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Monday, June 18, 2012

Bar Hopping Chapter 19

  Chris was off work early this morning; he’d worked the dreaded morning news beat, covering a City Council meeting and today's schedule was especially tiresome since he'd been up very late the night before, having a little fun with friends from the station.

"Ugggh, 3AM was entirely too early," he groaned to the mirror while brushing his teeth.


  He and Bailey enjoyed a late morning walk along Bayou St. John as Chris shared his antics from the previous evening with Bailey.

"...WHY did I think Taco Bell was a good idea after five beers and four shots??"  Bailey looked up at him, as if she were trying to answer, but quickly turned her attention to the utility pole to relieve herself. Chris stared blankly at Bailey's public display.

"...I think I MAY have done that on a tree last night,  too," he informed Bailey.


  Chris' cell phone rang; it was Erin.  He stared at the display for a second, thinking that Marie might be right; maybe he was doing things a lot better AND worse on the second go around, but, maybe the second go around proves that he might not be right for Erin OR perhaps she‘s not right for him.


  After Erin had made two attempts in a row to reach Chris, he finally answered on the third. 

"Hey,  Erin, how’s it goin?"

"...I’m well. Look, Chris, we haven’t been able to get together for several days; I was just callin’ to see if you might wanna have lunch today."

"Uh, well, I’m kind of slammed the rest of the day," Chris hurriedly explained.

"OK, well, maybe we can get together later tonight, if you want?" Erin  persisted, sensing his distance.


  She’d been wondering if their spat was hanging in Chris’ mind.


"...Yeah, I’ll call you a little later, Erin, OK?"

"OK, sounds good, I’m off around 5 today, so, I'll talk to you then-ish," Erin replied, a tone of relief resonated in her voice.


  Later that day, Marie had just completed her shift when Angela strolled into the pub.


"Hey!" Marie brightly greeted. "...What are you doin?"

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in; I’ve heard so much about this place and just wanted check it out," Angela replied. "...I RARELY get to Mid-City," Angela exclaimed. 

"I’m gettin’ off in about  one minute, let me get you a drink, it’s on me. That is, if you’re not meetin’ up with anyone," Marie offered.

"That’d be great!" Angela took a seat at the bar. 

  A few minutes had passed while Angela studied a drunken patron with his hands all over a young woman sitting next to him at the bar.  Marie snatched Angela to a small table near the front of the pub.


"...God! He hits on anything that moves in here; he’s usually drunk by about 3pm," Marie grimaced, shaking her head.

"I feel sorry for his wife," Angela replied.

"Don’t! She’s worse than HIM; a match made in Heaven, or Hell, I suppose.  Look over there," Marie pointed to a woman who was sitting on a gentleman's lap, "...That's his wife," Marie sarcastically pointed.

"I don’t know HOW you handle some of these people,  Angela laughed.

"So, I heard that you and Chris are gonna hit the Shrimp Fest this weekend," Marie changed the subject.

"Yeah, I’ve never been before, it should be fun."

  Marie and Angela traded small talk, occasionally observing and joking about some of the bar patrons when Angela began prying about Chris.

"...So, how long have you known Chris?" Angela quizzed.

"Ha! Sometimes it feels like too long," Marie laughed. "...He’s a pain in the ass, sometimes but he’s a lovable pain in the ass, if you know what I mean?"

"He seems real nice," Angela asserted, fishing for Marie’s thoughts.

"He’s great, he’s impulsive, passionate, compassionate and grumpy, especially when he gets something stuck on his mind," Marie continued, staring,  introspectively at the table. She looked up at Angela, with a smile. "...But, he’s a good friend…he’s a good man."

  Angela’s face turned serious. "...Look, I don’t mind telling you this, and I think it’s probably obvious, but I like him, I just don’t know if he feels the same. He seems very guarded or maybe he’s interested in someone else, I don’t know.  It's really not my business, " Angela confessed. 

  Marie politely smiled, shaking her head. "He’s guarded, alright, and, rightfully so. He lost his mom not long ago and then dealt with some pretty intense shit in his career.  On top of that, he went through a nasty breakup which really got to him.  He seems to have found himself on better ground again, though;  it’s been slow as hell and now I need a vacation BECAUSE of it!" Marie laughed.

"...Sounds like a lot of stress," Angela replied, beginning to understand why it seemed hard for Chris to warm up easily.

"...Don’t misunderstand, he’s got his shit together and he’s got some good people around him, when he decides to LISTEN. He’s doin’ OK, he just moves a little more cautiously now. He's still got work to do," Marie clarified.


  Marie searched her thoughts as she studied Angela. She seemed nice, but Marie didn’t have the heart to let her know that her chances were extremely slim to none with Chris. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn’t her place to butt in.


"...What do you like about him?" Marie quizzed.

