Okay, this is a 1/1 piece, so I wont be updating it.. So don’t ask for a PM, unless you want a sequel.. Please don’t hurt me, this is my first POV fic…
Bartender’s POV
The first time I saw him, it was a quiet Sunday evening. There weren’t many people at my bar. I got out a rag to wipe the table, and had only looked up when I heard the swish of a door swinging open.
A man walked in. He was wearing a nice black suit, he was nicely shaven, and he looked like he had just come from a funeral. By the look on his face, I imagined he probably had.
He was never a drinker before. I’d seen him there a couple times before with a friend, but he never drank. I don’t know what did it to him; he just started drinking. The first day I saw him drink, was about two years ago. He came in with a long face and he looked like he had been crying.
Not many men cry in a bar. It was usually a place where fights were formed, and where people complained about their job or their life.
It was around April, and when he walked in, I sensed a sadness surrounding him. He sat down on one of the stools at the far end of the bar, and he ordered a beer. I asked him what was wrong, like I did to all of my customers. He shook his head and looked down at the beer.
He took a sip of it and put it down. I could tell he wasn’t the type that usually went to bars. There were only three other people at the time, for it was so early in the night that no one was really there.
He finished his beer and sat there for a while. His face still bore the same solemn expression. I begged and pleaded inside to know what was wrong with him. Never before had I seen someone so sad and so morose.
“Thanks.” he said, throwing a couple of bills my way.
I nodded and watched him leave. He held the door open for a couple that was coming in. His watch lingered on the two young lovers as they laughed and held one another closely.
I made eye contact with him for a tenth of a second, before he looked away and left.
---------------------
Being a bartender is harder than the average person would think. Yeah, its fun and all, but I have to listen to people whine and complain about the most trivial things.
My wife this, my wife that… and Oh, you should’ve seen what she did the other day…
I just nod, smile, and agree with them. It’s basically what I have to do. The people would leave if I told them that their complaints were insignificant.
This man was different. He made no effort whatsoever to talk to anyone, and when I asked him a question he would give me a cold glare, full of remorse, and then would answer in a monotonous voice. His answer was usually a single word.
I asked him his name, when I had seen him there for the third night in a row. He gave me his stare, and he said simply, “It’s not important.”
I try to be friendly with the regulars at my bar, but this man was impossible. The most I could do to find anything out about him was to listen and watch.
Only once did I have to listen to him.
Another regular man had walked into the bar, and he was ranting on and on about how his wife was so irritating.
I was shocked when I saw the ’sad man’ as I liked to call him, get up from his seat and walk over to the other man and I. He said in the heartbreaking voice, “At least you have a wife.”
Then he left. I saw him now and again, but each time he looked worse. His face was unkempt, and his hair was always in a disorderly state.
Another night I saw him; he was sitting in his usual seat. He was still the same, except I saw that he was looking at something that he held in his hand.
I inched a little bit closer, to see if I could make out what he was admiring. I pretended to wipe the table, and I shuffled nearer to him. His eyes were filled with tears and I tweaked my neck the slightest to get a view.
I saw in his hand, a small platinum engagement ring. I started to understand why he was so grave, but I still wondered.
-------------------------
Near the end of May, after nearly seeing this man every night, I went over to him when he waved his hand at me for a beer. He looked like he had possibly gotten his hair cut, but his face was still unshaven, and the same sad look lingered on his face.
“Okay, I cant go for much longer without asking…” I started, trying to make things friendly.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“I think you know.” I said back, handing him his beer.
“You don’t seem like the type that wants to hear other people’s complaints about life.” he said coolly.
I scratched my head at this man’s sour attitude. “Look, I have been standing here for two months, wondering what had you so ‘down in the dumps’.”
He looked at me for some time, never breaking eye contact. “My girlfriend died. I loved her with all my heart, and we were going to go to Santa Barbara on the one weekend we both had off from work. She worked herself so hard, and the one chance we got to get away from it all…”
I looked at him earnestly, begging for more. His voice cracked, and he looked down at his beer. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Keep going, it can help.” I reassured him.
