My Favourite Seat

Like any other day, here I was in my favourite seat. It was creaky and almost broken, but it was mine. We all had our spots. The football was on the large television to my right and here sitting around me were the people I saw most days. 

‘Another round on me!’ I yell while burping on the last of my ice-cold beer. 

Within five minutes I turn around and notice Devon at the bar bringing over a tray of six pints. 

To my surprise I notice an elderly woman I have never seen here before at the one bar stool that hasn’t yet been damaged.

I squint my eyes and tilt my head back to get a closer look. Her drink is clear. Vodka maybe?

‘Devon, what drink is that lady having?’ I say pointing to the elderly lady. She sees me point, blinks and looks away. 

‘That would be a sparkling water Grey, have you heard of them?’

‘Well that is strange. B-buy her another one on me... will ya’ I respond with a smirk and give him a smack on his back. 

Hours later and many many many drinks later, my car doesn’t start. Great. 

I stumble over to the bus stop which is located an easy 100 metres from the pub entrance. How convenient. I wanted to drive home, but I suppose I could just jump on the bus, have a good chat and not have to do much else. Blissful. 

On the bus now I feel more and more tired. I am yearning for the comfort of my bed. Well it’s not that comfortable considering I only have room on one side to sleep in while the contents of items from my house lay on the other side of me. Not sure whether it is because I am lazy and don’t want to put them away or whether it allows me some comfort, as if I were not alone in my big bed. Anyways. Only ten minutes into my 20 minute bus ride, I notice the flashing of red and blue lights and the sound of sirens. I flinch and close my eyes for a second. 

You are here. You are safe. 

I peek through my squinted eyes to see there has been a car accident. Of course this would happen. On my blissful journey home, we would drive past that.

Without being too selfish, I feel sad for the people involved. I can imagine what they are going through. 

The next day, here I was in my favourite seat. It was creaky and almost broken, but it was mine. We all had our spots. The football was on the large television to my right and here sitting around me were the people I saw most days. 

‘Another round on me!’ I yell while burping on the last of my ice-cold beer. 

Again, I notice the elderly woman in the same seat drinking her, what did Dev call it… oh sparkling water. 

Hours later after some beers, my car starts and I am thrilled, except I see the old lady sitting at the bus stop. 

I make my way over to her, it is still light out. That’s good I suppose. 

Sitting down on the cool steel seat, I smell lavender and a little must and to my left, it’s sparkling water lady.

‘How-do-ya-do mam’ I slur to her while pulling down my invisible cowboy hat. 

‘Evening. What is your name?” Sparkling water lady says. 

‘Grey, what about you?’

‘Well Grey, you reek of booze and stale nuts. Shirley, my name is Shirley’ she harshly responds while adjusting her red cardigan.

“Right, well there is my bus. Evening, Shirley’ I say, again pulling down my hat to her.

She looks away. 

On my way home, I feel relieved. No flashing lights or sirens. Blissful. 

2 days later, I needed some rest. Needed to sleep off the one thing that helps me dream and then later wake up to my nightmare. Life. 

So, here I was in my favourite seat. It was creaky and almost broken, but it was mine. We all had our spots. The football was on the large television to my right and here sitting around me were the people I saw most days. 

Again, I notice the elderly woman in the same seat drinking her favourite drink. 

Hours later after gambling some money and almost punching Dev for not giving me more beer, I walk to the bus stop. 

“You’re here again… how lovely…” Shirley says as Grey approaches the steel seat that already started to warm as he got closer. As if it awaited him most days. 

“Ah Shirley, good to see you. How are you this fine day” he responds while looking up to see rain clouds forming. 

“How old are you?”

“Old enough, why?” I grunt back.

“You drink like a man who has given up on life”

“Well maybe I have… I am 29. How old are you Shirley?”

“I was 72”

“Was?” I say while rubbing my eyes so hard I see galaxies and stars and places so remarkable and beautiful – 

“W-well, am. I suppose it…well it does not matter anyhow.

“Why do you drink everyday? And why do you think it is okay to drive afterwards?” she asks bluntly. 

“Not everyday and because I need to get home…” I snap back.

She frowns, but then as quickly as she does, it fades. 

“I never used to. It’s just… I don’t even know why I am telling you or why you want to know”

“I do not know either” she says flatly. 

