He pushes his way through the heavy door into Billy’s and hangs his coat on one of the hooks behind the door. He carries his cane with him. He did that at Billy’s. It could be the kind of place where having the cane handy was a good thing. As quiet as it seemed it could turn in a snap. Jackie waits in their usual spot at the backside of the bar, the two stools that faced the front door and where they could see the whole joint. Jackie has his usual mug of beer and shot glass in front of him. The shot glass is empty, the beer half so. When Jackie sees him approaching he waves a hand at the bartender and the bartender draws a draught beer and pours a shot of Green Acres and sets them at his spot on the worn bar top near Jackie’s heavy elbow. He straddles the stool and leans the cane against the bar by his knee, puts down the shot in one hard swallow, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. His throat makes a satisfied sigh. ‘Sorry I’m late. Boy, that tasted good.’
Jackie grunts. ‘Figured you were putting the grandson to bed.’
‘Did. Then I had to wait for his father to get home. He’s working doubles these days, makes him late sometimes.’
‘You fall asleep?’
‘I might have’ he says, and winks at his old friend. They lift their beers and touch the glasses together with the slightest brush and drink. The cold beer tastes good too.
‘You go up the cemetery?’
‘Went Wednesday’ he says.
‘I went up today.’ Jackie’s parents were just down the hill from the small grove of elms. ‘One cold sumbitch on that hill.’
‘Won’t be long, my friend.’
Jackie looks at him. ‘Til we’re up there?’
‘Winter, you asshole.’
Jackie smirks. ‘I knew that.’ He drains the beer. ‘Feel it comin’ every day in my fuckin’ bones.’ He makes the hand motion to the bartender. ‘Hey Billy, another round here!’
Every bartender at Billy’s was called Billy. None of them were actually named Billy. There hadn’t been a real Billy in a long time. But they answered to it anyway.
The bartender brought them another round of beers and took their empties.
Jackie raises his mug. ‘Fuck winter.’
He raises his own, taps his friend’s. ‘Fuck winter.’ He takes a long draw. Two would be enough tonight. They tasted just fine but two would be enough.
‘Kid has it rough’ says Jackie.
‘My grandson?’
Jackie shakes his head. ‘His old man. Your son-in-law.’
‘Kid can’t catch a break. Since he got back it’s been one thing after another.’
‘We had it rough’ says Jackie.
‘We did’ he says. ‘We swallowed hard and carried on.’ He sips his beer. ‘Different war, different times.’
‘How many tours he do?’
‘Think he lost count. Pretty sure Sam did too.’
‘Some rough shit, man.’ Jackie looks at his beer a long time. It is a quiet night in Billy’s. No pinball, no one shooting pool, the sound down on a hockey game no one cares about. Men with their heads down and taking an occasional drink. ‘But the kid’s got you.’
‘He does.’
‘He’s lucky that way.’
He smiles. ‘Some days. Somedays I wonder.’
Jackie raises his near empty mug. ‘Here’s to some days.’
He taps the glass. ‘Some days.’
keith pearson was born and raised in new hampshire and works at a local high school in the math department.
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