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Chapter 1: "... a Bar" (Part 1/2)
"Everything is bigger in Texas," the neon sign said. "You can say that again," I thought as I drove past it. The roads. The desert. The loneliness.
My eyes started to close as the sky got even darker. No! I jolted. I have to stay up! "The worst is over," I tried to convince myself.
Gotta keep going until I make it to Dallas. I'll find a place to crash there. It was the goal I'd set for myself when I left. "And I ain't no quitter," as Bubba would put it.
Still, my stubborn eyelids wouldn't listen, lulled down by the rhythmic humming of the car. The next time I jolted, it was almost too late. Mere seconds from swerving off the road. After all the shit I've been through in the past four years… what a fucking way to go.
Half an hour later, I finally saw a sign of civilization. A dive bar, off the side of the road. I better take a break here. Like it or not, I needed it.
As soon as I opened the door, all eyes shot my way. There were only three people in the whole place, all men. Two of them shooting pool, one behind the bar. After seeing I'm not one of the regulars and inspecting me for a couple of seconds, they went back to what they were doing.
I took off my hat and headed to the bar.
"What can I get ya?" the man asked, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Maybe I'd just interrupted his smoke break. Still, he sounded friendly enough. With his shirt half-unbuttoned and stained wifebeater underneath, he reminded me of Bubba's dad.
"Whatever will keep me awake," I tried to imitate his Southern drawl the best I could, or at the very least, sound neutral.
The man moved slowly, biding his time, yet his movements seemed rehearsed and routine. Thirty seconds later, a glass of whiskey hit the hardwood bar in front of me. The bartender didn't seem concerned with asking for ID, even though I could sometimes pass for someone under 21.
The glass was opaque, as if it'd seen the inside of a dishwasher too many times. I downed half of it in one swig.
"Ya ain't from around," the man said. It wasn't a question.
"No, sir," I agreed.
"Ya look like ya wearin' a Halloween costume."
"Oh, really?" I chuckled. In my plaid shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and cowboy hat, I thought I looked pretty authentic.
"It ain't about what ya wear, it's about how ya wear it," the man read my mind. "All that stuff looks it's never been worn before. Well, except for that there belt buckle."
My smile faded. Without realizing, my fingertips went down to my belt buckle and caressed it. In another swig, I finished the second half of the drink.
"It was a buddy of mine's, from the military," I said.
"Mighty fine of him to let ya have it."
"He did't. His family did. This morning, after his funeral."
"Well, shit. Sorry to hear that, boy."
It was a generic saying, but it sounded heartfelt. The man moved around and, without asking, refilled my glass, before pouring one for himself as well.
"To your buddy," he said, taking the cigarette out his mouth.
"To Bubba," I raised my glass.
We downed the drinks bottoms up, before the bartender poured another round.
"Do ya mind?" he said, taking out a lighter.
I wasn't from around, but I was fairly certain you couldn't smoke in bars round here. For all I knew, though, this was his bar, and I doubted the two other men in here would mind.
I shook my head.
"Ya want one?"
Another short head shake.
"So, is that why you're here?" the man said after taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke.
"Yup."
Bubba's funeral was in El Paso this morning. It left me driving through the Chihuahua Desert during the hottest time of day.
"Did your buddy die here, or… over there?" the man asked. He sounded more concerned rather than nosy.
"There," I said. My answers were monosyllabic, but I was happy to have someone to talk to, after eight hours in the car by myself, only taking breaks to piss off the side of the road.
"Ya back for good?" he asked between puffs of smoke.
"Yeah," I nodded. Not that it's been very good so far.
"And where ya headed next?"
"I have no fucking idea," I thought.
"Dallas for now, then Oklahoma."
The man could tell I was neither from Dallas nor Oklahoma, but he didn't ask any questions. He just smoked in silence.
"I'm driving across the country," I said, preferring to talk than sit in silence.
"Oh, really? Never left Texas, m'self," he said, with something that sounded like pride.
I smiled. It didn't feel right to talk about my past travels. All those European countries and luxury resorts in the Caribbean... Until now, I'd hardly seen any of the country I'd signed up to protect.
