Grace

I was in the bar when I overhead a young zealous gentleman talking. He was quite the captivating fellow, with his tall, dark, and handsome demeanor. The gentleman had ravishing blue eyes, and hair as dark as the night sky. It seemed as though all of the men in the bar were intrigued with his outlandish stories.

Then he looked at me, and said “Hiya doll! Would you get me a scotch, neat,” he said in the most charming way. 

I gave him a nod, and grabbed a new glass. The regulars are comfortable around me, I’ve been working this bar for quite some time now. 

The night grew old, and most of the men trickled out of the bar. There was just one left. 

“How’d a sweet little thing like you end up working in a place like this?” he asked curiously. 

“Well, mister…” I waited for a name.

“Ah, mister Johnson but you can call me by my first name, Ben.”

“Well Ben, my family owns this bar. So you will find me here most days tending to the family business as my parents are mostly retired now.”

“So, this place is essentially yours?” he inquired. 

“Not yet, but some day it will be. Why do you ask?” I batted my eyes. 

I didn’t want him to leave, I wasn’t ready to be alone for the night just yet. He was very attractive with his ripped body, and large working man arms. Ben was sitting on one of the old bar stools that was a bit too small for him. Traditional seating is limited or rather non existent in the bar due to my parents. 

They thought it would be neat to model the bar after a diner out of the 60s. The whole place was covered in vibrant neon pink paint, and decorated with sky blue booths. At the bar sat six black and white checkered chairs which matched the checkered floors. During the day the place is hopping with young teens getting their daily dose of ice cream sundaes but at night it’s buzzing with locals of legal drinking age, mostly. There is something about old school music that drives the place nuts. We have one of those vintage jukeboxes in the corner for authenticity. 

I usually closed up the place by myself since we send the cooks home after the kitchen closes at 10pm. The bar tends to stays open till 2am, unless it's a slow night. That night was slow after midnight, after all it was only the two of us but Ben appeared to be fascinating. 

“Well, I was wondering if a lady such as yourself would consider having a drink with me even though I understand you have obligations to serve any patrons that may enter before the night is over,” Ben suggested. 

I walked over to the front door, and I turned off the open sign. It was a slow night, and I didn’t anticipate anyone else coming in. 

“What’s your poison?” Ben asked me as he walked behind the bar.

“Oh, you don’t have to — ” 

“Nonsense, sit down. A lady shouldn’t have to serve herself,” he insisted. 

So I did, I sat down on one of the stools and let him serve me a few glasses of tequila. We spent the next two hours discussing our ambitions, and goals in this life. He told me he was from a big city on the east coast, maybe New York City or Boston? Bob didn’t have an accent so it was hard to place him anywhere really but he told me he liked to travel to many places. It explains why he ended up in a small rural town in the midwest. 

“If you travel so much, what do you do for work?” I inquisitively probed. 

“I do odd jobs here and there. I guess you could say I’m a handyman of sorts. Do you have anything around here that needs fixing?” he teased, half seriously. 

“Are you offering to fix something, or inquiring about a job because the sink behind the bar keeps leaking. It’s not a big deal but it would be nice to have it fixed.” 

“How about I fix it, and you don’t charge me for the drinks I had tonight?” 

I agreed, it seemed like a pretty good deal since most of his drinks from earlier were paid for by his audience. I showed him where the tools were, and Bob fixed the sink. He said it was an easy fix, and then we enjoyed one last drink together. It was only my third drink, which usually has me feeling just a bit tipsy or out of control but this time felt different. 

I guess after that night I confronted my drinking problem. I blacked out, and never remembered what happened with the rest of the night. I’m not even sure when Ben left. The next morning I woke up in the trunk of my pickup truck wrapped up in blankets with the bar keys next to me. My truck was parked outside of the bar, and I always have blankets in the back during summer to watch the night sky. The stars are so pretty when the lights of the town go out. When I woke up, I went to check on the bar which was locked up, and all of the lights were off. I went inside to check on everything which all appeared to be in order, expect the jukebox. It was playing the strangest song, especially for summer, on repeat. The jukebox was rocking to the tune of Baby It’s Cold Outside by Dean Martin and Doris Day. It took some finesse but after a few minutes I eventually turned it off. 

I’ve had to work at the bar many times since then, but I haven’t touched any alcohol including tequila. Those days were in my past, it has been almost 10 months since then.

“Waah, wahh” 

“Excuse me officer, I should see if she’s alright. Grace is my first, and only child.”