“My fiance. We… we got into a car accident a year and a half ago. I’ve been coming ever since. She was my all, my everything. She was as sweet as sugar and as warm as a ray of sunshine on a cool day. Sh-she deserved to be alive. Not me” 

“I am sorry to hear that. I understand you may feel as though the booze takes the edge off and takes you away from feeling, but Grey, it does more than that. It steals your time. Your life”

I blink back the dampness I feel around my eyes and see my bus. 

“Thank you. I like the pub though” I respond while coughing. 

“That’s my bus, when is your bus coming?” I ask.

“Not yet”

The next day, here I was in my favourite seat. It was creaky and almost broken, but it was mine. We all had our spots. The football was on the large television to my right and here sitting around me were the people I saw most days. It felt quiet today. 

Many beers later, the bus stop finds me. 

“How was your drink today Shirley”

To the left of me sat Shirley in her same red cardigan.

“Fine. Cold, but fine”

“You must love that outfit. You wear it a lot. Don’t you think?”

“A person does not need clothes or shoes or even booze” she says, eyebrow raised looking at me, “to make them happy.

“How are you feeling today? You have brighter eyes, and you smell more like stale nuts than beer” she asks calmly.

Before I can even blink I find myself talking to this elderly lady who drinks sparkling waters at the pub all about my life and struggles. She says nothing. She just listens. An hour goes by and so does my bus. But it’s okay, it comes around a few times. I know the schedule by now. 

On the bus ride home I notice kids playing in puddles and the sound of birds in the air. We drive past flashing lights and I’m okay, not great, but okay.

The next day, here I was in my favourite seat. It was cold and kind of hard, but it was mine. The elderly lady to my left.

She seemed less old today. If that was even possible. 

“No beers today?” she remarked.

“The night isn’t over quite yet Shirley, but no”

“And yet you are here? Hmm, interesting” 

“Tell me about your life, I’ve shared all about me, I wonder if that is selfish of me”

“You are not selfish dear boy”

She begins to tell me about her life. She was a tutor in her youth, then a teacher, then a wife and mother and even grandmother. Now that is old. But she had a life. A nice one. With her husband, who was no longer alive. At least she had over half a century with him. Better than me. 

I ride the bus home. 

The next few weeks I spent in my favourite seat. It was cold and kind of hard, but it was mine. The elderly lady always to my left. She was smiling more and her red cardigan seemed to get more and more vibrant. Probably some old person's trick, I feel like old people just know how to wash clothes better. Again we spoke, and we listened.

I haven't had a drop of alcohol since meeting my new friend. Instead of my cup being filled with beer, it was filled with, well it was filled with warmth and care and forgiveness. 

When we first met, Shirley seemed distant, like she did not like me. But now, we were friends. 

“You have allowed me to hear you and you have heard me. I thank you for that Grey” she said one day as we sat together on that cold but kind of hard seat.

“No, thank you. It, well, it means a lot to me. I feel like me again for some reason. I don’t feel the need to go to the pub anymore, and well, I ride the bus home”

She nods with something like pride, I can’t quite tell. 

This time she gets up as a bus approaches.

“Wh-what bus is that?” looking at my watch, “that isn’t part of the bus timetable…”

“It is my ride home. Goodbye Grey” she says while pretending to pull down a cowgirl hat.

I smile, “Goodbye Shirley”

I ride the bus home. 

The next day, here I was in my favourite seat. It was cold and kind of hard, but it was mine. The elderly was not to my left. She wasn’t here. 

How strange. 

Behind me I hear two young girls, maybe sixteen or seventeen chatting away about boys and makeup and whatever else young girls chat about. 

I try and block it out as best as I can as I wait for the next bus.

Something catches my attention.

“You know that car accident a few weeks ago? It was a poor old woman. Everyone is devastated. She was hit by a drunk driver… her name was Mrs. Fletcher. She used to teach my dad when he was in school. He told me about her, she was wonderful and she always wore a red cardigan”

My heart pounds and I can’t think properly.

“What was her name?” I say to the girls a little too aggressively. 

“Wha- Mrs. Fletcher?”

“No her first name!”

“Oh um, Sharon… no Shelley, ah no um, Shirley! Yes Shirley”

I stare at them and walk away. I walk all the way home. 

Two weeks later I find myself at the front of the pub. 

I can do this. I can do this, I think while wiping the sweat from my brow. 

I walk in and find a seat at the bar. 

“What can I get for you today?” Devon asks. 

Peering around I see all the same people sitting in their usual spots drinking their usual drinks. As if they never left. As if time did not exist here. 

Seeing the drinks I would usually order for myself, I respond “I’ll grab a sparkling water please. Oh and a Shirley Temple thanks”