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58
I sat at the bar at Joe's sipping slowly from a cold, dark Guinness in a pint glass. There was a ZZ Top song playing over the sound system - I couldn't tell which one - and the place was pretty full, as it always was on Friday nights. I've never been a heavy drinker, but I've always found something comforting about a loud, dim, smokey bar. It was settling to my nerves, and I really needed to unwind.
Back when he was alive, before the cancer, Dad used to bring me to places like this all the time, even when I was too young to get in. He'd always get me in one way or another. Dad had never been here to Joe's, since we had never lived in Texas when Dad was alive. Back then we spent a lot of time up around New England. Dad loved rough bars on the coast, the kind where you could count on a good brawl between a couple of stevedores or fishermen, maybe even a whole group. The accents were different. The music was different. Still, a rough, little bar is the same all over. Dad would have liked Joe's.
I could see the front door from where I sat and I watched it closely. Dad had taught me to always position myself in a public place so that I could see as many of the main entrances and exits as possible. These days, without him on my ass all the time, I wasn't so strict about that kind of thing. Still, the training was always there in the back of my mind. Tonight, though, I chose this spot so I could watch for Sam. It was getting pretty late, and I had pretty much given up on her. She hated me. I didn't really blame her. I should have been more careful.
"Hey," she said, walking up behind me.
"Sam?" I said with surprise, turning to look at her. "When did you get here?"
"I was here when you walked in," she said. "I was sitting back there." She nodded toward the shadowy booths near the back.
"Oh," I said. "I've been waiting for you. I didn't see you."
"I didn't want you to see me," she said. She slid into the chair beside me. I could see she had already had a couple of drinks. She stared straight ahead, looking at the bottles arranged along the wall behind the bar.
"So, how are you sleeping?" I asked, leaning way forward in an attempt to get her to look at me.
"I'm not," she said.
"Still?"
She didn't answer.
"How's Cami?" I sighed and sat back. She wasn't going to look at me.
"She's still too scared to stay in her room. We're sleeping on a mattress in the living room. Well, not sleeping. Watching television all night."
"Oh," I said. "Sam, I'm so sorry."
"I know," she said.
"But you still hate me." I took a big draw from my stout and winced at the bitter bite of it.
She turned toward me then. "You look like hell, Simon." She was right. I hadn't been shaving or taking care of myself much since getting back from Aphter a few days ago. My door at home was still just propped up. I felt like shit. I felt confused.
"Amy called me today," I said. "She's doing great. She seems to think the whole thing was a great adventure. What a kid she is."
"She's great," Sam said. "I'm glad she's not all freaked out. How's her mom?"
"Okay, I guess. She's working again. Amy's back in school. I guess they're going to be okay." I smiled at her briefly and then looked away.
"You probably saved their life, Simon," she said.
"Well, it's my job," I said. "I'm just so sorry that..."
"Hey," she said. "It's not your fault." She looked up at me with the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "Look, I'm really fucked up right now. I have all this fear, you know?"
"I know."
"No. You don't," she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You saved us, Simon. I mean, I know you accidentally dragged me and Cami into this, but you also saved us. I mean..." she stopped to wipe her nose with a cocktail napkin.
"It's okay," I said.
"No, you listen to me," she said. "You're a great guy, Simon. I mean, how does a guy come out of something like that feeling bad about himself? You're the hero, Simon. You are. You are not the bad guy, here. I don't want my fucked up fear make you hate yourself, Simon. I don't hate you. I'm not even mad at you. I just wish none of this had ever happened, you know? But you were just trying to help, you know?" She leaned against me. "I know that, Simon. You were just trying to help. That's what you do, right? You just try to help, right?"
"Look, Sam..."
"Do you know how great that is, Simon? Do you know how many of the men in this bar are total assholes, Simon?"
"Well, I don't think they're total assholes," I said. "I mean, some..."
"They are, Simon. Lots of them are. Maybe most of them are. But not you. I really, really, really want you to know what a great guy you are, Simon. That's what I was thinking while I was watching you this evening. I was sitting over there thinking, 'Look at him, sitting there. He hates himself, and he's easily the best guy in the whole damn place.'"
I didn't know what to say.
"I just wanted to tell you that," she said. "I couldn't leave without telling you that."
"Thanks," I said, and I meant it.
"Now pay my tab and let's go." She slid off her stool and stood behind me.
"Go where?" I asked, reaching for my wallet.
"Cami and I need to sleep tonight, so you're staying on our couch."
"Oh," I smiled. "Well, I can't sleep with the television on."
"You're not there to sleep. You're there to watch television while we sleep."
"Oh," I said. "It's a deal."
Cue mood music.
Posted by: J | April 19, 2007 at 10:07