This is a work of fiction. Any and all representations of real-life events or people are contrived in your head and not in mine. 

On the corner of Davis Road, over by the old Cider Mill and between the corn fields is a bar. It’s usually filled with old geezers, truckers, farmers and nurses; people who work more than they should and get paid a fraction of what they deserve. On Friday and Saturday nights, you can find the regulars of the haunt, unwinding more and more with each single pour. Lotto numbers on one screen, ‘the game’ on another, and a big tent out back for the nicotine fiends; this place is comfortable and familiar, a safe haven in the middle of the back woods. In the crispy October air, when the wind dies down, you can hear the gang laughing all the way from the parking lot outside.

Lorraine always sits on her stool, in the corner of the bar closest to the front door, making her an unofficial bouncer. She laughs from time to time, but usually she keeps to herself and slogs back three Vodka gimlets before heading home. It’s been pretty hard for her since her beloved husband, Larry, passed away. She can manage all right, but without his payroll from the construction job, Christmas will be a rough patch this year. Next to her sits Kim, but everyone calls her Kathy. Not really a regular, nor is she a stranger, Kathy is the fun one in the joint who always has just one too many Bud Lights. The first night she came in, already three sheets to the wind and with a handsome guy named Todd on her arm, she declared to everyone that she was Kathy. “Hi, Kathy!” was shouted back. The next day, when she returned to get a forgotten pair of sunglasses and her favorite lighter, everyone was a little surprised when she said her name was Kim. She may only show up once or twice a month, but when she does it appears she is making up for lost time. After Kathy, there are the two most distinguished members of the tavern, Mary Beth and Patty. They grew up together, went to school together, worked together, vacationed together, and now they live together. Their husbands are long gone, “Thank God,” but now they spend their days living off of smart investments and boxed wine. Finally, there is Bob. Sitting on the very end of the bar, almost entirely in his own orbit, Bob served in Vietnam and Laos. His three sons are all in the Armed Forces, great men who serve an even greater purpose with the highest honor. But, ever since the horrors of War touched his eyes and never looked away, Bob has enjoyed his whiskey. Canadian Blend specifically, but Bob is not one to be picky. “It all does the job, right?” he jokes. The bartender is a new one tonight, Kevin. He usually works Monday through Thursday because he has his kids on the weekend, but with Cheryl taking the kids out of town, somebody had to take the shift. He’s a nice enough guy, keeps a clean bar and smiles every time someone walks in. Except for tonight.

“Where’s the card tournament?” bemoaned a voice from the front door. The gang looked around at each other confused; there was a card game to be sure, but it was the night before and only happens every two weeks.

“It’s here, but you just missed it pal. Euchre night was last night, tonight is the Fish Fry, and tomorrow night we play pool,” Kevin responded after a few moments of hesitation.

“Oh, alright. Well on the sign outside it said ‘Euchre Tonight,’” the stranger said, shaking off the cold.

“Yea, it always says that. I haven’t been able to find the two Fs I need to spell ‘Fish Fry.’” Everyone chuckled nervously, and a sense of bewilderment filled the room. Who is this guy? What is he doing here? “Come on in, take a seat,” Kevin continued, “Hell, could probably get a game going if you really want to play.”

The stranger slowly meandered over, took a seat and replied, “Yea that’d be great.” He paused and then ordered up a drink.

“I’ll take a Manhattan on the rocks with two cherries, please.” He looks around, taking stock of the bar and the people in it, who were now absolutely transfixed on their unknown guest. Sitting next to the old ladies and with Bob off to his left, the stranger digs for his wallet and grabs himself a napkin for his incoming cocktail.

“That was my husband’s drink.” Mary Beth finally broke the ice with the new guy. She thought that he might introduce himself but apparently not. She kept on, “He worked for the bank downtown, and when he came home he would pour a Manhattan, put his feet up, and pass out for a nap until dinner was ready.”

Patty laughs along with her, “Remember that time he snored so loud he woke himself up and spilled the drink all over his new suit!” The two girls were giggling together, as they have done since a very young age. Memories are like medicine for them now, helping to ease the encompassing sadness that grief can bring.

“My sister drank Manhattans,” the man said, “I haven’t had one since she died last spring.” He took a long, even pull from the edge of the highball glass and put the drink back down. His head tilted to the side as he starred into the floating ice, though it was sadness and satisfaction in the very same sip.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Did she live around here?” Mary Beth was touching his forearm now, an instinctual form of her took over. She radiated comfort and care, a skilled trade from her former days as a substitute teacher.

“No, she lived in Owengrove. Her kids liked to go to that Cider Mill, though. I would take them sometimes and we would go in the corn fields and have cider and donuts. They loved it out here, something compelled me to come back.” The man was speaking from the heart, but his eyes never moved from the drink in his hand.

The whole bar was locked in to the new guy. Kathy had stopped her story about the hockey player, Kevin quit rinsing out the ice bucket, and even Bob had stopped drinking long enough to take a listen. After another few moments of silence, coupled with the density of what the new guy brought into the room, Lorraine bounced out of her stool and declared emphatically, “I’m gonna smoke a cigarette, somebody figure out what this guy’s name is while I’m gone.”

Realizing the error in his introduction, the man said to the whole room, “Oh, I’m Brandon by the way.” He felt a hand touch his left shoulder, he turned slightly to see a retired Marine say: “I’m Bob.” Brandon nodded in response.

“And I’m Mary Beth and this is Patty,” Mary Beth said while Patty waved.

“Hi, I’m Kathy,” she said with her cheerleader grin on.

“Actually, her name is really Kim,” Patty said with a smirk.

“Easy, girls. I’m not sure he’s ready for that one yet,” Kevin moved toward Brandon and stuck out his hand, “I’m Kevin, man, nice to meet ya.”

“You, too.” Brandon was slightly more relaxed now, friendliness wasn’t easy for him.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Kathy said, standing up from her seat shuffling closer to the action. “Why don’t I be your partner in Euchre, so we can play these old Betties and really show em what for, huh?”

Mary Beth glared back at Kathy, “Who are you callin’ old? Patty still has her hearing aids in, you can’t talk about her like that,” she teased.

“Oh, you’re gonna get yours now. Watch yourself,” Patty said, purse in one hand and drink in the other, already on the move to the card tables.

Kathy leans in close to Brandon and speaks low, “Patty will lie, cheat, and steal to win a card game, but Mary Beth is a lightweight and a little extra Vodka makes her quiver.” She patted him on the back and kept moving toward the girls.

Brandon looks up at Kevin, finally cracking a smile, “How bout one more round?”

“Comin’ right up.” Kevin replied.