Free Joe by H.D. Gordon Page A

insane.
Everything had to be about her, all the time. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
You know, all that time we dated, I don’t think she ever once read a book.”
    Trey laughed. “She never read a book? That was your problem with her?”
    Michael smirked. “What can I say? I like
a girl who can read.”
    “Crazy, bro, you’re crazy. You’ve got a
gift, dude. You’re young, handsome and smart. The ladies love you. As your best
friend I have to tell you we should be spending yourtwenty-first
birthday at the frat party hitting up all those college chicks, not sitting in
a lonely bar drowning sorrows like a couple of old men.”
    Michael grabbed his keys off the coffee
table. “You coming?” he asked.
    Trey frowned. “What? Looking like this?
You don’t even want to get dressed up for it?”
    Michael smiled. “Nope. Don’t have to,
it’s just a bar. Isn’t it great?”
    By the time they reached Susan’s, the
small bar just outside of Peculiar, Trey had quit his grumblings. When Michael
pulled his car into the parking lot, Trey said, “This is it? This is
where you wanted to come?”
    Michael looked at the weathered wooden
building and smiled. Susan’s was the bar that his father used to come to if
there was a big game on. Sometimes his dad would bring him too, and the owner would
make him Shirley Temples with extra cherries. His dad and the few other
regulars would yell cheers for their teams and little Michael would eat peanuts
sitting atop his high stool. His father had passed away five years ago now. The
sight of the old building almost brought tears to his eyes.
    “Yes,” he said. “This is exactly where I
want to be.”
    Hearing the sincerity in his best
friend’s voice, Trey smiled. “All right then, brother. Happy birthday. Let’s go
get some drinks.”
    Michael and Trey crossed the gravel
parking lot, climbed the three wooden steps up to the old wooden building, and
entered the bar. The place was exactly the same as Michael remembered it from
so many years ago. Straight ahead was an old jukebox, with its orange and
yellow lights, promising a customer a song for a nickel. To the left were a few
old tables and chairs, with salt and pepper shakers and bottles of ketchup at
the center of them. Beyond the tables, at the far end of the small room, sat a
used pool table that was still usable. The place even smelled the same:
whiskey, fried food, and though it had been a long time since the law allowed
smoking in these establishments, the smell of stale cigarettes was embedded in
the wood of the floors, walls, and ceiling.
    To the right was the actual bar, with a
door to the side of it that led to the modest kitchen. The eight round, wooden
stools were still here, and Michael stared for a moment at the one his father
used to sit him on, his feet dangling a foot from the floor. Bottles of liquor
lined the shelves behind the bar and glasses were lined up underneath them.
Michael noticed the place wasn’t exactly the same, though. The old box
television he and his father used to watch the games on had been replaced by a
large flat screen, and there were more people here tonight than there ever was
when he’d come here with his father. He realized now that there had been a lot
of cars in the parking lot.
    The crowd consisted of mostly young
people, which explained the most recent selection screaming from the jukebox.
Gone were the old drunks who sat at the bar with their heads down and their
faces unshaved. Michael looked over at Trey, who was smiling now that he saw
all the other patrons. There were plenty enough females present to keep Trey
occupied, but the distinct change in the place made Michael’s stomach twist a
little.
    “All right, you win,” Trey said,
clapping Michael on the shoulder. “This place ain’t so bad. I’m gonna hit the
can. Get me a beer, would ya?”
    Trey handed Michael a twenty dollar bill
and grinned. “Drinks are on me tonight.”
    Michael smiled. “Thanks.”
    He