Him: Chapter 1 - $4 Soda

Chapter 1

$4 Soda

"What brings you here, old timer?" I said to the man.

He had arrived a moment before and ordered "Whiskey, it doesn't matter what kind". He sat there, alone, staring into his own eyes in the mirror behind the bar. He looked to be in his late 60's; good for his age, with a full head of silver-gray hair and a grizzled 2 day beard to match. A miner? No, he was too healthy. Maybe a wise old farmer that plans his crops around the Farmers Almanac predictions and somehow keeps up with world events. There were plenty of empty seats, but he chose to the stool next to me, so I, in keeping with social standards was trying to strike up a conversation.

"Fate" he replied, switching his gaze in the mirror from his own eyes to mine without turning his head. "I have a message for you".



Now I was feeling a little uncomfortable. The conversation had shifted from courtesy and curiosity, hoping for some kind of timeless wisdom or stories of old, to me. 'How to handle this?' I thought.

"Really?" I asked. 'Really?, REALLY!', what kind of reply was that? I've seen movies where this exact scene plays out and those guys never say 'really?'!

Now he moved, but only a little, looking down to a folded piece of aged paper in his left hand, putting his right hand over his mouth, crinkling his well defined mustache, trying to find the words. 'Well, good', I thought. I wasn't the only one having trouble with words.

"Yes" he grumbled, "really".

Without another word he pushed back from the bar, downed his shot of Wild Turkey, and while turning to walk away, slid the paper closer to me.

"Wait, what is this? Who are you?" I stood up, taking the paper in my hand, but too focused on the old man to read it. He stopped walking, and, without turning, put his hand out, telling me to stop without saying a word, and walked away.

I wanted to follow, but I also wanted to give this guy his space. 'What if he's crazy? He must be crazy.' I thought, going back to my seat, the paper still in my hand.

"Are you going to order?", I knew what the bartender really meant, 'Order or leave'. "I'll have a coke" I said. I've never been a drinker, and I had come here for a cold beer, but now I wanted absolute clarity.

The coke came and I took a sip from the straw, drawing befuddled looks from other patrons who were not drinking a $4 soda with ice alone at a bar.

Slowly I began to unfold the paper. It felt old and weak, the fibers worn from years of traveling in a pocket or wallet. 'What's this?' A wallet sized photograph fell from between the folds. My eyes widened, both thrilled and taken aback. "How?" I muttered out loud, drawing more stares.

Fighting back confused tears I jumped from my chair, running through the crowd and out through the entrance of the bar into the rainy parking lot. "Hey, you've gotta pay for that!" shouted an angry bartender as the door slapped shut behind me. Where had the old stranger gone? He was nowhere.

I stood there, unable to translate or convey the range of emotions that flowed through me. Fueled by adrenaline and curiosity, I turned to the still half folded paper in my hand, finally bringing myself to open it completely, fearing I knew what waited for me inside. I was right.

Illuminated by the flashing blue neon sign on a faded piece of stationary meant to be read many years before now were the words:

"Son, I can't explain why I can't be with you now, I hope someday I'll get the chance. 

I Love You. I Love Your Mother,
Dad"

The cold rain on the back of my neck brought me back into the present after what felt like hours of standing and staring. I wiped the tears from my face and returned to my spot at the bar, drying off the picture and finishing my coke, not sure what to feel.

A blonde around my age approached and sat on the stool to my right "Buy me a drink." she said in the tone of someone who always gets what they want. "No." I said. "Oh, okay then. What's with the picture?", she didn't take the hint. "It's a baby picture of me." I droned. "Oh, okay then. Who's that holding you?", interesting, this woman doesn't take hints, nor does she seem to know who holds babies in pictures.

"Someone I've never met before." I said, putting $5 on the bar and began to walk away. "Wait, we were talking" she said as she stood to follow me out, her high heels clanking against the concrete floor.

I stopped walking, and, without turning, put my hand out, telling her to stop without saying a word, and walked away.

Read Chapter 2