She glanced around the strung-out bar. The place was small and dark, especially the corner she had pressed herself into. The dim light above the bartender flickered furiously. There was no one sitting behind her. She took another deep breath. The smell of wainscot mixing with the tangy scent of leather settled her mind.
The whiskey glass impacted forcefully on the wooden countertop. Heather froze. Red liquid danced lively between the crystal edges. A few drops had spilled over the rim.
The bartender’s voice ripped Heather from her stupor: “Three fifty” Her gaze jerked upwards.
The woman looked angelic under the soft yellow light; her black eyes piercing Heather’s. She swallowed and fumbled four dollars onto the counter.
“Keep the change,” she rasped.
Her fingers slid over the wet rim and came back tinted red. Heather licked the residue off the tips and pushed the glass to the side.
She felt a vibration in her pocket; Heather’s hands shook as her phone screen lit up.
Nina had written.
Already in Idaho?
Heather rolled her eyes.
Stop tracking me, she wrote back.
Not tracking you. Fumes told me.
She laughed, lifting her finger to reply something witty, when: “Is that your Volvo outside?”
“Uh,” Heather stuttered. To her right stood a tall and broad man whose stance told her all about his drinking history.
Yes may be too forward. No would be a lie. “Why,” she said instead.
“Cute dent,” he smiled and sat down onto the stool next to her. Great. Heather put her phone away.
His finger darted towards her drink. “Negroni? You want another?”
“Thanks,” her lips pressed tight, she pulled the glass closer.
“Where’s it from? Sheep? Wolf?”
“Deer, actually,” she sighed.
“Ah… Nice car, though. Well kept for a classic.”
“I don’t sell.”
“Whoa, I don’t intend to buy,” he put his hands up and lowered his eyes, “Your car, that is”
Maybe, she thought, if I just sit still, he’ll lose interest and go away.
No such luck, however. The man kept eyeing her from the side.
Heather nodded: “So, you’re into cars, then?”
Bogusly nonchalant, he deflected: “Well, kind of. I’m no expert, but I know a gem when I see one. You must be keeping good care of her. Well, except for…”
“That deer,” they nodded.
“Heirloom,” Heather winced. His features softened. Slowly, his hand came to rest over her own.
“I’m sorry,” he said as Heather ripped her hand away. “Don’t be.”
Heather nipped at her drink. Too bitter, she thought and put it back down. When she looked at the man again, he was still smiling.
“I had a deer crash once, yeah,” he said. “That was fun. I came just from that roadhouse, you know? That one over there, you can see it, outside. I drive half a mile – BAM! – crash a deer. Beautiful. Beautiful creatures. The blood seeped onto the icy asphalt. Icy blue. So strange seeing them up close. They’re creatures to be observed far away. Saw the light leave its eyes,” he slurred and drank.
Subtly, Heather tried putting distance between them.
“I wanted to drive on, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t leave it there – had to call authorities. I mean, you don’t just ignore an angel laying to the sides”
A grating scratch cut through the air as the jukebox rotated its tunes. Billy Joel’s grainy voice filled the room to Heather’s grimaces.
“But I never drove on,” the man said, “I wanted to see Seattle, but I never did. I just drove south. Reminds me, though, of the regret. I really regret it. Should have let it rot to the sides.”
“It would have come back,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?”
“It would have come back. That’s not how you honour an angel.”
He scoffed. “I like you strange types. You reek of regret.”
His gaze sat on her chest like bricks.
“What?”
“No, sure. You know what I mean,” he waved her away.
“No, not quite, actually. And if you don’t mind, I’d actually much rather drink in peace. Thank you.”
With her shoulders raised to her ears, she turned away from him. From the corner of her eyes she saw his face fall.
He nodded: “No, but like, you do understand. Don’t you?”
“I don’t,” Heather sighed, “But if you can explain it faster than I can drink my Negroni, I might even listen to you.”
He chuckled. “Well, you know. Just that feeling. I mean, you’re telling me you’ve never regretted a thing – that’s crazy! Telling me you have always done everything that you wanted to do? No questions asked? That’s mental.”
“You must be fun at parties,” she mumbled.
“Hey, I’m not a sentimental drunk–”
“I can see that!”
The man hooked his feet into her barstool, turned it with the flick of his ankle and forced her to look at him.
“But you seem the way,” he observed, “You seem sad. You seem to be pulled down by something.”
Heather bared her teeth. “Oh, really? Do I? May that be the residual stress from getting lectured by a drunkard?”
“Hey,” he spat, “watch your mouth! I’m not a drunkard. You don’t know me!”
“You’re right. I don’t, which is why I won’t have any regrets when I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”
She slammed the drink onto the counter and slid off the stool. The man kept sneering: “You’re drunk, you can’t drive away. Gotta stay the night.”
“You’re drunk.
“And you’re a loser. A missed answer is an answer as well. Come on. Heather. Heather, right?”
“How do you know my name?” She yelled, but his answer eluded her.
There was no escape, Heather noticed. Well done, she thought, you’ve got a talent for driving yourself into a corner. Lest he followed her to the parking lot, she sat back down.
