I saw deer

Ten minutes to five. The ultimate dead hour; the only people who would enter the bar now would be garden-variety deadbeats, old ladies of the pearl-and-silk persuasion meeting for a coffee or some of the locals, who were drinking here for free. I was hoping for neither. Right now I was pinned down by the heavy hands of the wall clock, paralysed by the distilled silence spilling out of the crystal glasses arranged in neat pyramids; but in merely two hours I would be free.

I would go outside. I would look at the dying sky. I would light a cigarette and think about all the songs that hurt me. Not being interrupted while silently suffering is a sacred privilege.

Just as I was trying to make myself small and insignificant and dim the bar windows with my mind, the door opened. Crap. This used to work once upon a time.

I looked at the customer, trying to decide if being rude was worth it. A middle aged man - big nose, imposing eyebrows, dark eyes that couldn`t decide if they were hiding or staring, cheap black suit. Maybe a business meeting? But here, in this God forsaken place? Or was he a traveller, whose craving for a parting glass was about to ruin my evening?

I decided that frosty indifference with a pinch of misplaced arrogance will fit the occasion nicely.

"How may I help you?"- I asked , thinking "How can I get you to go away fast enough?"

"You may help me with something strong" said the man and almost smiled. To my horror, he sat at the bar, right in front of me. I would have to jump through invisible hoops to get out of this one.

"Name your poison." I was not even trying to hide my disappointment.

"The cheapest whiskey you have, large. No ice. And a slice of lemon."

The cheapest whiskey we have. Enticing. I poured and slammed the drink on the bar like a death warrant. Maybe this will be enough? Maybe he is here to have a quiet drink before he goes back to the funeral or whatever he came from? The man gripped the glass and smiled. When he lifted his dark eyes, I saw a myriad of bottles reflected in their inevitability. 

"You are not a very friendly bartender. You haven't asked me yet what brings me here."

"I was just getting to that." I was just getting to make myself look busy in the garden.

"You want to guess?"

"I'm bad at guessing games. Always getting things wrong."

"There is no wrong or right when it comes to guessing games. Every guess is a certain truth."

Oh, great.

"You look like you re here on business."

"Because of the suit? Very perceptive."

"Either that, or you just like wearing dapper clothes in your spare time."

"You call that dapper? Is that a failed attempt at courtesy? It is a last minute suit."

"Alright. No business then. Are you lost?"

"In a way, but that` s not the answer you are looking for."

"This game will drag for hours if you are waiting for me to get smarter. Are you reuniting with a long lost friend?"

"You know, in a way that is a good answer."

"Great. Any other bases I should cover?"

"Plenty." He looked me in the face with his full-of-glass-bottles eyes and said in a pensive way. "You know, you are truly beautiful."

Oh, truly great. He looked normal for a second, but now we are back on track.

"Thank you."

"No need to scowl. I did not mean to flatter you. I am actually surprised."

"Why? Do you think I would be a better bartender if I was uglier?"

"Are you this defensive with all of your customers? Is anybody allowed to say anything remotely nice to your face?"

I took a napkin and started angry-polishing wine glasses. It helped me focus while I was straining to force my voice through my gritted teeth. 

"Is that it? Are you trying to be nice? Did you come here because your inner urge told you you should be nice to someone? Especially if they are attractive, of course."

"Yes." He suddenly smiled like a tired child "I am actually trying to be nice."

"Then the answer is still no. I don't do well with niceness."

I had no idea why I am telling him the truth. I had a hundred carefully crafted facades I could present to any given customer if needs be. Truth was the only thing I was not offering. Truth was the only thing I was protecting, the thing they couldn`t order and consume, and throw away on the floor. Truth was for Sundays and late nights with my friends, and the sanctity of my wallpapered room. And yet here I was, offering my one precious commodity to a stranger. A stranger who was, annoyingly, still smiling. His chin on his hands, he was staring at me like I was a robot doing an Irish stepdance.

"So, not really nice", he murmured. " But beautiful. Feisty. Cautious. Perhaps even smart."

The "perhaps" did it.

"Listen, did I drunkenly put a dating add in some going out of print newspaper? I did not mean it. I am not on the market. In fact I am so off the market I can't even see the cheese stalls. So please stop bothering."

His chin was still comfortably resting on his bony fingers.

"Do you..." he hesitated for a second "you know...blame somebody for the way you are? The overprotective shell, the look of constant boredom? I heard people usually lay it on their parents when it comes to something like this. So who was it? Mom or dad?"

"Oh, back off, Freud. You have only given me enough money for a glass of Jameson, not for a complete assessment of my childhood tragedy."

"Your mother or your father?"

"What is it with you? I pegged you for a regular clean-shaven pervert, but it seems I have to rethink that. You want me to talk about my parents so you can talk about yours? Did you actually come here for a consult, is that it? Just so you know, I charge twice the price of that whiskey per hour."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I don't want to talk about my parents. What about yours? Your mother and your father?"

