All The Time

  Kelvin’s Tavern is quiet at three in the morning. The place is empty, except for a tired workman trying to drink away his sorrows, instead getting stains on his pressed suit, and me. The bartender. No, I’m not Kelvin. I’m Matt. Kelvin’s six feet under at Budding Souls Cemetery.
    Smoke always clung to the air, causing newcomers to cough and sputter with every inhale. A dusty dartboard hangs to the side, unused. Cobwebs clutched the corners, and no one bothers to wipe them away. I wipe down the wooden table in front of me, but the splotches of booze and alcohol would never rub off. This place, was where the poor and pathetic came to forget.
     I work here to listen. I’m good at listening, if I do say so myself. I once had a dream to be a psychologist, but with no money, I could never afford college. Do not pity me. Whiny costumers came in to complain about jerk boyfriends, perv bosses, and lousy pay. Grown men weep about their daddies never loving them. College girls come in to gossip about s**t I don’t care about. And when they leave, they never come back. I don’t know if they hate this place, or if they just came here to tell their tale. Me? I just light another cigarette and wait for the next one to come in.
      The door swings open, and I see a boy. I’m about to kick him out, when he flashes me an I.D. I’m pretty sure it’s fake, because the kid looks about seventeen.
      “Hey, no-”
      “I’m not here to get liquored up,” he says. I shrug, because if he doesn’t drink, why would I give a s**t about what he does?
      “Then what are you here for?” I ask. He sits in the barstool in front of me.
      “I heard about what you do here.” He says it quietly, like it’s some huge secret.
      “What do I do that’s so damn special?” I ask.
      “You listen.”
      “Ah. So you’re here to tell your tale?”
      “It’s about a girl.”
      “A dame. That’s pretty common.”
      His head snapped up. “Are you gonna listen or not?”
      Again, I shrug. “Keep talkin’.”
      “She was pretty. Not beautiful, but pretty. Blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, tint of gloss on her lips kinda pretty.” That’s a new one. I usually hear about the most beautiful of girls who break hearts. 
       “Her name was Roxanne,” he continues. “On that first date, her kiss tasted like strawberries. She smelt like vanilla. On our third date, she took me inside her house. Her parents were cool, I guess. Hippie kind of thing. And then I met her brother.”
        During this part, I wonder where this is going.
      “I always had a sneaking suspicion I was gay.” He broke away from his storytelling mode, looking up at me. Expecting me to hate him. Daring me to defy him.
      “Go on,” I say, refusing to play his little game of teenager rebellion.
      “He had brown hair, wet from the shower he had just taken. He didn’t have a shirt on. Perfectly toned, beefy muscles. His gray eyes were stone cold.” He put his head in his hands. “It was a secret relationship.”
       I appreciate him skipping over the finer details, giving me the important parts. Between you and me, I don’t want to hear about their first date.
       “His sister was cool with it. She was our cover.” He gets a dreamy look in his eyes.  "His kisses were rough.”
       Hey, I’m not a homophobe. But that little comment makes my stomach get an uneasy feeling.
      “Then one day, I went to a party.” His fist clenches, and I knew that this was the turning point in the story.  “I found him. With another guy. And some brunette babe. He looked up at me, and said ‘Wanna join the party boy toy?’ I bolted from there.” He sighed deeply. “I went to this place, needing a talk.”
       I nodded. My watch beeped four, meaning closing time.
      “So, you’re a gay boy needing someone to hear him out?” I ask. He flashes a small grin.
      “Yeah. Pathetic, huh?”
      “I get it all the time.”
       He looks up, and searched me, considering. 
      “What’s your story?” he asks. I stop endlessly wiping the bar. I should be closing up, but his question surprises me. I take a deep breath. I have time.
      “Well. It started with a girl…”

Reviews

[roarke]

Another good read. Bars and Noir is a bit not your strong suit, yet.... lol. We try to write about what we know and in the process wonder what it is we actually do know. You introduced lots of complex subjects here, lots of psychological stuff.... hard to write about and make sense of.
I admire your attempt at this, one way or another you handled it with aplomb. Kudos.

[Bella-Marie]

Well done. You kept me reading every word of your beautiful story. It was perfectly crafted. Immensely well written, I should say. My favourite bit is the start, where you introduce the character of the barman, in a honest way. Great, awesome job