He looked at me skeptically. “She died in a fire… I was going to propose to her when we were in Santa Barbara. The first time I came to this bar, I had just come back from her funeral… her funeral was held in Santa Barbara, on the beach I had planned on proposing to her.” he finished his sad story. “I hope you’re happy now.”
“I’m so sorry…” I apologized.
“I don’t want your apology.” he said miserably. “I want her back.”
“What was her name?” I asked with curiosity, as he got up.
“Sydney… her name was Sydney.”
-------------------------
A couple months later, I saw him come in with another man. I’d seen the other man there before, I think his name was Eric.
He and Eric sat down. He still had the sad glint in his eyes. I saw his friend try to talk to him, and he kept shaking his head to his friend, saying ‘no’.
Eavesdropping isn’t something I usually did, but I did anyway. Again, I pretended to get something near them. I just caught a few words.
“C’mon man, just come back for a couple days a week.”
“No, I already told you I’m going to.”
I avoided the eyes of both men, trying not act untrustworthy. Go back where? I wondered.
I purposely dropped my rag. I bent down to pick the rag up, staying a good length away from them. I kept listening, hoping for more information.
Eric continued talking. “C’mon Mike, Sydney wouldn’t want you in a bar, drinking your life away. Everyone at the CIA is worried about you.”
I stopped wiping the counter, standing there in shock. This man worked at the CIA. Most likely meaning his girlfriend had died from some other cause--not from a fire.
This man was completely and utterly deprived of his soul, and I could tell. When he lost her, he lost his soul. He had come into the bar for so long, holding the same glum facial expression. I’d never seen him smile.
I saw him put his hand on his head. “Eric, I don’t know how to do this.”
“You need to move on.” Eric said, and left. ‘Mike’ was left sitting there on his own, staring at his untouched beer.
Mike sat there for a while. He finally got up and stuck a couple bucks under the beer. He looked at me, and actually smiled. I was amazed. He left, and I didn’t see him again for a couple months.
------------------------
The next time he came to my bar, he came with a woman. She had blonde hair, and a snappy British accent. He had a smile on his lips, but his eyes were still the same.
I’m really not the kind of man that judges what kind of women are good for men, but from the looks of her, I could tell she was meant for no one. Mike looked kind of happy, but his eyes couldn’t hide his real anguish.
We exchanged kind words and after about an hour, he left with his new girlfriend. I shook my head at how a man would so quickly forget.
He still came to the bar, but he looked much better every time. His smile even seemed genuine, and his recent habit of drinking seemed to have come to a halt. Every time he came back to my bar, he seemed happier and happier.
It was about a year and a half after his girlfriend died, when he announced to me that he was getting married the next month.
I cant say I wasn’t surprised. It seemed like just yesterday when he was the broken man that tried to use alcohol as a way to get away from it all. Now he was here, a year and a half later, telling me that he was getting married.
I congratulated him, and did what I always did; I told him what he wanted to hear.
----------------------------
It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen him. I saw him about three and a half months ago, right after he got married. He was happy, but the depressing look had shown in his eyes.
He came today, two years after his girlfriend died. He looked like he did when I saw him start drinking.
I heard him mumble some words under his breath. I wondered if he was drunk. He took a gulp of his beer and stared down at his feet. “What was I to have done… I should have waited…”
I watched him for a minute, wondering what had happened. I saw his eyes staring at the gold band that lay on the ring finger of his left hand. Probably got into a fight with his wife… I laughed to myself.
A while after that, I saw him get off of his stool, and leave. I still questioned why he looked so sad, but I didn’t think much of it.
Shortly after he left, a woman walked in. She wore a nice suit, and she had brown hair and cinnamon colored eyes. To say ‘she was beautiful’ would be an understatement. She was an angel. She had dried tears on her cheeks, and she looked like she had just gotten her heart broken.
She sat down in Mike’s old seat, and put her face in her hands. “Can I get you anything?” I asked, trying to be polite to this woman.
“No, that’s okay.” she said sweetly.
“I’m Sam, what’s your name?” I asked.
