This group has been having dinner together for 20 years, he said. We used to meet for cocktails at 8, then have dinner at 9.
He looked down at his drink, then up at the clock on the wall of the bar.
These days, we meet for cocktails at 7, he said. We used to be bad. Now, we’re just naughty.
You want to go with something dry? asked the bartender. With mezcal? Weird? Great?
I would like something weird AND great, I said. Just tell me what it is when you’re done.
I looked back toward the city, and watched the lights twinkling in the distance. Over there, it was so loud, but there on the blanket, all I could hear was my own heart beating.
How do I create balance in the places where I need it? I finally asked.
He waited a long time before answering.
You have to give up on the idea that there’s a right and a wrong way to do things, he said. Now repeat it back to me so I know you’ll remember.
The bartender came to the middle of nowhere because he’d tired of cities. He’d made his money elsewhere, and now was content to pour rye into tumblers and open bottles of beer for patrons who leaned heavily on the bar, weighed down by the emptiness outside.
He mapped the landscape: One bar for the liberals, one where the washed-up showgirls come out of retirement late at night after a few too many, and his place, where people keep to themselves.
There’s no bullshit here, he said. People come in, drink, lie to each other and leave.
Are you crying because you’re happy, he asked, or because you’re sad?
Both, I said, but that comprised just part of it. I was happy and sad, but also wide awake and exhausted, sated and starving for more, ready to escape and never wanting to go, and grateful, grateful, ever-grateful for this otherworldly home.
You’ll have to put it on me, he said, and he crouched a little so I could reach up to clasp the pendant around his neck. I had just taken a photo of a metal horse; he had just walked us through a map of marvelous things. I knew nothing, really, of what lay ahead. But this year, we’ll arrive at the dust together.
I have this year’s pendant, I told him before we left. But I want to put it on you again when we get there.
100 Proof 