Noah (7 page)

“Is there anything else I can get ya?” Though the question was directed to me, I couldn’t shake that the attitude attached to it wasn’t. She kept looking at the guy who was bartending.

“I’m good.” I took a bite of my steak and noticed my shot glasses were empty. “How about you bring me a couple more of these?”

She grabbed the glasses and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

A loud crash at the bar a few seconds later caught my attention. I turned to see the girl and guy having words again, but the music was playing and I couldn’t make out what they were saying from so far away. A couple minutes later the guy wiped off his hands and walked out, after saying a few choice words that I was able to make out.

Aside from a few people sitting at the counter drinking, there wasn’t anyone else there. The girl walked over to the corner of the bar and leaned on it, putting her head down where nobody could see. When she stood up straight she had this happy look on her face. I’d seen a lot of crazy bitches in my life, but none that acted the way she was.

The smile was still there when she delivered my next two shots. “Here you go. Two shots of whiskey.”

I looked down and noticed that there were three. “Um, there’s an extra one here.”

“Oh that one’s for me.” She picked it up and held it out in front of me. “Here’s to assholes that hold us back from our dreams.”

I almost spit the whiskey across the room. Her toast hit so close to home, but I knew she couldn’t possibly know what I was going through. I took the second shot quickly and handed them both to her without another word. As intrigued as I was, I knew I couldn’t get involved.

Her advice was for me to keep driving, and that’s exactly what I planned on doing.

              
Shalan

As if my day
couldn’t get any shittier, my brother had decided that getting a piece of ass was more important than helping me close up the bar. Who knew when he’d come back, if he did at all, though I couldn’t blame him for that part.

If the establishment hadn’t been my only source of income I would have walked away a long time ago, but since my uncle owned it, we all felt obligated to spend every waking moment making sure it didn’t burn to the ground.

It wasn’t like tonight was any different than others. My brother often ran out for pussy, leaving me to wrangle up the town drunks and make sure they couldn’t locate where I’d hid their keys, at least until they sobered up.

At least this night had come with an added bonus.

It was rare for us to see travelers, since we were located off the main route. I was surprised to spot a very handsome man walking in, and more shocked to notice that he obviously didn’t want to socialize. While he made his way to the farthest seat in the place, I studied his body language, trying to catch a vibe as to why he was there and what for. Not that it even mattered. He’d be gone by morning and the town would be just as boring as it was every other day.

I thought back to a time when my dreams seemed like they could come true; a time when I didn’t understand the concept of money, and how much of it I would actually need to make it on my own. This was also before I started dating Rex, and decided that my dreams could wait.

That was one year ago to the day. I remember because it was also the anniversary of the day that my mother died of breast cancer. I’d only been thirteen when it happened, but it had scarred me for life, especially since my good-for-nothing daddy stopped being a parent to me.

Though I still saw him on occasion, I rarely even spoke of the man, more less depended on him to take care of me when times got tough. I’d been taking care of myself since the day she died, and probably even before that.

My dad was bitter, and withdrawn. He’d given up on himself, which in turn trickled down to my older brother and then to me. I wish I could say that my brother was around to help guide me in the right direction, but being that he’s six years older than me, he was already in college on a scholarship that wouldn’t allow him to take time off, or care for a kid sister that he had nothing in common with except for a little blood.

You see, we may have shared DNA, but that’s about all it was. My dad wasn’t his father, and after being reminded of it a thousand times, my brother was adamant about cutting him off completely.

That left me alone with him.

The picture is even less pretty when I admit to the many times my dad came home drunk and confused that I was my mother. A stiff kick in the balls would free me from what was about to take place, but it didn’t help with the fear I had of living under the same roof with a monster.

Throughout high school I kept my problems bottled up so that no one would see. I knew that my father was a bad man, albeit feared what kind of person I’d have to live with if the state put me in foster care.

It wasn’t until my senior year that my brother showed up at my door. After so long thinking that I had nobody, he told me that we had an uncle, who happened to be living in our town. He’d cut off our mother from the family when she’d run off and eloped with my father. It was also the reason why he’d never come looking for me. He didn’t know I existed. He’d moved out of state and since come home to manage his wife’s father’s saloon. When my brother came back he stopped in for a drink and recognized my uncle after so many long years of not knowing him.

One would think that living in the same small town would provide little to no secrets. Our town was the exception. My father kept my mom at home, first caring for me, and then to take care of herself when she started to get sick, when I was around the age of seven. She never once mentioned her brother, or had pictures to prove that a sibling existed.

I don’t know if she ever reached out to him, and he’s never mentioned if she did.

After we met I had a million questions; the first being could I come live with them. I was almost eighteen and wanted to get away from my dad. With no money, and nothing lined up, I knew I was stuck.

Not only did my uncle let me move in, but he also offered me a job.  I’ll never forget the day I packed my things and walked out of my house. I never said goodbye, or told him where I was going. In fact, I still don’t think he knows my uncle is back, and that we are in touch with each other.

The last time I saw my dad was this morning at the graveyard. He tried to hug me, but I pulled away before we connected. The older I got the more disgusted with him I became. What man drinks so much that he thinks his daughter is his dead wife? It repulses me.

Thinking about my dad brought me back to why I was so pissed off. Not only had my boyfriend forgot about the importance of the day, but he’d blown me off to hang out with friends.

I should have known he was bad news when we got together, because that’s all I’ve ever been attracted to. I want a guy that I work hard to get; one that treats me like shit, but keeps expecting more.

It was my nature by fault, and I didn’t know how to change it. The only good thing that came out of it was that I never expected a man to save me from myself. I knew how I was and I’d accepted it.

