The Story

“Finish your drink, it’s time to go.”

He stares at the overly fancy ice block in his glass. It cost him an extra two dollars with its imposed presence, and now it may last longer than he.

“I just ordered this, and I’ll get indigestion if I chug it. Hate to greet the end with a rude belch. How about I buy you one so you’re not just sitting there waiting on me?”

“You’re not the first to try this tactic.”

“Not a tactic, just a pretty good vodka and soda.” He lifted the glass so Death could admire the flower-cut lime sitting on the rim.

Death turned its head slowly, then pulled itself silkily onto the stool beside him. A shadow of a wave to the bartender, who saw only a tall patron she couldn’t quite place.

Two fingers of whiskey were set before the harbinger.

“I always figured you’d be a red wine guy.”

“Stereotypes.” Chuckled Death.

“How’d you land on whiskey, then?”

Death paused for a moment, and the man began to think it’d somehow been a rude question.

“I was in Ireland for too long, long ago. Many of them greeted me kindly, despite the suffering of their last. I suppose I caught the habit there.”

The man nodded solemnly, “My mother was Irish actually, came here to act but fell in love with my dad.”

“I know.”

“Do you know everything?”

“Yes, but not all the time.”

“I bet a lot of us ask you what it was all for, then.”

“A fair amount, but fewer than you would think…”

They each took a sip of their drinks.

“…are you going to be one who asks?”

“Well if there’s an answer, I suppose it’s best to know.”

The figure shifted, in what might have been an agreeable shrug. 

“It is for what is next.”

“Wait-“ the man set his glass down as gently as possible, as if making a sound would be too painful in this moment. “All of this,” he whispered as he peered to each corner of the bar, “is just prep work? For what?”

“What is next. All things are for what comes after them. All that proceeds is exactly that- proceeding to the following.”

The man held perfectly still, “So all of life… is for death?”

“That is not what I said.”

The man thought for a hard moment, then released his tense shoulders, nodding again. He took a gentle sip from his drink, the ice still mostly intact.

They sat in silence for several moments.

“Are you afraid?”

“Are many?”

“It’s hard to tell with some. Bravery does not erase fear, nor does acceptance, but I would hate to count those among them as simply afraid.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

Death “hmm’d” a maybe.

“I suppose I am a bit. I did alright. Just not sure I did alright enough, ya know? If there’s a… next.”

The figure tipped his glass, the whiskey within swirling wistfully before he took a swallow.

“Often, alright is enough. At least to me. In these days, alright is quite good.”

“Good for…?”

“Indeed.”

“Then friend, what is it for us?”

The bartender plucked the two glasses from before the empty stools, pouring a nearly melted ice cube out into the sink.

They’d left her quite a nice tip, those gentlemen, for being such easy customers. She would be extra kind the next time they came in. She could not remember their faces right this moment, but hoped she would when they returned.

The Word

Passage: 1. (noun) The act or process of moving through, under, over, or past something on the way from one place to another. 2. (noun) A narrow way, typically having walls on either side, allowing access between buildings or to different rooms within a building; a passageway.

Passages and journey vs. destination have been on my mind a lot lately, as I am betting they have been for many of us in different ways. Especially as we make it through the first month of 2025. January always feels so much more like the stalling between one year and the next, rather than a beginning. And sometimes that’s good- to stall, to rest. And sometimes that sucks- to be stuck, to endure. It’s that middle place with an odd feeling as if things are happening to you rather than with you. I hope you have gotten rest, and endured, friendly readers.

…also was it obvious that each corner of the bar is meant to be each corner of the world, but just this guy’s current world in the moment? I’m trying to coach myself into not being so AND HERE WAS THE METAPHOR but I’m wondering if I’m pulling back tooooo much. Let a gal know!

Happy reading!