“My name is Sydney…”
hope it was worthy of being posted! replies are appreciated...
Bartender’s POV
The first time I saw him, it was a quiet Sunday evening. There weren’t many people at my bar. I got out a rag to wipe the table, and had only looked up when I heard the swish of a door swinging open.
A man walked in. He was wearing a nice black suit, he was nicely shaven, and he looked like he had just come from a funeral. By the look on his face, I imagined he probably had.
He was never a drinker before. I’d seen him there a couple times before with a friend, but he never drank. I don’t know what did it to him; he just started drinking. The first day I saw him drink, was about two years ago. He came in with a long face and he looked like he had been crying.
Not many men cry in a bar. It was usually a place where fights were formed, and where people complained about their job or their life.
It was around April, and when he walked in, I sensed a sadness surrounding him. He sat down on one of the stools at the far end of the bar, and he ordered a beer. I asked him what was wrong, like I did to all of my customers. He shook his head and looked down at the beer.
He took a sip of it and put it down. I could tell he wasn’t the type that usually went to bars. There were only three other people at the time, for it was so early in the night that no one was really there.
He finished his beer and sat there for a while. His face still bore the same solemn expression. I begged and pleaded inside to know what was wrong with him. Never before had I seen someone so sad and so morose.
“Thanks.” he said, throwing a couple of bills my way.
I nodded and watched him leave. He held the door open for a couple that was coming in. His watch lingered on the two young lovers as they laughed and held one another closely.
I made eye contact with him for a tenth of a second, before he looked away and left.
---------------------
Being a bartender is harder than the average person would think. Yeah, its fun and all, but I have to listen to people whine and complain about the most trivial things.
My wife this, my wife that… and Oh, you should’ve seen what she did the other day…
I just nod, smile, and agree with them. It’s basically what I have to do. The people would leave if I told them that their complaints were insignificant.
This man was different. He made no effort whatsoever to talk to anyone, and when I asked him a question he would give me a cold glare, full of remorse, and then would answer in a monotonous voice. His answer was usually a single word.
I asked him his name, when I had seen him there for the third night in a row. He gave me his stare, and he said simply, “It’s not important.”
I try to be friendly with the regulars at my bar, but this man was impossible. The most I could do to find anything out about him was to listen and watch.
Only once did I have to listen to him.
Another regular man had walked into the bar, and he was ranting on and on about how his wife was so irritating.
I was shocked when I saw the ’sad man’ as I liked to call him, get up from his seat and walk over to the other man and I. He said in the heartbreaking voice, “At least you have a wife.”
Then he left. I saw him now and again, but each time he looked worse. His face was unkempt, and his hair was always in a disorderly state.
Another night I saw him; he was sitting in his usual seat. He was still the same, except I saw that he was looking at something that he held in his hand.
I inched a little bit closer, to see if I could make out what he was admiring. I pretended to wipe the table, and I shuffled nearer to him. His eyes were filled with tears and I tweaked my neck the slightest to get a view.
I saw in his hand, a small platinum engagement ring. I started to understand why he was so grave, but I still wondered.
-------------------------
Near the end of May, after nearly seeing this man every night, I went over to him when he waved his hand at me for a beer. He looked like he had possibly gotten his hair cut, but his face was still unshaven, and the same sad look lingered on his face.
“Okay, I cant go for much longer without asking…” I started, trying to make things friendly.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“I think you know.” I said back, handing him his beer.
“You don’t seem like the type that wants to hear other people’s complaints about life.” he said coolly.
I scratched my head at this man’s sour attitude. “Look, I have been standing here for two months, wondering what had you so ‘down in the dumps’.”
He looked at me for some time, never breaking eye contact. “My girlfriend died. I loved her with all my heart, and we were going to go to Santa Barbara on the one weekend we both had off from work. She worked herself so hard, and the one chance we got to get away from it all…”
I looked at him earnestly, begging for more. His voice cracked, and he looked down at his beer. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Keep going, it can help.” I reassured him.
