White Beer and Blood
by Haldan Jacobson
The door swung open. The smell of old cigarettes, dust and muck flooded my lungs. Stumbling
to regain my step, I hobbled over to the bar, clumsily dragging a stool under me.
Pressing a napkin against cracked lips, “cough,” the white napkin now stained red.
Budweiser neon lights flickered.
“You need a drink man?” Asked the tall, husky, dark skinned bartender, drying a beer mug with a white towel. Don’t remember seeing him at first.
“Never needed one more” I replied.
He nodded, placing down his mug and towel; he poured a tall glass full of white beer.
Thick foam spilled over the top.
Clasping it with one hand, I lifted the glass to my mouth. I could hear the foam crackle against my lips.
It was as if a cold, thick, bitter hug had grabbed hold of my rough insides, smoothing them as the seashore smooths jagged rocks.
“Ahhhhhh” I exclaimed. “That’s a goddamn fine beer.”
The bartender said nothing. Picking up the same beer mug as before, he continued to dry with the same white towel.
Three stools down sat another man, I don’t remember seeing him either.
He turned to me and said, “You look like shit.” As he did this, I noticed two X’s tattooed on the palms of each hand.
“That’s what happens when you make shitty life choices!” I replied in a sarcastic tone.
The man’s long curly hair and beard hung low; his tattoos climbed up his arm till they met the ripped blue jeans sleeves of his vest. He held a cold glass of ice water in his right hand.
“How did you end up like this?” asked the man.
“Like hell if I know!” I replied, he found no humor in my responses.
He just continued to stare at me, unshaken in his gaze, he was looking for a better answer.
After a long pause, the man replied, “What better place to talk about a man’s problems than at a bar, with a curious stranger?”
Warmed by his earnestness, I began to speak. Feeling as if all my sins were laid bare.
“I have a drug problem,” I replied quietly. He said nothing.
“And I owe people money that I shouldn’t owe money to” I continued.
Do you have a family? The man asked, sipping his glass. Crunching ice in his mouth.
“A daughter,” I replied. At this point my emotions started to overcome me.
“Christ, I really screwed up.” Tears began to flow from my eyes.
“I know I need to be a better father,” I exclaimed. “I need to be there for her, I can’t let her live life with a piece of shit dad.”
The man stood up, laying his hand on my shoulder. A soothing feeling flooded over me.
“And you will be a better father, have faith,” he said calmly.
My head craned away from the bar top. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I looked up to meet the man’s gaze. But he wasn’t there, nor was the bartender.
The bar was completely empty.
The only evidence left was the man’s cold glass. However, now it was filled with a thick, dark-red liquid that looked like blood. Intrigued, I reached over and gave the glass a good sniff, the rich sour smell was unmistakable. It was wine.