Seat's Taken

Seat’s Taken

He swirled his whiskey in the old fashioned tumbler the barkeep deemed worthy of the Johnnie Walker Green Label double, on the rocks. He glanced over at the identical, untouched drink slowly watering down on the bar in front of the empty seat next to him.

The bar had changed in the last ten years. Young, lean-bodied girls danced to poorly written hip-hop with awkward beats, rhythm completely lost on them. Guys that may or may not still be in frats slap five and pound fists in pastel polo shirts, collars stiff and popped. It didn’t used to be like this.

He took a sip.

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“How ‘bout here?” They were on an Adventure, as they called it. The rules of Adventuring were simple: Take the subway to a random, unfamiliar stop. Get out. Search for nearby bars, stopping in as many as possible that strike their fancy. The seedier the better. One whiskey and one beer at each bar, then move on (exceptions were made for especially special drink specials and extraordinarily attractive [or easy] women). This particular bar was guarded by what appeared to be a grizzly bear, mid-attack, carved out of a large tree trunk. It was strangely inviting.

“Absolutely.”

The bar was decorated as an old-time log cabin, country music blaring, peanut shells on the ground, a pool table, and three dart boards, bristle with steel tips. The regulars glanced towards the door, sizing up the two youngsters strutting through the door, hops in their steps. They quickly lost interest, refocusing on their drinks. The boys loved it here, not in an ironic way.

They started going on Adventures to experience as much of the Island as possible. It was unclear how long their finances and psyches would last in the most expensive, populated, and exciting city in the country. “They might even let us play some Kenny.”

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“Is someone sitting here?” He hadn’t even noticed her approach. He refocused on the here and now, looked to his right. “Hellll-oooh! I said, is someone sitting here?” She was attractive in an ‘I’m-way-too-young-to-legally-be-drinking-but-I’m-wearing-almost-no-clothing-to-compensate-oh-and-did-you-notice-my-chest?-it’s-on-display’ kind of way. In his younger days she would have been easy pickings.

“Seat’s taken.” He turned back to his drink.

“But nobody’s sitting here.”

He turned back. Slowly. “Seat’s taken.” Back to the whiskey.

“But that drink has been sitting there forever.”

Back to the whore. “The seat. Is taken.” Whiskey.

Puppy-dog eyes, forward lean, arms pushed together, cleavage on display, “Pleeeeeeease?” A wink.
He shakes his head, places the whiskey on the bar delicately, as if it might shatter unexpectedly. Whore. “The. Seat. Is. Taken.” He almost whispered it, his voice like stone. She backed away.

In a swift, practiced motion he spins on his stool, grabs his whisky, gulps it. “Another, please.”

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“You. Man, you! Are my best friend.” Hiccup. “Seriously.”
“Dude. In a totally non-gay way, I think I love you.” Stumble.

Drinking had a way of bringing out the sentimentalist in each of them. Adventures often led to staggering, arms-around-each-other’s-shoulders confessions like this. Stumbling between bars, huddled over jukeboxes, cabbing it home … the Adventures started with the goal of exploring the city but rarely met the goal. Bars are bars, drunks are drunks, sluts are sluts, assholes are assholes– it’s the same everywhere. The city, for all its diversity, seems monotonous when your time is spent inside trains and bars. Unless you get off the island, the skyline all looks the same from street level.

“Nectar of the gods?”
“Bartender! Two shots of Jameson, please!”

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They’d been coming to this bar for years, the crown jewel, the fruit of their labors, The diamond in the rough, if you will. The Bear was easily the most incredible bar they had come across on an Adventure. The ambiance (if you could call it that), the regulars, the beer, the music …

They considered themselves Urban Cowboys. They liked country music and whiskey. They had little money and were proud of it. Sure, neither could properly saddle and ride a horse, nor had either ever fired a gun or killed anything other than bugs. But being a cowboy is state of mind. And they loved it. In a city full of metropolitans, urbanites and hipsters, they considered themselves the alternative.

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He sipped his new whiskey. His faced tensed. As much as he loved it, he could still remember the first time he’d had a whiskey on the rocks. It was on an Adventure. He glanced at the stool, looked at the drink on the bar, noticed the ring of water forming around the glass. “Another.”

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“Every year, today” he looks to his wrist, “the twenty third of …” he looks to the ceiling, “March? We’ll meet here to have a drink. A whiskey. To remember.”

“Definitely. It’s a Manniversary.”

“Cheers.” They touched glasses, downed the whiskey.

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“I think you’ve had enough.” The bartender spoke, suddenly.

“It always surprises you.” He said softly, more to himself than the tender behind the bar.

“Whiskey? Nah, man. It’ll get you every time.” The bartender dispensed his young wisdom.

The man chuckled. “No. Not the whiskey. Whiskey is true. It doesn’t change. One could argue, I suppose, the relative merits of different techniques. Of aging, of blending. But whiskey is whiskey. An eight dollar bottle gets you drunk the same as Johnnie Blue.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the drink.”

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“I don’t like it.”
“What? What don’t you like?”
“You. Talking about leaving. We’re not done here. There’s so much to do!”
“It’s not my choice, man. You know I’d stay if I could.”
“Bullshit! This is a choice. You’re choosing there, not here. Them, not us. You’ve built a life here.” He lifts his arms, taking in his surroundings. “Why leave this place? What’s better?!” “And don’t say, ‘Her.’”
“Her.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “Sorry, I had to.” Another round is placed on the bar. “I’m not done just yet.”
They hug.
They drink.

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“You know, you’re wasting that drink.”
He had been staring at his own drink, lost in memory, as if the last sip held answers of some kind. He looked up at the bartender with cold eyes.
“I mean, it’s watered down by now. The ice is melted.”
“The seat is taken.” His voice is dull, lifeless. His eyes, the same.
“Right, man, I’ve heard that. You’ve been saying that all night. You’re creeping out the customers, dude.”
The man looks up from his drink, turns slowly, looking the crowd over. Kids are caught up in the moment, having fun, jumping into drama, being irresponsible. “I’m waiting for someone. It’s our anniversary.”
“Whatever, man. My patience is running out.”
He looked back at his drink. Picked it up, smelled it, twirled the glass. He shut his eyes. Paused. Pounded the drink. Opened them. “Another.”

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Things happen. People change. He couldn’t say what, exactly, had caused it. Maybe it had been one cataclysmic event, maybe countless, minor things built up over time. Youth had a way of simplifying things, of turning trivial matters into monumental, life-altering events. As mature as you feel in the moment, a year later you look back on yourself as an ignorant kid. Maybe you never really change.

He stood, finished his drink, took a final look around the bar. The ice in the untouched tumbler long ago melted. He looked away.