Take the Long Way Home

Davey Jones tavern crouched on a crowded downtown street overlooking the sea. Tacky fishing nets and worn lobster traps covered the walls and hung from the ceiling. In the centre of the grubby planked floor sat a large aquarium that hadn't seen a live fish in years.

One man was hunched at the bar, alone, a tumbler of scotch in his hands. Suit rumpled, tie yanked loose and shirt partly untucked. Dave stood behind the bar polishing a dirty glass with an equally grimy bar rag. Graying hair belied the strength in his arms.

He looked up at the thud of the tumbler hitting the mahogany bar. Shifting ice cubes rang against the glass as the man pushed it across the polished wood. Putting down his cloth, the bartender poured the man called James his third, or maybe his fourth scotch. He grunted his thanks, and mechanically lifted the drink to his chapped lips.

Dave eyed him carefully. Leaning forward across the bar, he peered into James' face. "You heard from the Doc?"

There was a pause as James swallowed a portion of scotch. Keeping the glass raised to his lips, he spoke, his mouth weirdly distorted by the amber liquid. "Yup."

Dave nodded, waiting. From the pocket of his jacket, hung across the stool next to him, James pulled a pack of cigarettes.

"And?"

"And..." James blew more thick gray smoke from his mouth. "And it's back," he conceded, cradling the scotch glass in his hands. "Four months."

Dave nodded again, looked down, then back up to James' face. "You cutting back on those like I suggested?" He gestured to the cigarette dangling from his patron's lips.

"Sometimes," James took another swig from his now nearly empty glass, "Sometimes not."

Dave shook his head and wiped the counter. "Another nail in your coffin, Jay."

Smash.

James glared at the bartender. Dave leaned over and saw the tumbler in pieces on the floor. He sighed, walking around the end of the long table to pick up the glittering fragments. He walked back behind the bar, dumping the shards into a plastic dustbin.

"Sorry," said James, as Dave handed him a new glass. He brought the tumbler to his lips again, surveyed an owl etched into the glass. "Where'd this come from?"

"Oh, you know, just sort of picked it up," Dave said offhandedly, "Anyway. You gonna tell Penny?"

James paused, and then shook his head.

"Don't you think you owe it to her? And little Max?"

"Not so little anymore."

"How would you know? You go home last night like you said you would?"

James paused again. "No," he said quietly.

"Uh huh. And the night before?"

"No."

"When was the last time you were at home?"

"I dunno."

"That long eh? You going home tonight?"

"Yep."

"Right, Jay. Whatever you say."

James' mouth opened as the door swung wide. Hal swaggered in and settled on his stool as Dave brought him his rye and coke. "Thanks Dave," he turned and bobbed his head. "Jay."

James butted out his cigarette and retrieved another from his jacket pocket. "Hal."

"You've got this round, right?" asked the bartender.

"I can't do that, Dave."

James slurred as he tossed a crumpled bill on the table. "Got it."

"So, Hal, how's Donna?" asked Dave.

Hal spun a gold band on his left hand. "Same as always I s'pose."

"Then how's, uh…Olivia is it?"

"Ah, well...she's alright. Getting a little clingy, though. Might be time to cut her loose."

"Isn't that what you said about Christine?"

"Naw, that was Lucy. Christine was the one with the cop for a husband."

"Right..."

The door opened again, and Carl took his usual spot. Dave promptly brought him a gin and tonic.

"Hey, guys, how's it going?" asked the new arrival.

"Hey, Carl," said Hal.

"What's up, Jay?"

James tried to centre his swirling head on his drink. "Nuthin'."

"How many has he had?"

"Too many; but apparently not enough."

The four men felt a breeze as the door swung back again, revealing a man who took his seat beside Carl.

Dave slid a beer down the polished wood. "Here, Lenny."

He sighed. "Thanks Dave."

"I've got this round," said Carl, throwing down a bill. "What's with you?"

Lenny's reply went unnoticed by James, whose thoughts were flung far away. All around him, he heard screaming, shouts of anger and urgency. Each voice wanted, or needed to be heard above the rest. One screamed for more nicotine, the other for alcohol. His vices were torturing him. They fought, and twisted and shrieked in pain. A wail from the cancer that spread from his lungs. He longed to silence them, to douse the searing flames in his mind. He fought, trying to wrench his mind from the battle. Out of the swirling chaos, his eyes found the cigarette in his hand. With effort that tore him apart, he let the cigarette fall, plunging into his scotch glass. It hissed and bubbled, smoke billowing from the tumbler. And suddenly his mind was clear.

"Where are you going?" asked Dave.

James was standing, completely steady.

"Bathroom." He turned and seized his coat. He set off toward the back hallway, but did not turn into the men's room. Determined, he set off into the night, not looking back. He walked, his mind only on one place, one moment. After hours, or possibly seconds, he arrived at the door and knocked. He heard movement, laughter.

"Who's there?" sang a woman's voice.

"It's me," said James, no hesitation in his voice.

"Who's me?" asked the voice. The door opened partially, stopped by the chain that ran from door to wall. A slender woman stood there, her beautiful face framed by the thick golden tether. She considered her husband.

"Hello Penny."