Jason had been tending bar for seven and a half years, and by this time, had heard pretty much every story out there – broken hearts, lost jobs, lost friends, death, betrayals, and everything in between. Everything that would drive a man or woman into The Thirsty Unicorn to drink that elusive cup of forgetfulness. Elusive, because it didn’t always deliver what it promised. Jason knew this, and felt his real job was to take up the slack.

As he poured another one for the night’s latest worst case, he wondered why the man hadn’t spoken yet. Plainly, the guy was deeply upset. He’d downed six shots already without showing the slightest sign of being affected. That usually meant a person’s mental state was so bad, not even alcohol could unseat whatever was bothering him. Or her.

“Can I get you something from the kitchen?” he asked, his tone carefully dispassionate.

The man lowered his glass and stared for several seconds, his eyes narrowed. They weren’t bloodshot yet.

“No?” Jason tried again, beginning to feel uncomfortable. That stare…

“No one knows what it's like to be the bad man,”

said the drinker suddenly, his words unexpectedly clear, like the eyes still boring into the bartender.

“I’m sure there are those who do.”

“No. Not just bad, but how it feels to be…to be the sad man behind blue eyes.

“Er, heh.” Jason shook his head. “Your eyes are brown, buddy.”

“It’s an expression.” He took another sip. “Guess you never listened to Crystal Gayle songs.”

Crystal….”Ah! Right! That ‘Don’t it Make My Brown Eyes Blue’ song, right?”

“Brilliant.”

Tired of the man’s attitude, and not a little offended by the sarcasm, Jason started to move off. Two customers sat at the other end of the bar, and several more had just come in.

”No one knows what it's like to be hated.”

Jason stopped and turned back. “I don’t know. I think I might have an idea what that feels like.”

“Really? Or to be fated to telling only lies?

You know what that

feels like, too?”

“Uh, no. I mean, everyone lies, but not all the time.”

“You do if you’re numb, if you don’t give a damn anymore about anything or anyone. You do if every waking moment is filled with hatred.”

Jason’s eyes involuntarily flickered to the panic button under the bar near his left hand. The one he’d push if someone got crazy and the only solution was to call the police. “So…how does that translate to non-stop lying?”

“When you’ve been destroyed by the truth, you don’t want to utter it ever again. Even to tell someone the right time of day if asked for it.”

“How the hell do you sleep? Assuming you’re talking about yourself, that is.”

The man gave a laugh made harsh by bitterness. “Not well. My mind won’t track with my emotions when I’m sleeping.”

“You must have some pretty bad nighmares, then. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you, now…but yes, I have nightmares. But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be.”

“What do you mean?” Intrigued now, in spite of the waves of acrimony pouring off his mysterious customer, Jason came back the rest of the way and refilled this man’s now-empty shot glass.

“I know what I did wrong, what my own part in all of this was.” He’d practically mumbled these words, and for the first time, Jason saw something a little less icy in the man’s expression. “You see,” he went on, his voice more distinct, ”I have hours,

even if they’re only lonely

ones, in which to think about what happened, how it happened, and why.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about love.”

The man nodded, looking away. “Love,” he repeated. “Yes. But where it used to be glorious and kind, wishing only to give and cherish, now my love is vengeance.”

Jason swallowed hard. The way he’d said it – so cold, so matter-of-fact, so softly violent. “That – that can’t be good.”

“No, it isn’t. Ha!” He sat back suddenly, grabbed the shot glass, and tossed back its contents in one gulp. “Pain is its own cost, and love is a gift, but vengeance? That’s never

free!” He fell silent again, closing his eyes.

Jason took this as his cue to go tend to the people further down the bar, who he could see were sitting there with empty or near-empty glasses. Without a word, he headed off to take care of business.

The people who had recently entered were sitting in the booths across from the bar itself, keeping the waitress busy between the bar, the kitchen, and the customers. Between keeping her orders filled and handling the three men and four women now occupying bar stools, Jason nearly forgot about the strange, lonely man whose words and behavior had been so disturbing.

When he gave the “last call” at two o’clock, he noticed that at some point the man had left. A fifty-dollar bill had been tucked under his shot glass, the only proof he’d even been there. Jason took it to the register, entered the amount of his bill, which was thirty-six-ninety-two, and pocketed the change. Pretty hefty for a tip, he thought, smiling.

When he left an hour later, he went tiredly out the back door to the parking lot, deserted except for his silver Camaro. What a night, he thought as he pulled his keys from a back pocket.

”No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings like I do,”

said a familiar voice.

Jason spun around, startled half out of his wits. A shadow detatched from the side of the building and walked slowly toward him. Something in front of the man caught a sliver of moonlight. The bartender’s eyes widened when he realized what it was – the barrel of a gun. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to stave off his impending injury or even death, but the man cut him off, saying something that frightened Jason even more than the sight of the gun.