"Well," Angela began, "...he’s smart, he’s cute, kind of mysterious and I really enjoy our conversations; it‘s almost like we‘ve known each other forever.  I know that probably sounds weird."

  Marie smiled at Angela's admission, "...no, actually, not at all."

"...I just have a good sense about him," Angela concluded.

"He’s definitely one of a kind," Marie laughed.

"How about you?" Angela asked.

"How about me, what?" Marie was puzzled.

"...I mean, you two are good friends; what do you like best about him?

"I love his best and worst quality I suppose.

"Which is?" Angela quizzed.

 
  Marie paused for a moment, before carefully answering.


"...He wears his emotions and compassion very close to his heart, it’s genuine and it’s sweet. But, it’s also a major pain in the ass sometimes. He acts all cool and nonchalant, but I can see right through it. You can see the wheels turning, if you know him well enough.


  Marie continued to search her thoughts; "...If someone he cares for is having a hard time or is upset, he feels helpless if he cant help them. He also gets bummed when someone's mad at him, so, he over reaches,  to make it better. We can thank his dad for THAT one. Sometimes it comes across as overbearing but very few know WHY he‘s that way," Marie continued.

"...And, why's that?" Angela clung to every word.

"He was an only child. His parents loved him very much, but his dad was drunk most of the time at the end, so Chris felt that something was missing, something that he envied about other families as a kid. He began to realize that his home environment was much different than that of his friends.  His mom worked all the time and his dad couldn’t stay out of the bottle most of the time. So, Chris sat at home, alone, a lot."

Angela listened, glued to Marie's narrative. 

"...He cooked for himself at a very early age. He spent a lot of time alone, many times he sat at the end of a bar while his dad was in the back, playing cards or shooting pool; this was when he was about seven years old.  Sometimes his old man would leave the bar for a couple of hours while the bartender and server girls pretty much babysat him; I guess you could dump your kids off at a bar in the 70’s," Marie shrugged.

"What happened?" Angela pressed.

"I suppose the drama filed lives that many bar servers have swirling around them gave Chris an unlikely education," Marie laughed.


"...He’d sit there, as he recalls, listening to all kinds of shit; domestic problems, rent problems, being kicked out of the house, unexpected pregnancy, drug problems, you name it, he heard it all. Every minute detail, from some very troubled individuals at the tavern. He saw  pathetic drunks, he heard the pain; what’s a seven year old supposed to think?  A seven year old boy is supposed to be playing in a tree or with Tonka trucks," Marie explained.

"What did his mom think about this?? I know I’d KILL my husband if he took our child to a beer tavern," Angela exclaimed, with disgust.

"Oh, she found out, alright. Once, when Chris was eight, he’d asked his mom for a three dollar advance on his chore allowance. His mom wondered, why? Sadly, she figured he’d give it to his dad to buy a cheap bottle of  booze; he did that for his dad many times. Pretty sick, huh?" Marie looked back up to Angela.

"...So, his mom quizzed Chris about the money request and he innocently announced that Karla and her little boy were thrown out of their house and that they’d been living in their station wagon. He went on to say that Karla didn’t make much money at the bar. His mom realized that Karla was a server at the pool hall downtown, needless to say, the news didn’t sit well with his mother."

"...The second incident happened when he was about nine. He’d witnessed a guy get stabbed by the bartender while his dad was nowhere to be found. Guess he didn't tip very well,"  Marie laughed before her tone turned more serious. 

"...The police found him and were none too pleased. They brought Chris home; that one nearly caused a divorce.  "...Anyway, I suppose he was exposed to so many people who had troubled lives, the fear, the sadness, the worry. The same things he witnessed inside his own home,  so he felt helpless. To THIS day he hates going to bed mad, he hates when people around him are upset or are having a hard time, so he goes overboard sometimes. He means well, though."

"Wow."  Angela was speechless.

"Yeah, well, he’d kill me if he knew that I told you about all that, so,  don’t repeat it." Marie pleaded.

"I’ve tried to tell him that he can’t fix the world and that it’ll only frustrate him, even more, if he TRIES to fix it... sometimes it may frustrate those he thinks that he’s helping. It’s also opened the door, a few times, for people to use him; he used to have some pretty shitty, fair weather friends, but he's finally catching on to those vultures.

Angela listened closely to Marie's assessment of her friend.

"...Understand, the thing about Chris, is that he loves, unconditionally," Marie continued. 

"I always warned him that unconditional love leads to two places."

"Where’s THAT," Angela asked. 

"...happily ever after or, in the middle of nowhere, with a tank needle on "E" and no gas stations in sight. Stranded," Marie solemnly finished. 

"Where do you think he is, now?" Angela eagerly asked. 

