oh no, blank page. i thought about what was going to come next all the way home, but i forgot that when i finally got there i would have to face the one thing i fear the most. fuck it, let’s go:
“you know exactly what i want.”
he hung there like that, the center of the universe, close to the bartender, close enough to smell his breath even through the haze and smoke of the place that had seemed to melt around them. it smelled like spent powder. he had said the words so softly that the bartender would later decide that he might not have said them at all. maybe i just finished it for him, he would think.
right now, though, he just stared. not wide-eyed, not necessarily afraid, just very still. there was no other noise, no other motion; the world had been entirely reduced to the two men and the two and a half feet of darkly-stained wood between them. the bartender did not dare to blink and simply met the steady gaze of the other man with more calm than he thought possible. his only thought was: This is about the girl. It is always about a girl.
and then, as suddenly as the world had fled around the face of the newcomer as it rose to meet his, color and focus returned. the man moved slowly down and away, breaking his stare and curving his lips into an easy smile. he hooked his foot around a stool and sat in a smooth motion, then rested his chin on his fist, still smiling his relaxed and altogether-unassuming smile. “i want a drink, friend,” he said, sounding tired.
no, thought the bartender, feigning tired. he was a barman, after all: he had spent his whole life with men who drew their last day out twenty years or more. he knew tired, and this man’s eyes betrayed him: they were too bright, too alive. there was something mildly upbeat about them, too--he thought this was funny.
“fine then,” said the bartender. “what’ll it be, stranger?” He stretched the word out mockingly and made absolutely no move to grab another glass.
the man chuckled under his breath, then sighed, still smiling. he dropped his arms and crossed them on the bar in front of him. this, as with all his previous motions, was done very slowly, very deliberately, like a person trying to work with a wild animal. when he finally spoke, his voice was soft and smooth, slow and clear, just like his movements: “come on, frank, the least you could do is play along.”
the bartender tightened at the sound of his name, then immediately forced himself to loosen. he would not let this man frighten him. he also recognized the fact that this was already a lost hope. “’sthat supposed to impress me? that you know my name?” he said, his voice a little more dry than he would have liked.
the man continued his insufferable smile. “no, of course not. it’s written right there, after all,” and he pointed to the wooden carving past the bartender’s right shoulder. rae had had that made for him somewhere over on the coast, carved and burned out of the deep red trees that grew there. it announced to the world that this was, in fact, “frank’s bar.”
still, though, frank would not allow himself to let his guard down. something was undoubtedly wrong about this newcomer. he moved and spoke with the aloofness of someone either incredibly stupid or absolutely confident in himself, and frank knew better than to count this man among the former. and behind it all, frank could still see in his eyes that he thought this was somehow amusing. “well?” frank asked, remembering suddenly that he still held a glass in one hand and a towel in the other. he began cleaning it again in earnest. “what’ll it be?”
the man blinked, his smile dropping suddenly, then returning just as fast. “oh, right, a drink. i dunno, whiskey? that’s what the folk around here drink, right?” after a slight pause with no response whatsoever from frank, “yes, whiskey. i’ll have whiskey.”
frank never let his eyes leave the man as he reached under the bar for the nearest bottle, which just so happened to be tequila. he poured the man a shot, sloppily, of course, as the glass he used was barely even in his peripheral vision. when he tipped the bottle back up, he made no effort to reach for the glass; he just slung the towel over his left shoulder and rested his hands on the bar. the man reached for the shot, slowly, deliberately, safely, then brought it to his nose. he pulled away, squeezing his eyes shut. “odd-smelling tequila you have here, frank.” he brought the glass almost all the way down to the bar, stopped, then raised it back up to his face. “oh well, maybe it’ll make you feel better. here goes!” he said cheerily, and tipped back the shot.
he sputtered and coughed, and frank’s fingers twitched as he fought off another urge to reach for the shotgun. no, he thought again, his eyes. he’s faking it again. he thought perhaps it was time to try and put the newcomer off a bit. “you don’t have to pretend you don’t like it,” he tried smugly.
“oh,” said the man, coughing again, “i’m not pretending. that shit is terrible.” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “like, completely terrible.” putting the glass down, he straightened. “but i’m relatively sure that’s not what you meant.” his smile returned.
frank could feel his blood rising up through his arms, up through his stomach. he was beginning to get angry--no, he realized, he had been angry from the start, he was only now starting to lose control over it. “who are you?” he growled. it was only after he said it that he realized he did not really want to know the answer.
“my name is will,” he replied calmly. this was not the answer frank had expected, and he didn’t really know how to continue. clearly, will saw this in his eyes and continued himself: “we’ve already been over what i’m doing here, so you needn’t ask that. perhaps a ‘where do you come from?’ is in order?” he paused again, waiting for frank’s response. frank continued to stare, hoping that his blank confusion came off as simple anger. it didn’t.
“all right then, frank, i’ll tell you. i come from a place where there aren’t any of you,” his voice twisted the word, providing the first outright bitterness to come out of him, “where the dead stay dead, where people like you can never go. Will never go.” His smile had slowly faded, and again, with it went the rest of the bar, the rest of the world. Frank could feel his fingers tightening on the edge of the bar, could feel the blood that had risen with his anger slide out of his face.
“is this about--”
“of course it’s about the girl, frank.” he smiled again, but the world stayed dead around him. “it’s always about a girl.”
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