The place was filling up quickly as the rain outside started to fall down louder and stronger. People were rushing in, closing their umbrellas one after the other and brushing off their coats from the cold raindrops. Most seats were taken in only minutes and Dan was glad he already had one. He was sitting at the far end of the bar, draining his fourth glass of whiskey and motioning to the bartender for a refill. His last months had all been the same – plain and grey, each day ending on a stool at the bar, at best. Other times, he would end up under the table, or unwillingly out the door. Tonight of all nights, he hoped to remain inside, protected from the raging storm. He flinched slightly at the sight of the falling lightning outside as he rocked the ice cubes in his fifth whiskey. In for another long night.
***
Dan grew up in Franklin – a town that made, brewed, talked about, drank, and even dreamed about beer. People there cared for it the way they have barely cared for anything else. The whole county knew the joke “You drink like a Frankliner” that had slowly lost its humorous edge over the years, and had turned into a kind of a modern-day insult. And yet, as much as people badmouthed about Frankliners’ unacceptable drinking habits, they never admitted that they personally bought stacks and stacks of beer that they secretly gulped down every time they felt uneasy. Frankly, it wasn’t much of a secret but they liked to think of it that way; it somehow made them feel better about themselves.
Dan used to watch all this from the side. He knew that the rest of the county could not live without the beer of Frankliners, but he, as one, was never fascinated by it. His father had owned a bottling factory for as long as he could remember and he was raised with the concept that he could look at the beer but never touch it. And, for one reason or another, he was fine with it. He trusted his father’s judgment, and helped him with the business without once tasting the beer he would bottle for a good 10 hours a day.
Nobody ever managed to grasp why he never tried it. “Such a gift and you’re wasting it,” people would tell him. He would look away without a single word and would keep working.
*
Dan grew up with Matt and Phil next door. They were brothers around his age. The three of them had been inseparable since the first time they rode bikes together. They would roam the streets, pull harmless pranks on the passers-by, tell jokes that only they could make sense of, and laugh until the muscles on their face would start to ache. Phil and Matt were the best friends one could ever have.
They were there for Dan when his mother died unexpectedly leaving him and his father with the heavy burden to wipe out the pain from the loss and move on. The brothers did their best to distract him. They would call him on a Saturday afternoon and ask him to help them build a tree house in the forest or to race to the bridge and make the last one to get there jump into the lake underneath. Dan never said it, but their efforts always helped, and he was thankful.
Years went by with the trio spending their days together until one day Matt, the elder of the brothers, came to Dan’s house with a bottle of beer in his hand, and a slightly inattentive smile.
“C’mon, let’s go for a drink by the lake,” he said. “Phil will be there in five, he went to grab some more beer; he’s very excited.”
Dan knew that Phil was anything but excited and that is was Matt’s idea to get into drinking in the first place. Reluctantly, he agreed to join but refused to have any beer. Look but not touch, his father had taught him. And Dan knew he was right.
Days passed with Matt stopping by his front door every afternoon with a bottle of beer that he cracked open the moment Dan turned the key in the lock. Matt gained pleasure from seeing his friend’s critical expression every time he went for a sip from the bottle, pouring more alcohol into his body.
“It’s addictive,” Dan would tell him. “Let it go or you never will.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Matt would reply and get all serious for a moment. “I can’t let it go, not anymore.” Then he would burst out in laughter and take a minute to take in the pleasure of having mocked his friend. “If beer doesn’t work for you, we can find you something stronger. Just tell me, don’t be shy.”
Dan knew beer was a sin, let alone something stronger. Whiskey, his friend had suggested that day; brandy. Dan had discarded his words with an expression verging on disgust.
The hours spent counting the empty bottles near the lake soon turned into days. The days into weeks, and then months. For a long time, he would just take in the grotesque picture of his drunken friends, desperately trying to put together a proper sentence in English. After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he broke free from their grip. The next time Matt came over, Dan simply refused to open the door and remained seated in the backyard until the knocking faded, and eventually stopped. Dan breathed a sigh of relief, but even he didn’t know why: he had just lost the only friends he ever had.
*
The following weeks he spent helping his father in the factory, which proved to be the best, but perhaps also only, distraction he had. If it weren’t for his father, and the countless bottles waiting to fulfill their purpose, he would be completely alone. Social life had slowly become a mirage, so far away and so out of reach. The people who worked at the factory had their own families – once married and with children – the life of a Frankliner tended to become anything but social.
To an extent, Dan thought he could relate to that kind of existence, but then again he couldn’t tell for sure. And he didn’t bother too much to look for an answer. He focused on the factory as much as he could with one goal in mind – to help his father and care for their peaceful relationship.
And yet, he knew that this one was dated, too, like all the relationships he had had so far. His father was growing old and weak, being less and less capable of working in the factory. Fearing he might lose him, Dan pushed himself for months to do as much work as he could, hoping that it would take away the load off his father’s shoulders. Even if it did, it made no difference. His parent might have been strong but his age had slowly worn him out.
One day, Dan woke up to find his father sitting in the very chair he was in when he last heard from his friend. His father’s body was lifeless. Ironic, he remembered saying to himself. At this point he knew one thing for sure: his life was over, unless he made a change of front. He had slowly lost everything he ever loved.
The day following his father’s death, he decided to sell the business they owned in the hope that with the money he got from it, he would be able to start over. He felt the urge to move, to lay the foundation of something new. He went home that night to a place he couldn’t recognize without the presence of his father; he needed to leave. He went around, wondering what he could take with him in his new life. He went over dusty shelves and drawers but found nothing of value. When he went to the kitchen, he pulled the door of an old cupboard and it opened with a squeak. Inside was only an almost-empty bottle of whiskey. He took it out and held it in his hand. The label was ripped every here and there, so he couldn’t make the expiry date. And yet, that wasn’t the real question. Why was there a bottle of whiskey in their house in the first place? His father never drank, he had taught Dan not to drink; it must have been there for whenever they had visitors, he thought. And then it hit him: nobody had visited since his mother died over 10 years ago, but the bottle was there – barely full, and not nearly a decade old.
At once, the pain of betrayal stang him; the only person he had trusted with all his heart, had turned out to be no different from everyone else. And that person was no other but his father. In an instant, Dan heard all his parent’s promises fade away, getting sucked away by a force more powerful than any of them could handle. It had all turned out to be a lie.
He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and drained it.
***
A thunder echoed from somewhere nearby and Dan shook his head to pull himself away from the flashback. He looked around; the bar was now completely full and at places, more than 10 people had to share one table. The chatter from around filled his head. He seemed to be the only one who had no one to talk to. And yet, he paid no attention; it was nothing out of the ordinary. He emptied his glass of whiskey, and waved at the bartender. To his surprise, the man was already bringing him the refill.
