I didn’t see her come in but when I turned around there she was sitting at my bar. The woman slouched, propping herself up against the counter with what looked to be all of her strength. I was going to ask for ID but before I got a word out she muttered perfectly, “Whisky. Neat.” No kid would order a drink like that, and the way she had spoken with such cool deference made me believe she needed it. I grabbed a glass along with a bottle of something nice. I poured out two fingers, slid it forward, and finally spoke. “Whisky. Neat.” As I moved away to serve another patron I eyed her slowly and deliberately move to grasp her drink with both hands. The movement looked natural, yet practiced.
Here eyes dove beneath the surface of the liquid like it was some golden oceanic abyss full of secrets waiting to be discovered. The way she lifted it to her lips made me believe it had unknown heaviness. One sip. Wince, like when you clean a wound. Two sips. Tears, brought about by the stinging. Three sips. Nothing. Her face was cool again, unreadable and empty like it was chiseled that way. For thirty minutes she nursed that drink. Once it was finally dry she slid the glass slightly forward and tapped the rim twice. The ring that it made cut straight through the air. I could hear nothing else. The regulars cooing about their days and the stories from strangers both faded away. Without any words I began to pour. Two taps, two fingers. When I corked the bottle again sound began to play.
This time, with bravery, she clapped it with one hand. She lifted the glass to eye level as if to inspect this new friend. Satisfied, or ambivalent, she gulped much more than before. Setting it back down the woman resumed her statue stillness. The bar was growing busy. Fellows with patched elbows began to elbow their way in. Stuck up students or snooty professors, I couldn’t tell which. When they saw the woman they decided to try their game. The first man offered a drink. The second man a dance. The third recommended going somewhere quiet to relax. Unfazed and to their bewilderment she never looked up from the counter. Silently she slid forward the empty glass and gave it two more taps. Two taps, two fingers. “Whatever.” “Bitch.” “Your loss.” The men mumbled. Still she stayed her course and sipped slowly at her amber grail.
These few men were not the only ones to make attempts throughout the night. I then began to realize she must be quite beautiful. A description this late in doesn’t seem to make sense but to me, in this moment, it was like seeing her for the first time. Hair blacker than night spooled down to her shoulders. Dark forest green eyes had shadows cast over them by their lashes. Her lips were charcoal, thin, and defined. On her neck rest a chain that hung down past her chest. The dress that she wore was low cut and pure silver. I imagined it would reflect magnificently as she walked passed street lights. The nails on her hands that gripped the drink matched the shade on her mouth. I looked at her for a long moment, then got back to my business. I’m not sure if the woman knew that I had been looking or not.
The night ambled on. The old men were the first to leave. The counter itself was nearly empty when I heard a ring. One tap, one finger. She too was winding down. Whether this was an escape or planned all along, her time was almost out and she would need to move on. Her arm rose gracefully and this time quite high. Her glass above eye-line as if toasting to life. It hung there for what felt like eternity and a half. Then, as before, it gently made it to her mouth. I finally began to wonder what it was that brought her to my bar. Dressed as she was maybe she was stood up. Did a relationship just end or did she decide not to start another one? Perhaps today was simply bad or maybe today was just like every other day. I could have asked but it didn’t feel right.
The last of her whisky drained from the glass. After it was empty she held it up again to her eyes. Perhaps she was making sure it was all gone, or maybe she was wishing for a few more drops. Her arm glided down and landed with the softest tink. Then she slid the glass forward and with a small swipe of her hand gestured for no more. I took the cup, rinsed it out, and set it aside for proper cleaning. When I turned back around she was holding her clutch and looking at me full of meaning. For the first time that night our eyes had met. Without thinking I shook my head. “Have a good night.” I quietly said. I wish I said more but I knew it would have been wrong. After I spoke, in the slightest way her lips twitched as if deciding whether or not to smile. Then she stood up from my bar and walked out of the door.