"There's still a way to go until Dallas," the man said after he'd finished his smoke. "You don't plan on drivin' like that, do ya?"
Instead of perking me up, the whiskey had only made me sleepier. I was almost passing out at the bar.
"It's either that, or sleep in the car," I said.
The man sighed, before continuing.
"I live upstairs. I got a couch you can crash on."
"I don't wanna inconvenience you," I replied.
"Ye'll inconvenience me more if you get yaself killed drivin' like that and then the police come askin' questions. C'mon."
Again, this wasn't a question, it was a statement.
"Let me just get my stuff from my car," I said.
When I came back in with my bag, the man was waiting by an open door behind the bar. He nodded at one of the men playing pool, who nodded back. It was their silent agreement for the other man to watch the bar while we went upstairs.
I walked around the bar and followed the man upstairs. There, a small space was divided into a living room and kitchen area, with one other door leading to the bedroom.
"Bathroom's through there," the man pointed to the bedroom. "I'll leave the door open in case you need to go for a piss in the middle of the night."
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll just pass out," I said, dropping my bag on the couch, next to all the stuff that was already there.
"I'll be downstairs if ya need anything," the man said, and left.
I tried not to look around too much and be nosy. Still, from the look of the place, it was obvious the man lived alone and didn't really care about keeping it tidy. I carefully put all the stuff that was on the couch down on the floor, before taking my clothes off, getting down to my boxers.
I took my toothbrush out of my bag and headed to the bathroom. Stepping inside the bedroom, I saw it was even messier than the living room. Clothes, mostly used socks and underwear, were sprawled all over the floor. Empty cigarette packs, full ashtrays, and an old bottle of lube were on the nightstand.
I brushed my teeth quickly and went back to the couch. I looked around the room, hoping to see a blanket somewhere. It was warm enough to sleep without one, but I figured it's more polite to cover up if I go to sleep near naked, especially if I happen to pop a boner in the middle of the night in the loose boxers I was wearing.
Luckily, I found a small blanket on the floor. I took it with me to the couch, and like I'd predicted, I passed the fuck out immediately.
Click here for all my stories
"Everything is bigger in Texas," the neon sign said. "You can say that again," I thought as I drove past it. The roads. The desert. The loneliness.
My eyes started to close as the sky got even darker. No! I jolted. I have to stay up! "The worst is over," I tried to convince myself.
Gotta keep going until I make it to Dallas. I'll find a place to crash there. It was the goal I'd set for myself when I left. "And I ain't no quitter," as Bubba would put it.
Still, my stubborn eyelids wouldn't listen, lulled down by the rhythmic humming of the car. The next time I jolted, it was almost too late. Mere seconds from swerving off the road. After all the shit I've been through in the past four years… what a fucking way to go.
Half an hour later, I finally saw a sign of civilization. A dive bar, off the side of the road. I better take a break here. Like it or not, I needed it.
As soon as I opened the door, all eyes shot my way. There were only three people in the whole place, all men. Two of them shooting pool, one behind the bar. After seeing I'm not one of the regulars and inspecting me for a couple of seconds, they went back to what they were doing.
I took off my hat and headed to the bar.
"What can I get ya?" the man asked, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Maybe I'd just interrupted his smoke break. Still, he sounded friendly enough. With his shirt half-unbuttoned and stained wifebeater underneath, he reminded me of Bubba's dad.
"Whatever will keep me awake," I tried to imitate his Southern drawl the best I could, or at the very least, sound neutral.
The man moved slowly, biding his time, yet his movements seemed rehearsed and routine. Thirty seconds later, a glass of whiskey hit the hardwood bar in front of me. The bartender didn't seem concerned with asking for ID, even though I could sometimes pass for someone under 21.
The glass was opaque, as if it'd seen the inside of a dishwasher too many times. I downed half of it in one swig.
"Ya ain't from around," the man said. It wasn't a question.
"No, sir," I agreed.
"Ya look like ya wearin' a Halloween costume."
"Oh, really?" I chuckled. In my plaid shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and cowboy hat, I thought I looked pretty authentic.
