Good Times (606 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.1 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by r0fl (View user info) at 2006-03-31 02:10:21 EST
I stared at the glazed wooden bar. I'd tell you what kind of wood it was to sound more descriptive, but I honestly don't know. Cherry? Oak? The dim lights downplayed my night, like they always did.
Terry wiped the bar down near the door, like so many bartenders did in their engagement of cliché activities. I wondered the cleanliness of his towel, took a sip long of my beer, and lost interest. His elbow grease seemed sufficient to me. The foam actually traveled to my nose, but really, nobody was around to notice.
"Anything new to report, big guy?"
I always called people 'big guy,' because I wasn't the biggest. 5'7 wasn't the tallest guy on the team, and I knew that. Terry responded with his nonchalant acknowledgement, inviting more conversation. That's what you developed in the people business. Call it ironic, I don't fuckin' care.
"Nah Terry, S.S.D.D." I quoted from some movie I saw a while ago. I doubt Terry even saw it, he doesn't get out much. Hell, I barely do; so I know he does.
I stared at my glass stein of domestic tap, and took a gulp.
I swallowed it down, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and exhaled deeply and fully, letting the day exit my larynx. It was long, like any other, but nothing out of the ordinary. If my father taught me anything, it was to deal.
Morgan walked in, and I checked my watch. It was quarter 'til 10, pretty much on time by his standards. His black faux-silk tie dangled as he walked, reminding me of the limp he acquired his junior year at the AAAA State championships. His olive green shirt contrasted his pants and tie, but I guess that's what he wanted at this stage in his life. We almost own that game, ya know.
I extended my right hand to him, and asked him what's good.
His heels clicked on the hardwood floors, simultaneously gaving Terry the nod and accompanying hand gesture, indicating his brew of choice. Fuckin' Morgan, he loved the dark beer. I bet he'd buy us a dark round later. I don't think I've ever seen him drink a light beer, his entire life; and he was as skinny as a nail. Must be nice.
"Nothing buddy, what's good with you?" he asked. He loosened his tie more, unbuttoned those useless buttons that pinned your collar down, hiked up his khakis, and sat.
We sat at the bar, talking small of family occurrences and the day, relishing that which was our lives in the past, as well as the so-called present.
John and Derek walked through the doors of the Beached Whale together moments later, signaling Terry for a brew and the bowl of peanuts. We all made our customary acquaintances, gazing at the radiation from the 21' Samsung hanging from the corner of the bar.
The walls were decorated with various posters and emblems, which we'd classify as "random." Peacocks, governmental slogans, regional signs.
The bottles on the wall behind the ball were merely for show; nobody here ordered a hard drink. They provided the perfect cinematic backdrop of the small town bartender, capable of anyone's desire.
It was mostly us anyway, and the others from the mill. It was beer now, beer later, and a beer for the road.
Easier on the gut, I'd say. At least at the Whale. 'Better than at home,' we'd joke.
The highlights of the latest college football games rang through the Samsung, and we all hooted and hollered at the montage of vicious hits, touchdown celebrations, and generally enjoyed life.
I was sitting on 'Mr. Wiggles' tonight, the chair that when swiveled, reminded you of its ungreased joints and worn heritage. No matter though, there's no point in whining over things you can't change. I could move to a different stool, but... let's face it: I'm lazy.
I ordered a round on me, which was customary for whoever got here first. It was a shitty rule, but what would life be without rules? It had always been this way, since we got outta school. Fuck, it'd been awhile. You couldn't take the past away from us.
The chain of command continued down the line, until we felt drunk enough to retire to our domiciles (I doubt that Derek and John had EVER used that word) and retire for the night with our respective significant others.
Nebraska was #1 in the polls, and I was rootin' for them the whole time. They ran the triple option, like we did in high school, me, Morgan, John and Derek, and if you knew how that offense was run, you couldn't root against it. Those who were coached well were unstoppable. If you had the right personnel, of course.
Before you knew it, I was staring at the bottom of my glass, and Morgan ordered a round of Nut Brown. I gave Morgan a smirk, but he just chuckled to himself, and we continued with our pointless lives.
