, slightly surprised I share that last bit. 

His grin grows wide over his face, teeth shining. “Oh hell, you must see all kinds of things! Tell me something you’ve found the most entertaining.” I chuckle and oblige. 

Time passes as we laugh over the ridiculousness of the people in the bars past. The amount of scandals I’ve seen unravel. 

“I didn’t catch your name. I’m Kate.” I think about how we seemed to have launch right into a familiar friendship even though I don’t know his name. 

He reaches across the small space to shake my hand and says, “Beau.”

I respond by grasping his hand and gently shaking it. 

“Tell me about yourself Beau. I must know something about my new friend.” 

“What would you like to know? I’m afraid I’m not very exciting.”

I think for a moment and ask his morning routine. “I think it speaks a lot about a persons character based on how they start their mornings.” 

He gives a little thought before telling me, “Of course, I start with my cup of coffee.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“I do as well!”

He smiles at that and says, “ Then I read the days newspaper.”

I feel my throat slightly tighten. A sad expression settling into my face. “You start your day like my grandfather did- Black, motor oil coffee with the daily paper.” 

“Well, he sounds like a good man.”

“Was a good man. He passed about a year ago.”

Beau offers a hand on the back of my own. Instead of making me uncomfortable that a stranger I just met is holding space for my pain, I find myself appreciating it.

The night continues on with people watching and laughing over nonsense conversation. We share pieces about ourselves and our lives. I feel lighter. I feel accepted. I feel like I’ve found a friend I haven’t seen in a while. 

With the bar coming to a close, Beau and I swap numbers and promise to catch each other on the upcoming weekend. 

“I’d love to grab a coffee. Maybe do some more people watching together?”

I smile and agree. 

As we pay our tabs and ready ourselves to walk out the side door, a song plays. Not just any song. But the song by the singer that stops me cold. 

“Oh what a song,” Beau exclaims,”Anything by Frank Sinatra is a work of art. But My Way is one of my favorites.” 

I offer a stiff nod, glancing around the bar to see who could’ve pick it to play on the Touch Tunes radio. Not seeing anyone stick out, I swiftly walk out the door. The thoughts in my head roaring. I’m desperately stuffing the emotion that wants to rush out like water breaking through a wobbly dam. That’s the thing about grief. Grief hits you like semi truck smashing over a small squirrel. Grief is huge and roaring and heavy. Grief doesn’t slow down for the small things, it rips you along with it whether you like it or not. 

I give Beau a quick goodbye and rush for my car, ignoring the funny look he gives me. Settling inside, I take a few calming breaths. I allow myself to recognize the message being sent to me. Tears begin spilling over my cheeks. Pain is slicing my chest open while I accept that I know exactly who Beau is- He’s going to be the great love of my life. He was sent by my grandfather. 

I always prayed for a man like my papa. I would often feel such hopelessness over the concept that he wouldn’t meet my future husband. That that husband wouldn’t meet him. That he wouldn’t get to know his humor or his ability to make friends wherever he went. The strength in his kind, welcoming energy. 

I always prayed he would send me a sign. I begged for his wisdom in his afterlife. I begged he wouldn’t forget me or leave me, because I still needed him. I needed his help and his blessing, so I picked something random. Something that wouldn’t come up in regular conversation. I picked my grandfathers favorite song, My Way by Frank Sinatra as a sign that he was giving me the go ahead. To allow myself to love another man that could take care of my wrecked heart. 

Once that song played, it all clicked into place. Beau felt so familiar because he carried similar traits to my favorite person. He had the characteristics I deemed most important. He mirrored my most precious friend. 

Driving home, I send out a silent thank you I know will be received. I feel eternally grateful to again meet a person that feels like home.