“I don’t want to play your stupid games,” she bit. “You tell on yourself by asking first and you’ll get to respond first”
His smug veneer remained. “But only if you pinkie-promise me to answer me later”
She wouldn’t dignify him with a response.
“So, like. Apart from the usual suspects,” he began, “like telling her I loved her and enlisting with the NASA–”
“What?”
“I think, I regret never having, you know, done something.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Her face contorted into horror. Was he really cornering her to talk about his sandbox love?! “Please, do try to keep up,” he said.
Heather’s tongue unfroze. “Are you always this pathetic?” Her sharp tone silenced him, at least for a moment.
“Shut up,” he laughed, “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I wish I had done something that mattered. And I don’t think it’s even that uncommon. Most people regret this. Funny right? The most impactful people must have regretted this, even. All those people famous beyond their deaths– Hey!”
He snapped his fingers under Heather’s nose.
“Quit pretending I’m boring you. Some people call it ‘being remembered’ – I think that’s bull. It’s just a more egocentric approach to the same issue. I just feel like I'm missing a lot of stuff. A lot of the good stuff. A lot of the stuff that makes good stories for grandchildren. And my life's nearly over. And I also think I missed a lot of stuff for the same reason I feel like I'm missing so much and that's because I'm just afraid of life”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“So, like, a thing that matters, right? Like, I don’t know, helping in soup kitchens or like saving a life or something.”
“You know,” she pointed at him, “You could get a head start at that… right now.”
“Don’t mock me! My window’s closed…”
“I’m just saying, out there, if you went outside right now, you might find someone you could help. Maybe you’ll feel a bit of purpose!”
“Fuck off. I’m talking about my never realised dreams; you’re not going to interrupt me!”
But Heather continued: “You could be doing all of these things right now instead of drinking yourself comatose.”
“But it wouldn’t matter, right?”
“Why not?”
“I… I don’t know. It just wouldn’t count. To me, at least.”
“That’s fucked,” she said after a moment.
“Well, you see: There’s these people who have, you know… like that guy for example who, like, single handedly replanted dozens of square miles of rain forest.”
“What’s with that guy?”
“Yeah, seriously! What’s with that guy? He’s, he’s devoted his life to a cause he might not even fully see the effects of. Do you have any idea how old a tree can get? It’s, like, the ultimate selfless thing.”
“And you still haven’t explained yourself yet. How come it’s impossible to be that guy, still? The best time to plant a tree–”
“Was twenty-five years ago, yeah, I know. Can’t you grieve those twenty-five years still?”
Expectantly, he looked at her.
“I guess not.”
He threw his hands into the air. “Oh, you hypocrite! No, you don’t honestly believe that. You can’t be that good of a person. You can’t. You’re not.”
It was her turn to smirk: “My dad used to say that, although real perfection is impossible to achieve, a good and honest try is worth just as much.”
“Was he religious? Your dad?”
“Yes, I guess,” she laughed, “Why?”
“Just seemed that way.”
She ran a fingernail over the glass’s rim.
“He used to like the stories about Job and fate. He used to hate the stories about saviours and wonders.”
“Why?”
“Because, I figure it made much of the pain seem more like a cosmically premeditated task, rather than abandonment or cosmically bad statistics,” she turned to him, “My mother died early. It’s okay to have never planted a tree, if no one ever gave you the seeds.”
Silence rang between them. Ordering a second beer, he turned to her: “And you?”
“Hm?”
“Are you religious?”
Chewing on her lip, she took a deep breath.
“I used to ogle the angel paintings and descriptions. I liked everything holy because it was a simple concept. Kids my age wanted to become an astronaut. I wanted to become a saint,” she grinned into her drink, “I didn’t know it wouldn’t pay, then.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked softly.
“You asked.”
He shook his head. “I really didn’t.”
“Well, then I guess it just had to be told. I’ll get out of your hair,” she said and nearly, nearly managed to leave the encounter behind, but his swift fingers wrapped around her wrist stopped her at the very last minute.
“No, wait! Stop, you didn’t even answer my question!”
“Haven’t I answered you enough?”
“That was the deal – you decided to overshare!”
“Do we have to do this?”
He tugged on her arm. “Do you want to break the contract?”
“I hate you.”
“But not enough to just fuck off.”
She ripped her hand free, then slammed the Negroni. “Okay, smartass. I regret not being closer to my sister. There. Happy?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Is she dead?”
“What?”
“The only reason you’d be saying that is because she’s either dead already or halfway there. So, when’s her due date?”
A shove to his shoulder and his back collided with the bar counter. Heather leant above his cowering face: “Screw you, asshole.”
His tongue wet his lips. “Insults are not the way to sainthood.”
“How can you say something so fucked up to a stranger? How can you be that much of a fuck up? I was wrong today. You can’t become the epitome of selflessness. It wouldn’t work.”
She unlocked fingers from his jacket.
“And just so you know,” she spat, “You were wrong too. It’s not her who’s dying. It’s me. Good night.”