Marie smiled.  "...knowing HIM? On the side of the road,  looking at his GPS, saying fuck! A LOT," Marie laughed.  


  Marie glanced at her watch, "SHIT!!  I gotta get going."

"Yeah, me too," Angela said.

  Marie stood and smiled at Angela.  She felt helpless, that she couldn't be more forthright with her about Chris' intentions.  "...Look, Angie, I can’t really give you much advice here, but, if it happens it happens. I CAN tell ya’ this, at the very least, he can be a good friend. Don’t discount that. Sometimes the right people find each other at the wrong time, it’s happened to me before."

"Never say never, huh?" Angela acknowledged.

"Yep," Marie quickly replied. "...Well, unless you’re talking about me hooking up with drunk Ed over there, then it’s never...times a thousand!  Been there, done that. Not my proudest moment,"  Marie laughed, as she bid her goodbyes.


  Across town, Chris did something that he hadn’t done in a long while, he enjoyed a casual stroll through the French Quarter, with Bailey firmly in tow. He occasionally popped in to an antique store or bar.


  Reaching the Mississippi Riverfront, he stopped on the sidewalk, solemnly staring toward the river. Nothing special about this slab of sidewalk to any number of thousands who pass by, day in and day out.

  This particular slab held dark memories for Chris as his mind briefly drifted to the past.

  Explosions echoed through the Quarter as the night sky came to life, brilliantly lit, from East Bank to West Bank with every color in the spectrum. Each flash illuminated  a thick trail of white smoke which hung in the sky, slowly drifting down river.

  It was New Years Eve. 12 midnight.

"...Shit! Shit! Shit! Chris panicked, scrambling to meet Erin at their predetermined spot at midnight. Both were working and neither had much time. A little happy new year kiss and back to work

  Unfortunately, Chris got tied up and frantically raced to reach Erin in time; he was breathless when he turned the corner, spotting Erin, who paced, anxiously looking at her cell phone.

"...Goddamn it! I’m sorry, Erin, my relief didn’t make it on time; we're spread kinda thin this weekend," Chris apologized, completely out of breath.

"Hey, hey, settle down," Erin comforted. "You’re here now; calm down."

  Working on holidays can be especially stressful for a couple and Chris’ nerves were plenty shot. Erin was a bit edgy also because New Years Eve tends to bring some stupid people to the bar.


  Chris openly fretted about his tardiness, "Shit!  The fireworks already started, now I don’t have much time because I gotta be back in 5 minutes and you gotta get back…this is fucking great!" Chris complained.

  The fireworks show concluded in a grand finale as Erin deeply studied Chris’ face.

"...Chris, do you realize that instead of putting your arm around me and enjoying,what could have been, a real nice moment, you bitched and complained the whole time? You’ve got to stop worrying so much, honey."  Erin shook her head with a look of incredulity, stepping forward to give Chris a quick kiss on the lips.

"Happy New Year, baby," she whispered.

  As she walked away, Erin looked back briefly to Chris, concern clearly visible on her face. She kissed her finger and blew a kiss. 


"Where you been??"  A voice rang from behind, jolting Chris from his daydream. 

  He turned to find Miss Joyce, an unlikely, but long time friend of his. Miss Joyce spent most of her life living and working in the Quarter, until time and physical wear forced her to retire.

  She was a friendly 75 year old lady who didn’t get around as well as she once did, but her mind was soundly in tact and her personality was as vibrant, as was her robust laugh.


"Excuse me?" Chris asked with shock.

"I said, where you been, my baby? You deaf?," Miss Joyce laughed.  "...I done thought you was dead or somethin’," she continued.

"Wait a second...You remember me??" Chris asked with an amazed laugh.

"Baby, you didn’t just get out tha' nervous hospital, did ya??" Miss Joyce asked, with that unmistakable smoker's laugh. "...Course’ I remember you, you ain’t been gone that long and my mind is still tickin’ pretty good."

"...Holy Shit! You remember me! Chris laughed as he lunged toward Joyce to give her a tight hug. 

  He was amazed. How in hell did Miss Joyce remember him? He wondered.  What could be the key?  Is it a sign?  Is it something that I’m supposed to figure OUT?  Chris’ mind reeled.

"Child, you a mess," Miss Joyce chuckled.

  Chris and Miss Joyce ducked into a tiny bar around the corner on Toulouse Street  to sit and visit. Miss Joyce loved her Crown and Sprite, so Chris’ offered to treat.

"I’ve been working a lot lately, Miss Joyce, haven’t had much time to get down here."

"Well, the last time I saw you, it looked like you didn’t need to be back down here for a while, ya’ heard me?" Miss Joyce scolded.


  He’d seen Miss Joyce many months ago, the night when he sank to his lowest point. The point which ultimately found him on the ground in front of the shop, awaiting his fate.

