| General Fiction posted April 12, 2017 | Chapters: |
...16 17 -18- 19... 
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Too many beers and a haunting desire
A chapter in the book Family Poems and Stories 2010-2017
The Bar Stool
by Mustang Patty
Sitting on the bar stool, he swiveled to look at the door, but it was doubtful that anyone he wanted to see would enter. Sunlight tried to shine through the dirty square of a window. The dimly lit bar smelled of stale beer and desperation. Swiveling back to his glass of beer, he squinted at the amber liquid barely covering the bottom.
He couldn't remember how many beers he'd had, or how long he sat. Glancing at the dwindling pile of bills sitting in front of him, he calculated it must have been quite some time. He was still thirsty.
It didn't seem to matter how many beers he drank. The thirst still parched the back of his throat. No amount of beer could heal the aching in his heart. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Thumbing through the items stashed in the crease, he found what he was looking for.
Three smiling faces looked up at him. He always remembered them exactly as they were in this picture. But he knew several years had passed. They were much older than the cherub faces of the five, three and two-year-old he left behind. All in school, he wondered if they even remembered him. Did their mother speak of him? Or was he a dirty secret pushed from her mind.
Pushing her from his mind, he gazed at the beauty of his children. He could remember their laughter, the only sound that brought him joy. Of course, the laughter dwindled as he brought his drunken voice into the mix. His temper was quick, and he pushed them all away. He had no time for play, he needed to get more money and return to the bar. She would put up a fight, and his response was to hit and punch.
He sent money every week. It was court ordered. He didn't go to visit. They were better off without him. Or were they? He was their father. He should have a place in their life. She would have to let him in. She didn't have a choice.
Motioning to the bartender for another beer, he came up with a plan. He would drive over to their new place and visit his kids. They would rejoice at his arrival. There would be hugs and the sound of laughter. Taking another look at their worn picture, he smiled for the first time in days.
Downing the beer in one long gulp, he had his resolve. He would go and see his kids. No one would stop him. He needed to hear their laughter. Staggering from the stool, he went to retrieve his coat.
Hefting its heavy weight, he stuck in his arms, and pulled up the collar. He slipped his hand deep into the right pocket. Grasping the butt of his gun, he knew he would see his kids one last time.
Sitting on the bar stool, he swiveled to look at the door, but it was doubtful that anyone he wanted to see would enter. Sunlight tried to shine through the dirty square of a window. The dimly lit bar smelled of stale beer and desperation. Swiveling back to his glass of beer, he squinted at the amber liquid barely covering the bottom.
He couldn't remember how many beers he'd had, or how long he sat. Glancing at the dwindling pile of bills sitting in front of him, he calculated it must have been quite some time. He was still thirsty.
It didn't seem to matter how many beers he drank. The thirst still parched the back of his throat. No amount of beer could heal the aching in his heart. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Thumbing through the items stashed in the crease, he found what he was looking for.
Three smiling faces looked up at him. He always remembered them exactly as they were in this picture. But he knew several years had passed. They were much older than the cherub faces of the five, three and two-year-old he left behind. All in school, he wondered if they even remembered him. Did their mother speak of him? Or was he a dirty secret pushed from her mind.
Pushing her from his mind, he gazed at the beauty of his children. He could remember their laughter, the only sound that brought him joy. Of course, the laughter dwindled as he brought his drunken voice into the mix. His temper was quick, and he pushed them all away. He had no time for play, he needed to get more money and return to the bar. She would put up a fight, and his response was to hit and punch.
He sent money every week. It was court ordered. He didn't go to visit. They were better off without him. Or were they? He was their father. He should have a place in their life. She would have to let him in. She didn't have a choice.
Motioning to the bartender for another beer, he came up with a plan. He would drive over to their new place and visit his kids. They would rejoice at his arrival. There would be hugs and the sound of laughter. Taking another look at their worn picture, he smiled for the first time in days.
Downing the beer in one long gulp, he had his resolve. He would go and see his kids. No one would stop him. He needed to hear their laughter. Staggering from the stool, he went to retrieve his coat.
Hefting its heavy weight, he stuck in his arms, and pulled up the collar. He slipped his hand deep into the right pocket. Grasping the butt of his gun, he knew he would see his kids one last time.
He couldn't remember how many beers he'd had, or how long he sat. Glancing at the dwindling pile of bills sitting in front of him, he calculated it must have been quite some time. He was still thirsty.
It didn't seem to matter how many beers he drank. The thirst still parched the back of his throat. No amount of beer could heal the aching in his heart. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Thumbing through the items stashed in the crease, he found what he was looking for.
Three smiling faces looked up at him. He always remembered them exactly as they were in this picture. But he knew several years had passed. They were much older than the cherub faces of the five, three and two-year-old he left behind. All in school, he wondered if they even remembered him. Did their mother speak of him? Or was he a dirty secret pushed from her mind.
Pushing her from his mind, he gazed at the beauty of his children. He could remember their laughter, the only sound that brought him joy. Of course, the laughter dwindled as he brought his drunken voice into the mix. His temper was quick, and he pushed them all away. He had no time for play, he needed to get more money and return to the bar. She would put up a fight, and his response was to hit and punch.
He sent money every week. It was court ordered. He didn't go to visit. They were better off without him. Or were they? He was their father. He should have a place in their life. She would have to let him in. She didn't have a choice.
Motioning to the bartender for another beer, he came up with a plan. He would drive over to their new place and visit his kids. They would rejoice at his arrival. There would be hugs and the sound of laughter. Taking another look at their worn picture, he smiled for the first time in days.
Downing the beer in one long gulp, he had his resolve. He would go and see his kids. No one would stop him. He needed to hear their laughter. Staggering from the stool, he went to retrieve his coat.
Hefting its heavy weight, he stuck in his arms, and pulled up the collar. He slipped his hand deep into the right pocket. Grasping the butt of his gun, he knew he would see his kids one last time.
 Recognized |
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My father was an alcoholic that left for good when I was twelve. He never came back, but there were many nights I feared he would show up with a gun.
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