"Why don't you want to talk about your parents?"

"Because they were boring. A nice stay-at-home mom and a nice hardworking dad. I can paint it pretty but I can not make it interesting. What about your parents?"

"Jesus!"

I couldn't even angry-polish anymore. To get rid of him, I said:

"They are dead."

"Liar."

"Everyone can call bluff when there is nothing on the table", I snarled. "Fine, so they are not dead. My mother is quite sick though, so she might as well be. My father left us when I was a child."

"What a bastard. Why?"

"How should I know? Go and ask him."

"Good idea", said the man and smiled like an overjoyed Cheshire cat, or a pleased teacher. He faced his glowing reflection in the mirror behind me and asked:

"Why did you do it?"

Then paused and answered:

"I was young and scared, and even more so - restless. I never asked for a family. I was a stupid boy having fun."

Somehow I was still holding a wine glass, but I was not polishing anymore. There was a curious tingling sensation spreading through my body, making my fingers, palms, lips, heart go numb. I was supposed to say something.

"You are not saying anything", said the man. I didn't even know his name. His eyes were dark, but his hair, although slightly greying, was fair like mine.

I was supposed to say something, but how could I? My lips were numb and I had no trace of energy for lies left in my body.

"You must despise me. I came here expecting that, only I can't really read your face. Is this hatred? I did not leave you - I ran from you, I fled like a fugitive. At the time, I felt like a coward, but a justified coward. Aren't you going to say something? Julie..."

This was my father. I couldn't..

"Julie, I did not come here to offer you a bunch of excuses. I came here to see if you still need a father. Judging by your behaviour, you can do with one."

"You think you can just barge in here and fix me?"

Shit, my voice was working again.

"I daresay you might be beyond fixing. But if you can stretch your trust-muscles enough to let me in, this could prove a great exercise."

"Oh, so it` s for my benefit."

To my horror and dismay, I realised I was crying. What if another customer came in? What if my boss decided to check if we are stocked on craft beers and paper straws?

My father got up and went behind the bar. He was taller than me- even though I was quite tall - and smelled like peppermints and tobacco. He tried to put his hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off.

"Colin", I remembered. "Your name is Collin."

"Yes, my name is Collin." He smiled again and looked me in the face. My open mouth, my transfixed eyes were reflecting in his.

"So what is it? What will it take for you to go to the movies with me? Or play catch, or look at old photos..."

"Collin?"

"You shouldn't call me by my name."

"Why did you leave us? Why couldn`t you do what other fathers did - suck it up? Stick with it? Bear the consequences of what you did?"

He shrugged with boyish carelessness that made the answer painfully clear.

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to stay and resent you, I didn't want to bend myself to the will of the world, to the man-made rules of wrong and right, of morally acceptable and morally indecent. I didn't want to see the end of my mistake - of our mistake, because your mother didn't want a family either..."

"But she stayed. All these years..."

"Yes, she did. And I appear here now, all too late, and ask to be let in. It is a terrible thing to do. I don't have my rose-colored glasses on, I know what my odds are. You can punish me if you want - interrogate me, call me names, prove that I am a bastard. Shouldn't be hard. I can not even tell you why I have decided to come find you. It was not a moment on crystal clarity, a mid-life crisis, a revelation in a spiritual dream...It was nothing much - I was hiking in the Pyrenees and one morning I saw a group of deer, gleefully jumping through a patch of grass. Their skin, the morning dew, the blades of grass - everything was shining in the sun. And suddenly I remembered how your mother used to say that as a girl she dreamed of riding a deer. Bareback, like a forest goddess. Then I wondered if my daughter had the same daydreams."

I was pretty sure my make-up was running all over my face. So much for being pretty and feisty, or perhaps even smart. 

"My mother wanted to ride a deer?"

"She wanted to be kidnapped by a wolf, or some kind of a forest demon, and then tame a deer and stay in the woods forever. There was a wildness, a hidden and powerful wildness in her desires. Then came I and ruined her fairytale", he smiled sadly. "It would have been better if she was kidnapped by a wolf. And I...I should have been braver. I should have stayed."

"In some of my dreams, I am a bird" , I whispered. "But that is pretty basic."

"I guess it is. Everybody wants to fly."

"Everybody wants to fly. Is that your excuse for fleeing?"

"I told you: I am not here to offer you a litany of excuses. Do you want to yell at me, punish me, crucify me? Do you want me to go?"

I hesitated, then took a napkin, turned to the mirror behind me and wiped the streaks of black mascara under my eyes. Then I checked the sink - to see if there are any glasses left to wash - and took my meagre tips out of the tip jar. Five to seven -the night shift would arrive anytime now.

"Father...."

My throat was dry and my skin smelled like mascara-scented tears, but I could somehow feel that the air outside was going to be clearer and lighter than ever. 

"...what are the Pyrenees like?"