I stared where she once was and then to where she had walked. Outside of the window silver was shining brightly in the night’s light. There was the screech of a taxi, then the slamming of its door. It seemed I was right, her reflection was gone. I looked to my other patrons still left standing. It was quite quiet now like when she would make her glass ring. Grinning I got back to work serving their drinks. The revelers told me their stories and dreams. We laughed and sung till I was the last one left standing. I flipped my sign to “closed” and began to clean. All the while I thought of the woman who ordered “Whisky. Neat.”
Here eyes dove beneath the surface of the liquid like it was some golden oceanic abyss full of secrets waiting to be discovered. The way she lifted it to her lips made me believe it had unknown heaviness. One sip. Wince, like when you clean a wound. Two sips. Tears, brought about by the stinging. Three sips. Nothing. Her face was cool again, unreadable and empty like it was chiseled that way. For thirty minutes she nursed that drink. Once it was finally dry she slid the glass slightly forward and tapped the rim twice. The ring that it made cut straight through the air. I could hear nothing else. The regulars cooing about their days and the stories from strangers both faded away. Without any words I began to pour. Two taps, two fingers. When I corked the bottle again sound began to play.
This time, with bravery, she clapped it with one hand. She lifted the glass to eye level as if to inspect this new friend. Satisfied, or ambivalent, she gulped much more than before. Setting it back down the woman resumed her statue stillness. The bar was growing busy. Fellows with patched elbows began to elbow their way in. Stuck up students or snooty professors, I couldn’t tell which. When they saw the woman they decided to try their game. The first man offered a drink. The second man a dance. The third recommended going somewhere quiet to relax. Unfazed and to their bewilderment she never looked up from the counter. Silently she slid forward the empty glass and gave it two more taps. Two taps, two fingers. “Whatever.” “Bitch.” “Your loss.” The men mumbled. Still she stayed her course and sipped slowly at her amber grail.
These few men were not the only ones to make attempts throughout the night. I then began to realize she must be quite beautiful. A description this late in doesn’t seem to make sense but to me, in this moment, it was like seeing her for the first time. Hair blacker than night spooled down to her shoulders. Dark forest green eyes had shadows cast over them by their lashes. Her lips were charcoal, thin, and defined. On her neck rest a chain that hung down past her chest. The dress that she wore was low cut and pure silver. I imagined it would reflect magnificently as she walked passed street lights. The nails on her hands that gripped the drink matched the shade on her mouth. I looked at her for a long moment, then got back to my business. I’m not sure if the woman knew that I had been looking or not.
The night ambled on. The old men were the first to leave. The counter itself was nearly empty when I heard a ring. One tap, one finger. She too was winding down. Whether this was an escape or planned all along, her time was almost out and she would need to move on. Her arm rose gracefully and this time quite high. Her glass above eye-line as if toasting to life. It hung there for what felt like eternity and a half. Then, as before, it gently made it to her mouth. I finally began to wonder what it was that brought her to my bar. Dressed as she was maybe she was stood up. Did a relationship just end or did she decide not to start another one? Perhaps today was simply bad or maybe today was just like every other day. I could have asked but it didn’t feel right.
The last of her whisky drained from the glass. After it was empty she held it up again to her eyes. Perhaps she was making sure it was all gone, or maybe she was wishing for a few more drops. Her arm glided down and landed with the softest tink. Then she slid the glass forward and with a small swipe of her hand gestured for no more. I took the cup, rinsed it out, and set it aside for proper cleaning. When I turned back around she was holding her clutch and looking at me full of meaning. For the first time that night our eyes had met. Without thinking I shook my head. “Have a good night.” I quietly said. I wish I said more but I knew it would have been wrong. After I spoke, in the slightest way her lips twitched as if deciding whether or not to smile. Then she stood up from my bar and walked out of the door.
I stared where she once was and then to where she had walked. Outside of the window silver was shining brightly in the night’s light. There was the screech of a taxi, then the slamming of its door. It seemed I was right, her reflection was gone. I looked to my other patrons still left standing. It was quite quiet now like when she would make her glass ring. Grinning I got back to work serving their drinks. The revelers told me their stories and dreams. We laughed and sung till I was the last one left standing. I flipped my sign to “closed” and began to clean. All the while I thought of the woman who ordered “Whisky. Neat.”