WRAY AND NEPHEW

“The usual," said the gentleman who pulled the long chair from the bartender’s pub table, hung his fuzzy long black coat, and sat on it. He dropped his backpack on the long chair beside him as though he owned that too. Clark looked witty in his folded arm white shirt and his brown tie low from the neck like a dog let off from its strand.

His hairy arm left shadows on the pub table from the reflective lights in the bar, bringing a touch of glamour to his seat. About a meter from the entrance was the sign, Drink responsibly, and two steps away was the bar of unfiltered drafts of various beers and lagers.

Behind the draft was the bartender’s workspace—a neatly arranged class of drinks and spirits, separated by their colours and brands in the wooden cabinet, redefining the accuracy of marketing. 

“Erm, two shots of JD—neat,” answered the bartender.

“Thank you,” replied Clark.

“You know, I can count the number of days you come in here for this same shot,” the barista commented while wiping the glass. He lowered himself to draw out more from the glass machine.

“Oh… Tell me then,” asked Clark.

“Easy, Monday to Friday and sometimes Saturdays with the same attitude and same order.”

“Not every Saturday.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said... sometimes Saturdays.”

“You think you know me too well,” fumed Clark.

“I think I do," the bartender said, pulling away to tear the check from the printer that came in earlier. He squinted his eye and drew the paper further away from him to see clearly what was written. Little hair behind his arm was noticeable from his long white shirt and his red waistcoat. He covered his braided hair with a scarf. 

He turned for the Malibu rum and hummed to the song played while he nodded to the ladies chanting and cheering at the other end of the pub. One of them had a sash, bride-to-be, and evidently, they had enjoyed her last night of being a spinster.

Their table was filled with all kinds of cocktails and spirits. It had become a party ground for their night, as though the disk jockey was syncing with their night. Every song he played came with a cheer from the ladies and shots of vodka. 

Clark looked at them with an aggressive face. If only his thoughts could be heard by them, they would rather leave the premises and leave the room for him. He took the last shot and pushed it to the bartender.

“Keep them coming,” he said, rubbing his hair.

“Okay,” the bartender hesitantly said.

“If only she could see what lies ahead of her, she would order more shots than what she has before her. That could save her from the future.”

“She looks happy," said the bartender.

“Who hides their pain during these times?”

“I don’t know; I have never been married.”

“Good, don’t think of doing that. My drink, please.”

“Why?” The conversation has become seemingly interesting for the bartender. Something must be wrong. A wrong decision. A group of drunk ladies celebrated their friend, and it rather irritated Clark. He wouldn’t want to have the last of it, but these ladies kept flooding the bar with their joy like it was Christmas.

The bartender, on the other hand, found Clark more concerning than he thought he would be. The conversation must go on and fish out something from him. He passed his second batch of Jack Daniels to him.

“Why do you think I come here every day before going home?” Clark questioned.

“You tell me.”

“I remember five years ago, I was the happiest man alive—to have achieved everything and marry the woman I love.”

“So it is about a woman,” teased the bartender.

“What else would you think?” gulping the drink before him. He looked around, wanting to locate the couples in the room. He calculated and lost count in the room. They’d move their position anytime he counted.

“Look, do you think everyone here is genuinely happy?” He asked the bartender, who was busy making a cocktail.

“A minute,” the bartender answered.

The crowd cheered to the song that came on, and everyone sang along with Tom Jones’s ‘Delilah’. Clark nodded his head to the beats of the song and lip-sang to every lyric of the sound. He saw the enthusiasm in the faces of the men, and the song reminded him of a betrayed love.

“You know you can’t judge people by their faces,” the bartender told Clark, who turned to face the crowd.

“What?” Clark questioned.

“You cannot tell people’s mental state by their facial expression.”

“I thought bartenders were good with that.”

“Oh, that is a trick no one knows except us, and we don’t assume; we wait for them to ask for more before we ask. The truth is, they spill out their own beans.”

“I see”

“Mmhmm…”

“How many more shots do I have to take for you to predict my life?” questioned Clark.

“Oh, you—I don’t need to do that, because you just did.”

“Tell me then, what do you know?” He rested on the pub table.

“The fact that you wish you were divorced but you can’t because of whatever reason you have?”

“You make it sound easier to just go ahead with it.”

The bartender picked up glasses from the dishwasher and began to wipe them. A few orders came again; he stared at them and ignored them for about a minute. 

The night was getting darker, but the bar was rather filled up with people. One could barely hear the other person speak. Clark enjoyed the conversation that went on between him and the barista; however, it was cut short by the series of drink orders that were coming through.

Clark sat in the bar till the night was no longer young and the pub was empty. The last people to leave were the bride-to-be and her team.  He was left alone to wallow in his sorrow with the last swallow of the drink before him.

“I thought you left,” the bartender exclaimed.

“Oh no, not yet.”.

“I see…”

“Do you think all this is worth it?” asked Clark

“How big is your problem?”

Clark sternly looked at the bartender’s face and chucked.

“You want to know?”

“Yeah”

“What is the strongest alcohol you have here?”

“Erm, Wray and Nephew?”

“What is the percentage?”

The bartender took the bottle and looked around it.

“60%”

“My problem is equivalent to that but more, the strongest alcohol holding you.”

“You know they say,  Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains," the barista commented.

“Jean-Jacques Rousseau”

"Yeah,” the bartender chucked.

The bartender was focused on cleaning up the place before midnight, but Clark would rather engage him and rather cause him to drag his feet.

“All these: life, marriage, kids, job, love.”

“Well, these are necessities and choices, so if you want it to be worth it for you, then you make sure it is worth the cause,” the bartender answered.

“Have you got a woman?” Clark questioned

“Nope”

“Good, don’t think about it?”

“Why?” asked the bartender

“Just avoid drama.”

“What is life without drama, then?”

“You tell me.”

“No, you tell me because you are here because you are avoiding your wife.”

“You wouldn’t understand.

The bartender smirked, pushed the bin to the other end of the building, and cleaned the shelves.

“I am confident about one thing: everything about life is about choices, and one must learn to live with those choices regardless of the circumstance.”

“Marriage is different.” Clark remarked

“Did you marry her because you loved her or you wanted her to stay the same throughout without a change?”

Clark rested on his chair and gave the barista a stare.

“All I am saying is, consider the things that changed and see if you can live by them.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do not want to, and clearly you are not ready to be happy,” the barista commented.

“You think?” Clark furiously asked.

“Yes, and if you want to be happy, consider how other people feel; that might bring happiness to you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, first, you can start by going straight home from work and not staying out late." the bartender stated.

“That will not solve my problem.”

“At least you have made efforts,” the bartender continued, “stop drowning yourself in whiskeys when you can go to a woman who will take your pain away with just a kiss.”

“She hates me.”

“Well, then leave the marriage.”

“what? No!”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Taking my sorrows away with JD”

“Clark, I need to close up and go home because I am tired and I cannot solve your problems for you, but there is one thing I can say: we are all masters of our life choices, and one must live to face them head on.  Your marriage is failing; can you fix it? Do it! Can you not fix it? Then let it go; do not wallop here thinking everything can be solved by alcohol.”

“So what are you saying?” Clark asked

"I am saying, go home to your wife and tell her you love her and you are ready to accept change.”

“huh”

“Marriage should not fail because both couples are falling out.”

“Well, thank you; I am going home to my wife.” He took the last swallow and walked out of the bar. ”

“When will men ever learn?”

The bartender finished up, cleaned his bar, and midnight was already upon him.

He left.