  Miss Joyce continued, "I’m just glad you OK, my baby; I said a prayer for ya’ that night too. BIG prayers," Joyce  warmly smiled. 


"Thank you, Miss Joyce, I sure needed it." 

  Joyce laughed again, "...it looks like the good Lord heard it; you look like you feelin’ a lot better now."  Her words comforted Chris as she placed her hand on top of his.

"Slowly but surely, Miss Joyce, slowly but surely,"  Chris assured, holding up his beer for a toast.


  Chris and Miss Joyce sat quietly, as they often did, until one of them had something to say. Silence between them was never awkward as it is between so many others.


"...How are you and that little girl you go out with doin’?" Miss Joyce asked out of the blue.

"We broke up, but I just started seein’ her a little bit lately. I guess it’s a second chance," Chris continued.

  Miss Joyce laughed.

"What’s so funny??"

"You young people always over think stuff. Y’all all lookin’ to make sense of EVERYTHING, and then you look for second chances and then most of ya’ screw that up. I always concentrated on the FIRST chance, my baby."

"What do you DO on the first chance, Miss Joyce? I mean couples do have hard times and take a break sometimes, Chris searched for sage advice.

"Yes they do, they do indeed, my baby, but y’all always like to be up in each other’s ass these days instead of coolin’ off. Miss Joyce answered.  "...Sometimes ya' just got to learn to shut up."


  Chris studied Ms. Joyce's words, looking for answers.

"When me and George, God rest his soul, got in an argument, he’d just go to the next room or leave for a while, 'til both of us simmered down."

"That WORKED?" Chris asked.

"Well, THAT, and the fact that he knew he’d get a shoe up against his head if he kept on runnin’ his mouth, she laughed.

"Were y’all happy?" Chris asked, clinging to every word.

"I hope so, we were together for 45 years. We had our ups and downs but we respected each other and we had our own friends and lives. When we were together,  our time was OUR time. We weren’t sittin’ at dinner,  worryin’ bout' work or typin’ on those damn phones like all y’all kids like to do. Even if we’d HAD them phones, we still wouldn’t be typin’ on em’."

Joyce continued...

"...We worked hard to notice people around us and help em,’ if we could. You don’t see stuff like that on the computer or the phone."

 
  Miss Joyce studied Chris’ face, with deep sincerity, before continuing,

"...We talked, we danced, we laughed, we cried; we LISTENED to each other,  my baby. If ya’ ask me, I’d say that them phones and computers cause so many folks to miss the moment.  Y'all get online to read about shit that’s goin’ on right in front of your face." Joyce let out a belly laugh. Chris did as well.


"...George could be the biggest, most stubborn pain in the ass you ever met on God's green earth, but there’s not another one like him. He was mine…for better or worse. We had a lot of better than worse, but we worked at it," Miss Joyce continued.


  Chris’ eyes glistened.  Taking in Joyce's words, he smiled.

"You miss him a lot?"  Chris pried. 

"Every damn day, but he wasn’t mine to keep so I’m not sad, I’m blessed.  I get to see him every single day when I look at our sons and daughters. I know I’ll see him again though. I got the faith, sweet baby."


  A few moments passed as Chris and Miss Joyce sat, staring at the TV above the tiny bar in Pirate's Alley.

"I guess I should get on home," Miss Joyce announced.
 
"I’ll walk with you," Chris offered.


   Chris and Miss Joyce stood at her gate for a moment before Chris spoke first.

"...I forced her to move with me and I shouldn’t have; I think she hates me for that," Chris lamented.


"Well," Miss Joyce began, "you tryin’ to be good to her and work on things to make it up?"


"Yeah," Chris softly replied, "...but, I think I get a little impatient."

"Ha!  All men do, baby, and them boys who seem like they don’t get jumpy...just wait a while, it’ll come out soon enough," Joyce laughed, waving her hand as if to discount Chris' worries.   "...She still talkin’ to ya,’ right?"

"Yes, she is," Chris promptly answered.


  Joyce looked back at Chris for a moment before kissing his cheek.

"I’m glad you’ OK, my baby," she said, smiling up at Chris.

"I don’t feel OK all the time," Chris shrugged.

 
  Miss Joyce turned and walked to the porch, waving her hand in the air again, imparting a final piece of advice to Chris.

"...You OK baby, you OK," she assured with her unmistakable laugh.

  Chris quietly stood at the gate for a moment, replaying Joyce‘s words as Bailey sat, faithfully by his side. He looked down at Bailey.

"...How do you feel about all that, Bailey? he asked.


  Bailey looked up at Chris with bright eyes, tongue wagging, not a care in the world. Chris tugged her leash, "c’mon," he commanded.


  He and Bailey headed down the sidewalk, side by side.   

copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008

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