Geo. Kayes

Geo. Kayes is a divey little bar, populated by a mix of old alcoholics from the neighborhood and local art students.  Because I am clearly in the first category, I arrive a little early to have a drink before Sonia arrives.  I sit in my usual seat, the one right by the window.  When I first started coming here, there was a sign above this stool that said “Reserved for Wendell” and I once got kicked out when Wendell, a sweet little white-haired man from the neighborhood, showed up.  But then Wendell died, and we were all very sad in the bar, and I have been sitting at his stool recently.

The bartender brings me a Maker’s Mark manhattan before I say anything.  One thing about this bar: if the bartender likes you, he will bring you a shaker full of your drink along with the glass, like they do with ice cream sodas at some old diners.   Sonia is late and she keeps looking over my shoulder at the window when she finally shows up, like she expects to see someone who she doesn’t like walking down the hill towards the bar.

I sip my drink and wait for her to say something.  I think about whether I have been drinking too much whiskey.  Someone once told me it would give me wrinkles.

“I know where he is,” she finally says.  “But I can’t tell you.”

I wait.

“I can’t go home,” she continues.  “They’ll get to me.  Can I stay at your apartment tonight?”

As she talks and talks about how she would never normally ask a favor like this and how she will pay me back etcetera etcetera, I can see the boring life I’ve painstakingly built for myself over the last year fading away.  I miss it already.  I am almost nostalgic thinking about waking up in the morning, filing papers all day (the most boring job I could find), going to bed, and doing it all again.

I suppose it was too good to last.  I finally nod in assent, like she knows I will.  I always seem to, when people like her show up to ruin my life.