The only real downfall to setting my standards so low was that at times like these I needed support. I needed a shoulder to cry on, and the reminder that I wasn’t alone in the world. Sure, I had friends and even some family, but they’d walk away from my problems for their own petty needs without a single ounce of guilt.

That’s what ripped me apart inside.

It was probably a bad idea to feed a complete stranger so many shots. Usually I wasn’t so negligent when it came to patrons. Going to jail for serving someone alcohol and them getting in a wreck wasn’t my idea of a good time. After the seventh shot for him, and second for myself, I’d decided that he’d drank enough.

We’d spoke briefly, and both times I was sure I wasn’t exactly friendly. My mood was tampered by my shitty life, and knowing that I’d never get out of this town to pursue what I really wanted to do.

I approached the customer and noticed that his eyes were drooping. Where he’d worn a frown before was now replaced with a cool smile. His white teeth were perfect, and I almost wondered if they were fake. Though he was wearing a hat, I could tell he had thick dark hair. Then there were those eyes. My god, I’d never seen green eyes like his before. “You comin’ over for another round, darlin’?”

His words…

That accent…

He gave me butterflies when he spoke to me, which was so unusual. I dealt with men every day, and not even my boyfriend could get a response like that. “Actually, I was coming to give you your bill. I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

He grabbed my arm before I got a hold of the shot glasses that were empty on the table. “Just a couple more and then I’ll be on my way.”

I pulled away from him as a natural reflex. Too often I was being approached with random drunks from town. They reminded me of my dad and I always got nauseous.

Except this was different. His focused eyes stayed on mine. “You’re already way over the legal limit. I think it’s best for both of us if you had a couple glasses of water.”

“You got any Doritos? I love eatin’ those fuckin’ things after I’ve been out partyin’.”

He wiped his face, so awkwardly that he almost missed it completely. He definitely couldn’t pass a sobriety test.

“I’ve got pretzels and water.” I turned to walk away and he grabbed the back pocket to my jeans, pulling me back towards him. When I fell down on his lap, after losing my balance, I shot up and was prepared to smack him.  He covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he slurred. “I just need a minute to think.”

I placed my hands on my hips and waited for him to say something else. Instead, he stood up and then fell back down in the chair. “Did you put drugs in my drink? I don’t do drugs. What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ wearin’ such crap? I bet you’re beautiful without a disguise,” he slurred.

It was funny to me how this drunk stranger somehow understood why I dressed that way for work. The less skin and figure that I showed, the safer I was around a bunch of intoxicated, belligerent fools. It wasn’t like my brother cared if I was abducted and sexually assaulted. He’d made that obvious when he started leaving me to close up shop without him.

“Water and pretzels would be nice.” Finally he relaxed in the chair again.

When I got back to the bar I noticed that money had been left on the counter and all of the other customers had gone. The clock was nearing midnight and I felt comfortable that nobody else would be stopping by for a drink. After locking the outside door from people coming in, I served the drunk guy pretzels and a bottle of water, and started cleaning up.

After a while I forgot that he was still there. I mean, in the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t alone, but he was so out of it that it wasn’t like I had good company.

The jukebox had stopped playing a mixed variety of music for a while, and I hated the quiet, so I started to do what I did best; what I did every night that I closed out the bar.

I sang a song that I wrote for my mother.  I’d sang it earlier in the cemetery and every year on the same day. She was my angel, the one person who understood what I was put on the earth to do. She made me promise that I’d never stop singing, and I couldn’t let her down, no matter how hard life got, I couldn’t stop.

“Why’d you have to leave me,

Out in the cold so alone and afraid.

I’ve done my best with what I’ve been given,

I’ll never feel ashamed.

I know you’re out there watching,

Making sure that I don’t fall.

Life without you, Momma,

Feels like no life at all.”

Clapping made me jump and stop singing.

The stranger was standing, well leaning, on a stool on the other side of the bar from me. “That was amazin’. Do it again.”

My cheeks caught fire as I became aware that he’d been listening. Since I was no good at performing in front of people, this had made me uncomfortable. “I –”

“What’s a little thing like you doin’ with pipes like that?”

I couldn’t help but smile. When I was a little girl I sang in the choir. Back then it was easy for me to perform. It wasn’t until my mother died that everything had changed. Maybe it was after she died, when my father came home and blamed all of my singing on her cancer. He said my voice was from the devil and that I’d made her sick.

I kept my promise to my mother, but somewhere deep inside I often wondered about what he’d said. I knew it wasn’t possible, but it still kept me from being confident about it.

“It’s just something I do to pass the time I guess.”

“So no encore performance?”

“Nope,” I answered while feeling embarrassed.

He pulled out his wallet and tossed a hundred dollar bill across the counter. “This should cover my meal, drinks and your tip. Thanks for the song, darlin’.”

I watched him walk out, and after swooning over his words again, I went after him. “Wait! You can’t tip me this much. You’ll come back hunting for your change in the morning.”

“Doubt that!” He pulled out his keys and touched the keypad on the actual door to unlock his truck. I couldn’t help but notice that it was extremely nice. It was a four-door, obviously brand new and fully loaded. He leaned in and started the truck with just a push of a button. “Which way is north?” he asked.

I started to lift my finger in the direction, but knew he was in no shape to drive. “Your truck is really nice. Can I see what the new keys look like?”

Since he was drunk I knew he’d fall for it. As soon as he handed me the key ring, I tossed it as far as I could into the grass. “Please don’t hate me for this, mister, but I can’t go home with a clear conscience if you’re out there driving. Sleep it off and when the sun rises you will find your keys.”

“My truck won’t let me drive it without the keys. I need to get out of here. What the fuck?” He looked like a kid that lost his puppy.