The Dishes

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The bar was deserted, which was perfectly fine by me.  Lisa was in one of her moods again, and I needed to get away from it all.  I walked up to the bar and waited for the barkeep to show himself from wherever he might be.  He came out from the restroom a few minutes later, wiping his age-worn face with a brown paper towel that he threw into an unseen garbage can behind the bar.  

He was well into his sixties, maybe even seventies, but still had the rugged good looks and the fire and charm he must've had at my age.  Even now, he could be quite the lady killer if he wanted, but behind his hey-there-glad-to-see-ya veneer, he still silently mourned Chrissie, his wife who had now been a resident of Stillwater Pines cemetery for the past five years.

"Hey Mike, the usual?"

"Hi Joey.  Same flavor, but not a bottle tonight.  Gimme one of those mugs."

"Ah, one of those nights, eh?"  He smiled a little as he said it.

"Yeah.  Let me have five in quarters and some ones with that."  I handed him a twenty, and gave him two singles for a tip as I walked back to the pool table in the corner and grabbed a stick.

The thunder of the balls rolling down to the end of the table after I put the quarters in was teasingly cathartic, and I knew I was going to be shooting good for the night.  I set up one rack, broke and ran the solids first, then the stripes.  I set up another, missed one shot, and ran the rest.  If Lisa could get mad at me before the tournaments, I might be able to make something of myself.

I finished my mug after the third game and Joey responded to my wave with a fresh one.

"So what's the story?"  He'd been a bartender long enough to know when someone felt like talking and when they didn't.  Between the beer and the game, I felt a little better and he could see it.

"Lisa's having one of her days again."

"Oh really?  What's going on?  If you don't mind me asking, that is..."

"Nah, no big deal.  She's just getting on to me about little things, doing the dishes, the garbage.  Nag, nag, nag.  Just needed to get away for a bit."  

He gave me a sad but almost condescending smile.  "Ah, youth.  You get so fired up so easily.  I was like that too, a long time ago.  Well, not that long, only about forty years, but it feels like an eternity some times.  Hey, why doncha sit at the bar, I'll break out an ashtray, and lemme tell you a story.  It's a little on the crazy side, and I know you won't believe it, but it's a good listen at least and you'll get a couple of beers on the house for your troubles.  Sound good?"

I looked at the table, with the remnants of my last break scattered on the green.  It could wait.  I put the cue stick back on the rack and followed him to the bar.

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