"It ain't about what ya wear, it's about how ya wear it," the man read my mind. "All that stuff looks it's never been worn before. Well, except for that there belt buckle."
My smile faded. Without realizing, my fingertips went down to my belt buckle and caressed it. In another swig, I finished the second half of the drink.
"It was a buddy of mine's, from the military," I said.
"Mighty fine of him to let ya have it."
"He did't. His family did. This morning, after his funeral."
"Well, shit. Sorry to hear that, boy."
It was a generic saying, but it sounded heartfelt. The man moved around and, without asking, refilled my glass, before pouring one for himself as well.
"To your buddy," he said, taking the cigarette out his mouth.
"To Bubba," I raised my glass.
We downed the drinks bottoms up, before the bartender poured another round.
"Do ya mind?" he said, taking out a lighter.
I wasn't from around, but I was fairly certain you couldn't smoke in bars round here. For all I knew, though, this was his bar, and I doubted the two other men in here would mind.
I shook my head.
"Ya want one?"
Another short head shake.
"So, is that why you're here?" the man said after taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke.
"Yup."
Bubba's funeral was in El Paso this morning. It left me driving through the Chihuahua Desert during the hottest time of day.
"Did your buddy die here, or… over there?" the man asked. He sounded more concerned rather than nosy.
"There," I said. My answers were monosyllabic, but I was happy to have someone to talk to, after eight hours in the car by myself, only taking breaks to piss off the side of the road.
"Ya back for good?" he asked between puffs of smoke.
"Yeah," I nodded. Not that it's been very good so far.
"And where ya headed next?"
"I have no fucking idea," I thought.
"Dallas for now, then Oklahoma."
The man could tell I was neither from Dallas nor Oklahoma, but he didn't ask any questions. He just smoked in silence.
"I'm driving across the country," I said, preferring to talk than sit in silence.
"Oh, really? Never left Texas, m'self," he said, with something that sounded like pride.
I smiled. It didn't feel right to talk about my past travels. All those European countries and luxury resorts in the Caribbean... Until now, I'd hardly seen any of the country I'd signed up to protect.
"There's still a way to go until Dallas," the man said after he'd finished his smoke. "You don't plan on drivin' like that, do ya?"
Instead of perking me up, the whiskey had only made me sleepier. I was almost passing out at the bar.
"It's either that, or sleep in the car," I said.
The man sighed, before continuing.
"I live upstairs. I got a couch you can crash on."
"I don't wanna inconvenience you," I replied.
"Ye'll inconvenience me more if you get yaself killed drivin' like that and then the police come askin' questions. C'mon."
Again, this wasn't a question, it was a statement.
"Let me just get my stuff from my car," I said.
When I came back in with my bag, the man was waiting by an open door behind the bar. He nodded at one of the men playing pool, who nodded back. It was their silent agreement for the other man to watch the bar while we went upstairs.
I walked around the bar and followed the man upstairs. There, a small space was divided into a living room and kitchen area, with one other door leading to the bedroom.
"Bathroom's through there," the man pointed to the bedroom. "I'll leave the door open in case you need to go for a piss in the middle of the night."
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll just pass out," I said, dropping my bag on the couch, next to all the stuff that was already there.
"I'll be downstairs if ya need anything," the man said, and left.
I tried not to look around too much and be nosy. Still, from the look of the place, it was obvious the man lived alone and didn't really care about keeping it tidy. I carefully put all the stuff that was on the couch down on the floor, before taking my clothes off, getting down to my boxers.
I took my toothbrush out of my bag and headed to the bathroom. Stepping inside the bedroom, I saw it was even messier than the living room. Clothes, mostly used socks and underwear, were sprawled all over the floor. Empty cigarette packs, full ashtrays, and an old bottle of lube were on the nightstand.
I brushed my teeth quickly and went back to the couch. I looked around the room, hoping to see a blanket somewhere. It was warm enough to sleep without one, but I figured it's more polite to cover up if I go to sleep near naked, especially if I happen to pop a boner in the middle of the night in the loose boxers I was wearing.
Luckily, I found a small blanket on the floor. I took it with me to the couch, and like I'd predicted, I passed the fuck out immediately.
Click here for all my stories