He asked me to be at the bar at exactly quarter past 8 o’clock on Tuesday night. I didn’t ask why.
When I got there, he was sitting on the last bar stool pushed up against the back corner. Shaded from the spotlights.
“I saved you the second best seat in the place,” he greeted me. “Mine being the first.” A smile.
I looked around, the bar was empty. “You could have any seat you want.. why is this the best seat in the house?”
“I’m the first to see folks walk in and the only one who can see everybody already sitting down. I watch them come. I watch them go. But they always come back. I’m a lucky guy.. best view in the whole bar.”
“But we’re the only ones here,” I said.
“I know, we’re lucky,” says Will. He says nothing else for a moment.
“Well, alright darlin’, what do you want?”
“Whiskey on the rocks. More whisky, less rocks.” His eyes grow real wide.
He smirks, then he says to the bar man, “Alright then, you heard the lady. A whiskey on the rocks for her and a Lone Star for me.”
I watched the bar man pour my liquor. Three rocks. One more than I normally like but he had a sweet smile. The man moves to the other side of the oaker counter, he grabs a cold one out of the refrigerator and slides it down the entire length of the bar. It lands smack dab in the middle of Will’s open palm. He winks at the man.
He cracks it open and rinks it down in one breath.
“Honey,” he says, “don’t look at me like that. There are plenty of joys to savor in this life, but canned beer ain’t one of ’em.”