He looked at me skeptically. “She died in a fire… I was going to propose to her when we were in Santa Barbara. The first time I came to this bar, I had just come back from her funeral… her funeral was held in Santa Barbara, on the beach I had planned on proposing to her.” he finished his sad story. “I hope you’re happy now.”
“I’m so sorry…” I apologized.
“I don’t want your apology.” he said miserably. “I want her back.”
“What was her name?” I asked with curiosity, as he got up.
“Sydney… her name was Sydney.”
-------------------------
A couple months later, I saw him come in with another man. I’d seen the other man there before, I think his name was Eric.
He and Eric sat down. He still had the sad glint in his eyes. I saw his friend try to talk to him, and he kept shaking his head to his friend, saying ‘no’.
Eavesdropping isn’t something I usually did, but I did anyway. Again, I pretended to get something near them. I just caught a few words.
“C’mon man, just come back for a couple days a week.”
“No, I already told you I’m going to.”
I avoided the eyes of both men, trying not act untrustworthy. Go back where? I wondered.
I purposely dropped my rag. I bent down to pick the rag up, staying a good length away from them. I kept listening, hoping for more information.
Eric continued talking. “C’mon Mike, Sydney wouldn’t want you in a bar, drinking your life away. Everyone at the CIA is worried about you.”
I stopped wiping the counter, standing there in shock. This man worked at the CIA. Most likely meaning his girlfriend had died from some other cause--not from a fire.
This man was completely and utterly deprived of his soul, and I could tell. When he lost her, he lost his soul. He had come into the bar for so long, holding the same glum facial expression. I’d never seen him smile.
I saw him put his hand on his head. “Eric, I don’t know how to do this.”
“You need to move on.” Eric said, and left. ‘Mike’ was left sitting there on his own, staring at his untouched beer.
Mike sat there for a while. He finally got up and stuck a couple bucks under the beer. He looked at me, and actually smiled. I was amazed. He left, and I didn’t see him again for a couple months.
------------------------
The next time he came to my bar, he came with a woman. She had blonde hair, and a snappy British accent. He had a smile on his lips, but his eyes were still the same.
I’m really not the kind of man that judges what kind of women are good for men, but from the looks of her, I could tell she was meant for no one. Mike looked kind of happy, but his eyes couldn’t hide his real anguish.
We exchanged kind words and after about an hour, he left with his new girlfriend. I shook my head at how a man would so quickly forget.
He still came to the bar, but he looked much better every time. His smile even seemed genuine, and his recent habit of drinking seemed to have come to a halt. Every time he came back to my bar, he seemed happier and happier.
It was about a year and a half after his girlfriend died, when he announced to me that he was getting married the next month.
I cant say I wasn’t surprised. It seemed like just yesterday when he was the broken man that tried to use alcohol as a way to get away from it all. Now he was here, a year and a half later, telling me that he was getting married.
I congratulated him, and did what I always did; I told him what he wanted to hear.
----------------------------
It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen him. I saw him about three and a half months ago, right after he got married. He was happy, but the depressing look had shown in his eyes.
He came today, two years after his girlfriend died. He looked like he did when I saw him start drinking.
I heard him mumble some words under his breath. I wondered if he was drunk. He took a gulp of his beer and stared down at his feet. “What was I to have done… I should have waited…”
I watched him for a minute, wondering what had happened. I saw his eyes staring at the gold band that lay on the ring finger of his left hand. Probably got into a fight with his wife… I laughed to myself.
A while after that, I saw him get off of his stool, and leave. I still questioned why he looked so sad, but I didn’t think much of it.
Shortly after he left, a woman walked in. She wore a nice suit, and she had brown hair and cinnamon colored eyes. To say ‘she was beautiful’ would be an understatement. She was an angel. She had dried tears on her cheeks, and she looked like she had just gotten her heart broken.
She sat down in Mike’s old seat, and put her face in her hands. “Can I get you anything?” I asked, trying to be polite to this woman.
“No, that’s okay.” she said sweetly.
“I’m Sam, what’s your name?” I asked.
“My name is Sydney…”
hope it was worthy of being posted! replies are appreciated...
