Todestrieb
Making your way along the dark, crooked streets, you feel the cold stiffening your bare legs. Dante's, your favorite neighborhood dive bar, is just around the corner.
Pushing open the heavy glass door, you look around at the familiar setting: the glass brick windows, the tattered old stools, the counter slicked smooth through years of spilled drinks and half-hearted cleaning. The usual clientele is there, wearing their backwards Boston caps and kicking back Guinness number six while watching whatever sport is on TV. You get a few looks and a whistle as you saunter up to the counter in your skimpy little outfit.
You smile at the bartender, who is also the owner. He was there at your Confirmation because his daughter is your age. Last you heard, she was living somewhere on the North Shore, pregnant for the third time by the third guy.
"Hey, Pudgy," you greet him, smiling genuinely. Pudgy had a real name once, but the entire neighborhood knows him by this much more accurate moniker.
He gives you a look of confusion, followed by a frown. He must know.
"Anna," is all the usually jovial butterball can manage to say to you. "What can I get for you, dear?"
"Guinness. No, make that two."
"Sure thing. It's on the house."
Your drinks in hand, you scan the bar hopefully for someone who either hasn't heard about your tragedy or who is simply too drunk to care. As though God were listening to these thoughts, you immediately lock eyes with Bob Brunswick, your childhood sweetheart. After openly gaping at you and your figure for a few seconds, he looks abruptly away to stare at the wall. His head hangs vulture-like between two tense shoulders. Undeterred, you walk straight to his otherwise empty table and sit down.
"Hey, I remember you!" he says a little too happily as he is again forced to look at you. "How are you, Anna? I'm drunk!"
"It's nice to see you again, Bob. How long has it been? Since I left for college?"
"Well actually I saw you once last summer but you must not have noticed me."
Actually, you had.
"Still working for the construction company?"
"Yep."
Silence falls over your rickety little table as you pour the two Guinnesses down your throat. Bob smiles hopefully at you. "Can I get you another one?"
"You know, I don't think I'd mind that. Thank you."
"So, college girl," he asks as you put down your fourth empty beer. "Why have you been gone from my life for so long?"
"Remember my 8th birthday party when you drenched my uncle with the Super Soaker?"
"Oh yeaaah! You told me he was a bad man, so I told you I'd kill him, right?"
"That's right."
"So is he still a bad man?"
"Bob, you got a girlfriend?"
"Sorta. No. I dunno."
"You wanna come hang out at my place?"
"Of course. By the way, Anna, you look really great."
Pushing open the heavy glass door, you look around at the familiar setting: the glass brick windows, the tattered old stools, the counter slicked smooth through years of spilled drinks and half-hearted cleaning. The usual clientele is there, wearing their backwards Boston caps and kicking back Guinness number six while watching whatever sport is on TV. You get a few looks and a whistle as you saunter up to the counter in your skimpy little outfit.
You smile at the bartender, who is also the owner. He was there at your Confirmation because his daughter is your age. Last you heard, she was living somewhere on the North Shore, pregnant for the third time by the third guy.
"Hey, Pudgy," you greet him, smiling genuinely. Pudgy had a real name once, but the entire neighborhood knows him by this much more accurate moniker.
He gives you a look of confusion, followed by a frown. He must know.
"Anna," is all the usually jovial butterball can manage to say to you. "What can I get for you, dear?"
"Guinness. No, make that two."
"Sure thing. It's on the house."
Your drinks in hand, you scan the bar hopefully for someone who either hasn't heard about your tragedy or who is simply too drunk to care. As though God were listening to these thoughts, you immediately lock eyes with Bob Brunswick, your childhood sweetheart. After openly gaping at you and your figure for a few seconds, he looks abruptly away to stare at the wall. His head hangs vulture-like between two tense shoulders. Undeterred, you walk straight to his otherwise empty table and sit down.
"Hey, I remember you!" he says a little too happily as he is again forced to look at you. "How are you, Anna? I'm drunk!"
"It's nice to see you again, Bob. How long has it been? Since I left for college?"
"Well actually I saw you once last summer but you must not have noticed me."
Actually, you had.
"Still working for the construction company?"
"Yep."
Silence falls over your rickety little table as you pour the two Guinnesses down your throat. Bob smiles hopefully at you. "Can I get you another one?"
"You know, I don't think I'd mind that. Thank you."
**********************************
"So, college girl," he asks as you put down your fourth empty beer. "Why have you been gone from my life for so long?"
"Remember my 8th birthday party when you drenched my uncle with the Super Soaker?"
"Oh yeaaah! You told me he was a bad man, so I told you I'd kill him, right?"
"That's right."
"So is he still a bad man?"
"Bob, you got a girlfriend?"
"Sorta. No. I dunno."
"You wanna come hang out at my place?"
"Of course. By the way, Anna, you look really great."