FICTION
Happy Rock
/ Matthew Simmons
02.08.10
Lodi watches the old man as he walks away.
Lodi's phone vibrates, and she looks at it to see a message from Diana. "$13?" it says.
For some reason, they go to the bar called Bleachers again. Not Doc's or Schooners or The Main Street Tap. It seems like the only age-appropriate bar in town, even if the crowd only serves to annoy Lodi in that everyone there seems to be someone she knows from high school.
In Chicago, her ex- Nicky is probably out, probably with a Greek girl, like his mother always wanted him to date instead of Lodi. Nicky's new girl has family in town, and he is polite to a fault to the girl’s mother and to her father, flirty—but not overbearing and creepy—with her teenage sister. She maybe has a baby by another man—a little boy. One or two years of age, possibly. Nicky is patient with the child, but has gotten to the point where he feels comfortable punishing him if he talks back to his mother, or disobeys her.
Diana goes to the bathroom. "Off to drain the lizard," she says. Lodi, eyes soft and red, laughs and turns in to her elbows, hunkers down, and watches the light flash and strobe on the ice in her glass.
The bartender went to high school with Lodi. "Go Gladstone Braves," she says every time he wipes up the condensation and spills on the bar in front of her. He smiles a friendly smile every time. He was a JV running back. He says he's now going to Bay de Noc Community College and getting an associate's degree in something, but Lodi doesn't hear what. He remembers Lodi's family and asks after them: How's your mother? How's your father? How's your brother? Still in Iraq?
Everyone is fine, and everyone's in touch. "Mike called from Qatar," she says. "They gave him a pass, and sent him to this big building that looks like a warehouse outside. Inside it looks like a Vegas nightclub. They only allow him three drinks a night and never any liquor. He's drinking wine now because it's stronger. "
"Have one for him, then?" says the bartender
"Yes," Lodi says. Diana has returned and is sitting next to her again. "I'd like the strongest shot you've got."
"The strongest shot you've got," echoes Diana.
"The strongest shot you've got," says Lodi. And then both of them are saying it together, and their four fists are pounding on the bar. "The strongest shot you've got. The strongest shot you've got."
The bartender pulls a bottle from the top shelf and fills two shot glasses. "On the house," he says. "One hundred proof. I'm not supposed to serve it without a mixer, but just this once. For your brother. On the house."
"Go Braves," Lodi says.
Lodi's phone vibrates, and she looks at it to see a message from Diana. "$13?" it says.
For some reason, they go to the bar called Bleachers again. Not Doc's or Schooners or The Main Street Tap. It seems like the only age-appropriate bar in town, even if the crowd only serves to annoy Lodi in that everyone there seems to be someone she knows from high school.
In Chicago, her ex- Nicky is probably out, probably with a Greek girl, like his mother always wanted him to date instead of Lodi. Nicky's new girl has family in town, and he is polite to a fault to the girl’s mother and to her father, flirty—but not overbearing and creepy—with her teenage sister. She maybe has a baby by another man—a little boy. One or two years of age, possibly. Nicky is patient with the child, but has gotten to the point where he feels comfortable punishing him if he talks back to his mother, or disobeys her.
Diana goes to the bathroom. "Off to drain the lizard," she says. Lodi, eyes soft and red, laughs and turns in to her elbows, hunkers down, and watches the light flash and strobe on the ice in her glass.
The bartender went to high school with Lodi. "Go Gladstone Braves," she says every time he wipes up the condensation and spills on the bar in front of her. He smiles a friendly smile every time. He was a JV running back. He says he's now going to Bay de Noc Community College and getting an associate's degree in something, but Lodi doesn't hear what. He remembers Lodi's family and asks after them: How's your mother? How's your father? How's your brother? Still in Iraq?
Everyone is fine, and everyone's in touch. "Mike called from Qatar," she says. "They gave him a pass, and sent him to this big building that looks like a warehouse outside. Inside it looks like a Vegas nightclub. They only allow him three drinks a night and never any liquor. He's drinking wine now because it's stronger. "
"Have one for him, then?" says the bartender
"Yes," Lodi says. Diana has returned and is sitting next to her again. "I'd like the strongest shot you've got."
"The strongest shot you've got," echoes Diana.
"The strongest shot you've got," says Lodi. And then both of them are saying it together, and their four fists are pounding on the bar. "The strongest shot you've got. The strongest shot you've got."
The bartender pulls a bottle from the top shelf and fills two shot glasses. "On the house," he says. "One hundred proof. I'm not supposed to serve it without a mixer, but just this once. For your brother. On the house."
"Go Braves," Lodi says.