"Hey dude," he said to me, "Remember the time Finian ran for like, 300 yards on Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah I do man, I was right there," I replied. "They couldn't stop him man." I continued. I really didn't live in the past, and all that high school bullshit, but these guys did. A barrage of high fives ensued, and I joined it, feigning interest. I hated living in the past, but shit.
These guys, they were my boys.
And Terry; Terry was old enough to be my old man, his crow's feet were indicators of times that I did not know, during the 'Nam war, times I wish I didn't know and never wanted to.
The dim light only shined on what it wanted to, the jukebox, the ring on my left ring finger, the rim of John's glasses.
Someone entered a few quarters into the Juke, playing some random Crue song.
Morgan, John and I joked of how our class song had been legitimately voted "Girls, Girls, Girls," then the stupid girls on the executive board had a recount, and changed the song. Woulda been a kickass class song, if ya ask me.
At some point we called it a night, and I stumbled to my Corsica and pushed it into Drive. I took a right on Helene, a left on Main, and settled into my driveway. I think I ran over one of our newly planted bushes. I checked my watch; it was 3:30. Who fuckin' cares.
I stumbled through the deadbolted door, slipping my shoes off after I locked our door. I climbed the carpeted stairs, entering the bedroom, throwning my shirt across the room.
I rubbed Alexis's head, whispering to her that everything was going to be all right. I doubt she heard me. She was my world; but even if I came home after work, I bet she'd have been sleeping.
Even if she did hear or smell me, I smelled of Nut Brown and Trident Spearmint; and I doubt she'd believe me anyhow. We just found out we were going to have twins.
I spent that night at the Whale with my boys. We laughed and enjoyed each other's company, and gave Terry something to live for. Nobody knew besides me and Alexis.
In the long run, though, did it really fuckin' matter?
Those were the good old days, when shit didn't matter.
User Reviews
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-31 23:45:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-03-31 16:20:33 (#)
Ranking: 0
was an ok story...somewhat anticlimatic but I think that's what you were going for
2 points - The Dreamcatcher...ugh...possibly Kings worst book and worst movie
and 'the Nam war' i've never heard that, I've heard 'Nam and The Vietnam War but never the combination of the two...stuck out to me
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He's right about Dreamcatcher.
Submitted by Brendon (user info) at 2006-03-31 17:09:42 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Awesome.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-03-31 16:20:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
was an ok story...somewhat anticlimatic but I think that's what you were going for
2 points - The Dreamcatcher...ugh...possibly Kings worst book and worst movie
and 'the Nam war' i've never heard that, I've heard 'Nam and The Vietnam War but never the combination of the two...stuck out to me
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-03-31 14:00:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'd like to play too. brdn_nkd.at.yahoo.com
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-03-31 09:01:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-03-31 08:50:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-03-31 04:03:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/86081
yesssssssssssssssss
Submitted by Bushy (user info) at 2006-03-31 03:12:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
worth reading.
worth proof reading though.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:38:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:19:43 (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, I think we should still do it.
Send me an email: siamese_dream.at.optusnet.com.au and we can discuss the details of it.
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Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:16:47 (#)
Ranking: 0
You still down for that "Take this sentence and make a post about it" post/contest/faggot thing?
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What is this outrage? Am I not even invited any more?
bah
Post was good.
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:24:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Take the weekend off, look for me on Monday; you'll get it. I have a mock MCAT on Saturday, so I'm not doin' shit.
Submitted by HawthorneHeights (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:20:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Nostalgia.
You pretty much have it picture perfect with all the friends talking at the bar about the Thanksgiving day game.
Good job man.
Keep it up.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:19:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, I think we should still do it.
Send me an email: siamese_dream.at.optusnet.com.au and we can discuss the details of it.
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:16:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You still down for that "Take this sentence and make a post about it" post/contest/faggot thing?
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:15:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, don't think I didn't notice the typos. Still good enough for a +2.
As long as you know they're there.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:13:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Nice.
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-31 02:12:34 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Stagger_Lee, I can already see two typoes in this. For some reason, I can only write stupid Uber posts after I've been drinking, so the typoes aren't going away. Just giving a head's up.
You bitch.