Aine Sherlock: "Closing Time"

[LCDR Aine O. Sherlock]

It was just a Saturday night, like many others before it. Typical one could say. It was the same place they'd been going for years, Bimpy's. The “local watering hole” of this small town. It was the same place everyone went. The narrow but long room was crowded. Every table along the wall at capacity. The bar, full. The crowd would rotate out back to grab a smoke. The music from the jukebox, almost too loud, like normal. Everyone's voices were raised to be heard by their tablemates, getting louder the more they imbibed.

One of the group was back home visiting. They missed this sort of outing. They even felt, after being gone so long, they'd even outgrown it. But being back, even just for one night, made them feel ten years younger. Some of the faces around were the same that had been there seemingly since the beginning of time. Some were new, “kids.”

The beer was cold, the whiskey warm. Bryan was still tending bar. But “Cookie” had long since left the grill to manage the joint. And Steve still sat at the end of the bar sipping his gin from the well. Some faces that used to be there never would be again.

Talking, laughing, jokes at each others expense. Old stories from what seemed like some other person's life were shared. Nights like this made life seem so short. The occasional silence of the crowd when someone got too loud in that threatening voice, the anticipation of a fight about to take place. It doesn't. The typical bravado of the young and stupid. Still, Bryan will keep things in order, like he always has.

They drink too much and the hours fly by. The crowd doesn't thin, but it also no longer grows. If they weren't there by one, they weren't coming. The conversations move from funny stories to those of missed opportunities. Lost loves. The somber stuff. What is it about this time of night that makes that happen?

It's last call, and time enough for one more round. A few beers, a couple of whiskys, and of course that one in the group has to have some odd mixed concoction. Everyone drinks slowly, as if that will delay the inevitable.

“Closing time, you don't have to go home...,” Bryan yells out like he always has, “...but you can't stay here.”

They all look around at one another, silently looking for the answer. None want the night to end, they never did. No one liked the inevitable march of time. It was over...

“Denny's?”

...or maybe they could start again.