Lee and the Time 3 — The Bar

Tea
Tea
Aug 28, 2017 · 6 min read

The bar was dimly lit. Cigarette smoke fogged the room. Some people pulled a piece of it with their hands, hiding behind the smoke, lest someone sees their face, or heart, too well. In the unlikely case an onlooker’s eyes could pierce the darkness that blanketed the room.

The tables in the room were made of heavy, dark wood, as was the long bar that formed a square in the middle of it. Inside the square stood a bartender in a white lab coat, fixing his glasses in their place and arranging his many bottles. At one corner of the bar, rested a young woman, a slim chain rolling down from her shirt’s front pocket. At the end of the chain hung an ancient-looking pocket-watch, which managed to look quite unhappy.

“Lee, what are we doing here?” asked the watch, its long hands ticking in discontent. “I do not like the scent of this place, nor the shape of the stares.”

“You just don’t like the blame, Time,” said Lee, looking around thoughtfully. “Everyone here is mad at you for some reason.”

The bartender at the center of the bar greeted another client. The client was a shoddy-looking man, whose fingers vibrated anxiously on a small cellular phone he held in his hand. The bartender listened for a few minutes, wrote some notes to himself, and examined the shaking hand. Then he sighed, poured two glasses of amber colored liquid and said: “drink two of these tonight and don’t call anyone till morning. Avoid texting and thoughts to keep the situation from getting worse.”

The client thanked him and drank desperately. Slowly, his anxious hand left the touch screen and his eyes became foggy. He gave his surroundings a long glare.

“It is not the stares directed at me that I am worried about,” mumbled the Time. The client gazed at Lee, a strange hunger in his eyes. “And their anger with me, is nothing compared to their anger with themselves.”

Lee did not heed his words. She returned a look to the hungry eyes pinned at her. The client hesitated and drank more, hurriedly. One could see the thoughts escaping the flood in his head. They climbed out with difficulty, leaving the drink to fill their place. On its surface floated a few feelings, who made themselves tiny boats, made of old memories.

“Why do you think they come here?” asked Lee. “After all, what they’re looking for is never here.”

“Perhaps for the same reason you are here,” said the Time. Its hands continued their endless march. It seemed to be thinking aloud, which was unusual. “Perhaps they are hoping that someone else might have answers. Maybe they simply want to dull the pain.”

“There’s nothing simple about it,” said a man, sitting not far from them. He turned his body to Lee. His face was handsome, his hair dark. He had a tired smile, but not without beauty. One could not easily tell why it was beautiful, however. It was a deserted smile, a remnant of older times. Like a dried up ravine, it told the days past. The best of them gone now, probably, but the mark they left behind was charming in its own right.

The man’s body was, Lee decided, at its late twenties, or its early thirties. Upon closer inspection, she saw it was covered with a thick grey layer of stone. His hands, especially, seemed completely opaque. She moved one seat closer, so she now sat beside him.

“A pleasure,” he said and raised his glass at her. “I would tell you my name, but I generally prefer to be forgotten the next day.”

“Hey,” said Lee. She smiled back at him, her eyes becoming narrow strips as her mouth curled mischievously. For a moment, their smiles met in the air. The man raised his brows and nodded to himself appreciatively. “I’m Lee, and this is the Time. Personally, I like being remembered.”

“Ah, the Time,” the man peeked at the watch, who was blatantly scorning him with its hands. “Why are you looking at me like that? It’s me who’s supposed to hate you.”

“I am easy to hate,” said the Time. “So much easier to hate than the man you were yesterday, or the man you became today. I did not pick for you the actions you committed. I did not squander your opportunities. Why do you deserve more than others?”

“He talks a lot,” Lee apologized. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for physical contact,” said the man and raised his stony hands. “Sort of. Strangely, the more I touch others, the less I feel. But I keep on trying. So I saw you there and thought: she really doesn’t belong here. Maybe with her it will be different.”

“It’s a protective layer,” ticked the Time quietly. “At first it must have encompassed the heart. But the more you touched, the more it strained to isolate it. The body yearns to feel, but also dreads it.”

“What are you afraid of?” asked Lee. She put the palm of her hand on his rigid hand. “Strange, it feels normal to me.”

The man watched her hand on his. “But I don’t feel anything, unfortunately. And I’m not afraid. There are just some things that you’re better off not mixing, like bodies and feelings. You can enjoy life well enough without getting into trouble.”

He reached with one hand and caressed Lee’s knee, raising her dress. The Time ticked aloud, reverberating in self-restraint. Lee raised an eyebrow. “Feeling anything?”

“Nothing,” the man sighed sadly and removed his hand.

“Too bad,” she bit her lip. “Really. Why don’t you want to mix feeling and bodies together?”

“Look, how many people in the world, in your opinion, would fit you as mates?” asked the stony man. “It’s a big world, but still, there are so few of them. On the other hand, how many people could you sleep with? Hundreds of thousands, millions! What’s the point of touching all of them and feeling something? What’s the point of all this heartache?”

“Why would I want to sleep with a hundred thousand people?” asked Lee. “Most of them don’t interest me in that way.”

“Don’t you think it’s simply fun?”

“What’s simple about it?” asked Lee. “Besides, why does it pain you so much? Can’t you care for someone and want them at the same time?”

“I tried that once,” said the stony man. “But people tend to leave. It was a bit too much for me.”

“They leave anyway. If you touch them and if you don’t,” said Lee. “I’m looking for someone who left, myself.”

“People who leave don’t tend to end up here. Unless they regret leaving. Here you’ll find only people full of regret,” he said.

“I guess I had to be certain,” said Lee. “But at least I got to meet you.”

“Ah,” said the stony man to himself. A thin layer of plaster peeled off him. He shook it and watched the cracks forming on his hands. “I’m not used to talking so much.”

“You’re not used to meaningful conversations,” said the Time. Its voice seemed gentler than usual. However, it probably wasn’t so, as it never pitied anyone.

Lee placed her palm in the palm of the stony man. His eyes widened. “Better?” she asked.

His mouth gapped a little and a smile of wonder came over him. “Yes. Yes, so much better. Do you reckon it’s because I like you?”

“I like you too,” smiled Lee. She patted his arm and he let out a long breath.

“What are the odds of this night ending with you in my bed?”

Lee kissed him gently on the cheek. “Unfortunately, I have to go. I have someone I have to find.”

The stony man inhaled deeply and nodded. “I’m Neil, by the way.”

“I won’t forget,” said Lee. Then she got up, let go of Neil’s hand, and left the bar ambling.

“A waste of time,” the Time’s voice could be faintly heard.

“You would know. But I think it’s good we came.”

Neil was left alone. The bartender approached him and examined his crumbling hands. He tut-tutted to himself.

“Another drink? You seem like you need one.”

Neil furrowed his forehead, glanced once at the exit Lee left from, and said: “no, not really. But pour one anyway; it might help me forget what I really need.”

“Have one of these,” said the bartender. “And go to sleep alone. Tomorrow you’ll wake up a new man, so you better spend your last night as who you were today well.”

Neil noticed a woman looking at him with smoky eyes from the other side of the bar. He raised the drink in his hand, and then hesitated. Only people full of regret ever end up here, he pondered his own words. He wondered if he’d be coming back tomorrow.

)

Tea

Written by

Tea

A wandering storyteller in search of an audience. Author of the book “On Love and Other Fables”, available on Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLKYHTY

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