by Kirk Jockell
“A Coors draft with a lime, for me. Your best Cosmo for the lovely lady.” Nigel slid the barkeep a ten-spot and it went straight into his pocket.
“You got it!”
Nigel looked around. The place looked newly redecorated. It made him sad, bothering him more than it should. The bartender came back with the drinks and Nigel said, “The place has changed a lot since I used to come in here.”
The bartender shrugged his shoulders.
Nigel asked, “Does old Mackie still manage the place?”
The bartender pointed to a picture back behind the bar. Nigel laughed and looked at Sherry, “That old fart has been here forever.” He turned to the bartender and asked, “Is the old cuss here?”
“In the back.”
“Go get him. I want to see him.”
“I can’t,” he replied. “He’s busy counting money.”
“Screw that. I don’t care what he’s doing.”
Both Stone and the bartender watched as Nigel reached in his pocket and pulled out a thin curved brass plaque. “Here. Take this to him. Tell him I’ve come for my fucking stool. And use those exact words. You hear me?”
The bartender took the plaque and hesitated until Nigel said, “Go on, dammit. Do as I say, or give me my ten-dollar bill back.”
A few minutes later a large, burly man, grayed with a salty Hemingway look, emerged from the hallway that led to the offices. At six foot three, two hundred thirty pounds, Nigel was big enough. But this guy had Nigel by three, maybe four, inches and probably thirty to forty pounds. He walked up to where Nigel sat with Stone. The young bartender watched from the other end of the bar. The big guy looked at Logan, then back at the brass plate. The word seventeen was barely readable. He rubbed the plaque between his fingers.
Nigel was enjoying himself. He looked at a confused Stone and winked. Then he looked at the massive figure that stood before him and said, “Hello, Mack. It’s been a long time.”
Mack said nothing.
“Do you remember when you gave that to me?”
Mack looked at Nigel and said, “I thought you were in prison.”
“A vicious rumor for sure. Have you been getting your news from the Internet again?”
His last night in Tidewater couldn’t have been better. For hours, they sat at the bar and told stories. Stone so wished she had her tape recorder. She laughed and smiled as Mack told Nigel’s bar stories. He told her everything he knew about a young seaman that would only drink from one barstool, number seventeen. He was cocky, egotistical, and obnoxious. But he was fun and everybody loved him. Then he picked up the plaque off the bar and said, “When he got orders to ship out, it just didn’t seem right. So, I removed this plaque off the back of his stool and gave it to him.”
He gave it back to Nigel, who in his drunken glow slid it back into his front pocket.
It was getting late and Stone said, “I hate to break up this little party, but I think my boy here has had enough.”
Nigel reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys and dropped them on the bar. He looked at Stone and slurred, “Don’t scratch the Bronco. You hear me?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I hear you,” replied Stone.
As they were getting up, Mack said, “Hold on. Let me show you something.”
With a little assistance from Mack, he helped Nigel walk down a hallway. Stone brought up the rear, ready to catch him if he fell back. Mack leaned Nigel up against the wall and asked, “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
Nigel nodded his head as Mack opened a door and turned on a light saying, “It’s in here somewhere.”
Stone looked into the room. It was a storeroom full of old crap. She asked, “What’s in here?”
Mack turned and said, “His stool. Number 17.”
Nigel heard those words, and they were almost sobering. He stood up straighter. Stone grabbed his arm and was surprised he felt so steady on his feet. “Really, Mack. You still got it?”
Nigel and Stone stood at the door as Mack slung stuff every which way. After a while he came back toward them dragging an old wooden barstool. He stood it up in front of them. “See? This is where the plaque went.”
Nigel reached in his pocket and pulled out the plaque. He placed it over the discolored wood, the place where it once was attached. He rubbed his hand over the wood and looked at Mack and asked, “May I?”
“Of course.”
