Jo is leaning against the bar, smiling sweetly at the only other person in the room. Hart. The strip of sunlight following me inside disrupts their private conversation and they both look up, squinting at my silhouette. I’m too tired, too sad, and too mad to care about what time it is. It may still be morning for some folks, but it’s whiskey time for me.
“Hart,” I acknowledge, approaching the old biker.
“Are you lookin’ for Lu?” asks Jo, her bouffant hair motionless regardless of her movements.
“No, I need a drink, actually. I’ll have whatever he’s having.” I pull out the stool next to Hart, not caring that I’m probably interrupting something intimate.
A curious glance passes between Jo and Hart, and they both turn to regard me as if I’ve grown a second head since they last saw me.
“It’s a bit early, darlin’,” says Hart, leaning back on his stool to better assess me.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a long morning.”
Jo catches Hart’s eyes and when he gives her a slight nod, she moves to collect a whiskey glass from beneath the bar. She fills the glass to the finger mark and slides it in front of me.
I take it in my hand, close my eyes, and throw back the drink in one swallow. “Another,” I state.
Again, Jo looks briefly to Hart before receiving his go-ahead, then pours more of the amber liquor into my glass. This time I hold the whiskey in my mouth for a moment, allowing the strong current to engulf me before swallowing. I relish the burn as it travels down my throat.
“I’ll be in the back. You two holler if you need anything.” Jo places the whiskey bottle on the bar in front of Hart and leaves us alone, disappearing through the kitchen door.
I turn my glass slowly, pressing down against the worn wood of the bar as I’ve seen Hart do several times before. He’s quiet beside me, waiting for me to say the first words. I’m not sure why I came here. I guess somewhere in my subconscious I knew I’d find him here, and I can’t deny there’s a strong desire within me to burden Hart with my story about how Sam betrayed my faith in him. It’s a story he’s familiar with, after all.
“Why,” I begin, continuing to turn my glass in my hands, “am I always on the losing side?”
Hart harrumphs next to me, shaking his head, his chin dropping to his chest. “It’s not a game. There are no winners, no losers.”
“But that’s not really true, is it? You gambled with love and you lost. You’ve been coming to this God awful place for decades, and what do you have to show for it?”
I know my words are harsh, and I want them to be. I’m so angry, so tired of trying to find love, only to end up the loser. My body feels old sitting in this dark musty place. I feel washed-up, thrown away. If Hart were to tell me right now he walked into the bar this morning a thirty-year old man, I would believe him. Regret and sadness have a way of aging you in a way the years never could.
“Listen here, darlin’. No one gambles expecting to lose. You see something you want, you need to get after it, no matter the trouble, no matter the consequences. If you don’t, well, you might as well not live in the first place.”
“And what are you living for? What are you waiting for?”
Hart sighs into his chest then lifts his head, his gaze landing on the whiskey bottle in front of him. I can tell by his body language that he’d like to pour himself another glass, but he resists. “There’re some things in this life worth waiting for, and that woman in there’s one of them,” he says, gesturing to the kitchen door.
“And if she never comes around?”
“It don’t matter. She knows how I feel, and I made my peace with my choices a long time ago. Love isn’t temporary, and it doesn’t lessen over time. When you give your heart away, there ain’t no gettin’ it back. Simple as that.”
I run my fingers through my hair and rest my forehead against my palm, my elbow against the curved surface of the bar. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong like you. I can’t live my life like this, always getting hurt.”
Hart turns in his seat to face me, his arthritic hand gently grabbing my shoulder. “Nothing