Anthony Davi’s tale sees the world through the bottom of a glass, a bar lens that cuts through life’s distortions to bring things into focus. Strange truths can be revealed there, such as how a square jaw is sign of will power, even when there’s a beer pressing up against it.

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Tuesday was the Day

I knew this man who always came into my bar night after night. He never said anything to anyone. The words I ever heard him utter were, “a shot and a brew and keep em’ coming.” He was a stalky man who filled the doorway as he walked through. He wore a long brown trench coat with a beat up Yankee hat and black dress shoes worn by wear. His grey beard covered his square jaw.

He always came in around sunset and stayed till closing. The guy just looked like he didn’t want to be bothered. After months of studying him it became clear to me. He was just waiting for death. When I came to this conclusion I decided to try and talk to him. I wanted to share some kind words to maybe make him feel better.

It was a Tuesday. The sun was setting. The windows of the bar were glazed over with the remaining rays of light. He walks in and sits at his normal bar stool.

“Same thing” I asked.

He nodded and waved his hand towards himself not saying a word. I put the shot and the beer down in front of him.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“George,” he mumbled.

“George? Well I’m Tony,” I replied. “Are you from around here because I see you here every day?”

“There a reason you’re talking to me?” He scolded.

“Just trying to get to know my regulars,” I answered.

I turned away and went back to drying off glasses with my back towards him. He sat there for a few minutes in silence.

“I live a block down,” he finally answered.

It sounded like it killed him to answer my question. He said his answer with such difficulty like someone made him answer.

“You got any family?” I asked.

“No,” he replied softly.

I found it interesting he said no because he had a wedding ring on his left hand. After his reply he finished both the beer and the shot and waved his hand towards me for another round. I was curious about this man. Day after day he came in, drank the same thing then leaves and comes back the next day to do it again.

“This ones on me,” I said.

He looked back up at me with wide eyes like I just offered him a million dollars.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Where’s your wife if you don’t mind me asking?” pointing at his ring.

“She died five years ago,” he says sadly while spinning the ring around his finger. “I know why you’re talking to me after all this time. You see this lonely old man day after day and you feel sorry for me.”

“Well don’t!” he exclaims. “I know what’s ahead of me, the doctor gave me two years to live and that was three years ago.”

I look at him in confusion astounded by what he said.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“Cirrhosis,” he replies depressingly.

“And you’re still drinking!”

“I’m alone. The only thing I ever loved in this world is gone. I have no children. No family. No nothing. I wake up every morning in brutal pain hoping this was my last day on earth. It takes all the will I have to come down here every day.”

“Why do you do it?” I asked

“Only thing that makes me feel no pain and lets me sleep at night,” he replies.

“Why don’t you just kill yourself,” I asked jokingly.

He laughs vaguely and takes a sip of his beer.

“It’s a sin,” he replies looking down at his beer glass.

He finishes his drinks and thanks me for the service. This is the first time he left with a smile and the first time he left early. I finally understood George. He came in here day after day because this is the only thing that made him feel better. This is the only thing that brought him one step closer to the end of his misery, one step closer to his beloved loss and it took all of his willpower to do it. I never saw George again after that Tuesday but every day when the sun goes down I pour a shot and a beer for George and give him a Toast. Rest in Peace George.

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Who’d believe our Ain’t That Quaint contest is coming to an end? Not quite yet though, so stick around for other brush strokes on life’s tapestry.

And there’s always our latest contest if you’re feeling literary:

www.awordwithyoupress.com/2010/07/15/a-dish-called-wanda-our-new-contet/

Meantime, there’s just a squidge of time left in our Independent mini mystery prize contest – doors close July 31st!

www.awordwithyoupress.com/2010/07/04/we-hold-this-contest-to-be-self-evident/