”And I blame you

!”

“Wait! B-blame me? For what?!”

“You really don’t know, do you, you poor, pathetic little bastard!” The man took a step closer. “I’ve known about the two of you for a long, long time, but because of my position in the community, I could do nothing. Not that I didn’t want to, but I learned self-discipline years ago from my father. Because of him, I’m a chameleon when I have to be. No one can hide how he feels like I do. No one bites back as hard on their anger!

And why? Because none of my pain and woe can show through.

Ever. I’m a pillar of granite. A diamond. But hey, why should all my efforts yield anything good for me,

eh?”

“Look, dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m really sorry you’re having a rough time, but seriously! Y-you had an awful lot to drink, and are probably mistaking me for someone else.” Jason had put one hand up defensively, palm outward, but the other he slid into the front pocket of his jeans. His cell phone which, because of work, had been programmed to make no sound when dialed, rested under his shaking fingers. When he’d first begun working at the bar, he had trained himself to be able to press the key that speed-dialed 9-1-1. This was the first time he’d be using it, and he prayed it wasn’t the last.

“Someone else?” the man was saying. “No, it’s you. I saw you, you see. In our house, in my bed, with my wife. The only person on the planet who had been able to make my life mean something good. And I heard you tell her lies about me, lies that convinced her somehow that there was nothing wrong with what the two of you were doing.” He thrust out his jaw, the look his eyes warning Jason to keep quiet. “You ask how I sleep? What did I say? That I do, but my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be?

That's right. My dreams are filled with remorse.”

Hoping the call had gone through and that the dispatcher on the other end would be able to hear everything through the denim, Jason defied the man’s glare and said, “Remorse for what? Pointing that gun at me, for wanting to kill me? I did nothing, man! I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, I swear! I’m just a damn bartender at the stupid Thirsty Unicorn, for pete’s sake! How could someone like me - ”

“Shut up! Like I told you - I have hours

now, in which to think about what I saw and heard! Hours! Only…lonely

now…that’s why my love is vengeance

, and since that's never free,

I decided to pass the cost along to you.” He gave Jason a horrifying smile.

“Oh, God…look, isn’t there something I can do to convince you…to make you stop before you do something you won’t be able to live with?” It was a desperate appeal to a man who was claiming an empty conscience, but it was beginning to look like the police weren’t going to get there soon, if at all.

Lowering the gun, a gesture that Jason didn’t trust for a moment, the man nodded. “Maybe there is. Look, when my fist clenches, crack it open before I use it and lose my cool.

That might slow me down, make me think. Or…when I smile, tell me some bad news before I laugh and act like

…like a fool

.”

“What are you saying? I – I don’t understand - ”

“Don’t you? I’m all but choking on your garbage and lies. So here you go - if I swallow anything evil,

like, say, some bullcrap, just put your finger down my throat

! Your nonsense is chilling me to the bone, you know, so if I shiver, please give me a blanket.

You could help me like you helped my wife that night you took her to dinner a few weeks ago. She gave you such a loving look when she said, “Keep me warm. Let me wear your coat?

” Which of course, you did, being so chivalric and all.”

“I never – ”

“I said, shut up…Jason!”

Aw, hell. How did this lunatic know his name? The bartender closed his eyes, surrendering. He might get shot, but he didn’t have to see it coming. How could something like this have happened?

He heard the click of the gun being cocked, sure that he wasn’t going survive into the next minute. And then – a shot rang out, nearly deafening him, and he sank to his knees by the side of the car, waiting for death.

A moment later, he heard a strange collection of sounds – feet shuffling and running on the pavement, voices, then a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, fella. We got him.”

Jason opened his eyes, incredulous, and looked up to find a man in a grey trenchcoat standing over him.

“Smart move with the cell phone,” the man said, giving the trembling bartender a hand up.

“Oh, God.” He peered around the officer and saw his attacker lying on the ground, eyes staring into nowhere, his dreams gone now, along with whatever conscience may have remained. Jason swallowed hard.

“Who was he?”

Taking a long, shaky breath, Jason said, “No idea. Just a customer.”

“From what we could hear, he sounded like a complete head-case.”

Jason nodded, relief and and utter disbelief flooding his veins and slowing the insane pace of his heart. He found himself replaying the man’s bizarre mantra: No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man behind blue eyes

…blue, like Jason’s. Like Cinda’s, the man’s wife. The only one left who knew the truth, who would have to join her husband if he hadn’t already killed her.

He could almost hear the sound of something rushing away on the silence – the sound of his own conscience being emptied.

Impressum

Texte: Lyrics by The Who - Story by Judy Colella
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.09.2012

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Widmung:
Based on the Moody Blues' song, "Behind Blue Eyes" - the lyrics used in the context of this short story do not belong to the author.