There is
no explicit sex
in this story. I wish to thank the people who helped contribute to and edit this story, per their wishes, they remain anonymous. This story is totally fictitious; any resemblance the characters might have to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. No part of this story may be published at any other site without the express permission of the author. © December 14, 2007
**********
'
FUCK
…
fuck
,
fuck
,
fuck
, and double fuck, there goes my afternoon,' Hank thought as he watched the small group come in the door.
'I've just been sitting here minding my own business…. Hell, I'm only on my second beer and she has to show up
.'
Sarah seemed to be very excited as she clung to the arm of a handsome young man. They appeared to be the center of attention as the sound of her giggling friends filled the room.
Hank watched Sarah glance around and knew she was looking for the perfect spot to sit. She used to do that with him. Suddenly Sarah noticed Hank at the end of the bar, and her eyes danced in lively recognition as she waved at him. But Hank only nodded, slid off the bar stool, and turned away. Quickly as it had lit up, her face dropped in embarrassment.
Suddenly Hank reached around with one arm and grasped the top of his pants. As he pulled them up tight, he leaned a little sideways while his other hand forced its way into his pocket. '
Damn tight ass jeans
,' Hank thought, '
I really should start wearing slacks
.' After digging out his money clip, he said, "Ok barkeep, time for me to go."
Rick knew something was wrong. Hank never left before finishing his drink. As the bartender checked out the batch of new faces, he spotted Sarah and immediately understood the problem. '
After all, it is a small town
,' he thought, '
and everyone does know everyone's business
.'
"Come on Rick… give me the bad news. How much do I owe ya?" Hank asked.
"Put a lid on it," the bartender joked, "it's your fault anyway. Whatever in the world possessed you to order that second beer I'll never know. Have you forgotten how bad I am with numbers? I can calculate the first on my fingers, but after that I have to use my toes. Just be glad you don't have time for a third."
Normally Hank would have laughed at the humor, or least at the attempt. But for now, he could only muster a lopsided grin. After being told the amount of his bar tab, he peeled off enough bills to cover the damages plus a couple of extra for a tip.
Due to the difference in their ages, Hank had never been close friends with Rick, but had always liked him. He was a good bartender, always hustling, never talking unless spoken to, and had a very pleasant disposition.
To show his appreciation, Hank added one more bill to the stack then asked, "Be okay if I take the rest of my beer with me?"
"Sorry man… you know the rules. I'm not supposed to let anyone leave the premises with alcoholic beverages. If you got caught, it could cost my license," Rick replied.
Since the answer was what Hank had expected, it didn't really upset him. He knew the bartender had more than just himself to worry about. With a sudden twinge of regret, he realized, '
Unlike Rick, I don't have a loving wife waiting at home… with three little ones to feed.'
Hank looked at his money roll and thought, '
Hell, it ain't doing me any good just sittin' in my pocket, and they probably need it more.'
With that he peeled off three more bills, one for each kid, and laid them on the stack.
"Damn it Hank, you don't have to do that. Oh what the fuck, just keep the bottle down and make sure no one sees it. And if you get stopped, remember… you didn't get it here. If I lose my license, you're putting my ass to work, and for a damn good salary," Rick chuckled.
Hank couldn't help but notice that Sarah was glancing sideways at him as he strode across the bar and out the front door.
**********
The old truck came to a sliding halt in the loose gravel of the 'ole river road.' In his anger, Hank's foot still had the brake pressed hard to the floor. Raising the bottle to his lips, he leaned his head back and finished off the last couple of swallows. Then with one hand holding the empty beer bottle, Hank leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel.
As he looked out at the small stream he couldn't help but ponder,
'Why do they call it a river? It's not over three or four feet wide in most places. Other than a few large pools, it's nothing but a small creek.'
"Oh well, they didn't bother to ask me," he sarcastically chuckled
,
"and if it was any of my business, I'm sure they would've. So, then… it's a river, and always will be…
no matter how screwed up I think that is
."
Hank pulled up on the door handle and pushed the truck door open. He could still smell the dust he'd stirred up in his frustration.
After easing out of the truck, Hank strolled slowly along the river bank. Occasionally he would pick up a rock with his free hand and throw it into one of the larger pools. The sound of the splash felt real and reminded him of the fact that life went on, in spite of his pain.
But as the ripples rolled across the pools, Hank began to realize his real enjoyment was the comfort he derived from watching the water reclaim its calm surface.
A large familiar flat rock caught his attention. It was just what he had been looking for and he plopped his butt down.
Unconsciously Hank pulled off his hat and laid it on the rock beside him. With his elbows resting on his knees, he leaned his head forward and ran his hand through his hair, rubbing and scratching as it went.
Then holding the top of the bottle between the thumb and finger of one hand, he tapped the bottom with his other. After swinging back and forth a couple of times, the bottle came to rest, hanging straight down.