Nigel walked around and climbed up and took his seat. He felt stupid and silly, but he knew he was drunk, so he didn’t care. He looked at Stone, and with a childish grin said, “My stool.” She looked on with smiles as Nigel turned to Mack and said, “Thanks, Mackie. This has been a great night.”
The next afternoon, Stone came home from work. The Bronco was no longer waiting in the drive. She waited a while before getting out of her vehicle. She took a deep breath. They had said their goodbyes earlier that morning, but Stone decided to use the comforting tactic of denial to help her make it through the day.
As she walked through the front door, the place was quiet. A lonely quiet. He was gone. She already knew that, but it was like she had to keep reminding herself. Then she walked into the kitchen and lost it. Her hand stretched across her mouth as she gasped. The tears now came with ease. Standing next to her kitchen counter was the old wooden barstool, a note taped on the back. When she pulled it off, she cried even more. The old, brass plaque was reattached. She touched her finger to what was left of the old engraving. Then she opened and read the short note. Thank you for everything. And if you ever need anything, you know where I’ll be. Please remember that and me. I will never forget you. Nigel.
As she read the note for the third time, the Bronco was barreling down Interstate 95. He smiled and pressed a little harder on the gas, a Brian Bowen CD was playing, but struggling to compete with the roar of glasspacks and mud tires on asphalt. He turned the volume up to ten. The Kraco speakers sounded like shit. He made a note-to-self: replace them.
As he crossed over into North Carolina, Nigel never once glanced in the rearview. There was no need to. He left everything behind for a reason. None of it would be needed anymore. The only things that mattered now were the problems awaiting him in Port St. Joe: Beach People Problems.
Happy New Year
Even on a clear night, when the moon is full and the starlight of our Milky Way stretches to the horizon, visibility at night on the beach is limited. Such darkness is a beautiful thing. Tonight, though, it was more than that, it was perfect.
Nigel looked at his watch; it was 2325, only thirty-five minutes until New Year’s. He sat in his Bronco atop the dunes of the beach access at Salinas Park. He could see the glow of the bonfire down the beach. It was a beautiful sight. It was Red and Trixie’s New Year’s beach party, an annual event and tradition, well planned, well prepared for, and well attended.
During the week after Christmas, Red takes his Ford Explorer, pulls a trailer, and cruises the streets of Port St. Joe to go Christmas tree hunting. As the good folks in town dump them on the street, Red swoops in and tosses them on the trailer. For the last couple of years, Nigel has helped, but not this year.
Red missed having Nigel around. For one thing, Nigel always drove. That gave Red plenty of latitude to scout, navigate ... and drink beer, more beer than he would have had he been driving. Plus, Nigel was bigger and stronger and could handle the really big trees. Red was reminded of this as he was pulling an eight-and-a-half footer up on the trailer by the stump. He cussed Nigel under his breath once he got it secure. But, for the most part, Red just missed his friend.
Once Red feels he’s got enough trees, he takes them to the beach in front of their place and replants them. With twelve or fifteen trees, he will create a small Christmas tree forest at the edge of the dunes. Trixie always picks the King Tree. The King is always the largest, best-looking tree of the bunch. Unlike the others, it will not be sacrificed during the night. It, and a couple others, will be decorated with solar lights, seashell
ornaments, Mardi Gras beads, and a variety of Christmas bling.
As Trixie and the others decorate the trees, Red and a few helping hands dig the pit for the bonfire. Over the course of the day, they transform the beachfront into a festive New Year’s beach party, complete with a low country boil. Depending on how many trees he has, as the clock ticks away toward midnight, Red will grab one of the undecorated trees and toss it in the fire. Always a favorite of the attendees. Everybody likes to witness the roaring inferno that stretches high into the sky. They like the feel of the massive heat that radiates off the engulfed evergreen. Many try to keep their seats by the pit, but the heat of the trees wins every time, pushing folks back.
That was what Nigel was waiting on. He looked at his watch again, it was 2330. He looked down the beach and waited. He wanted to see it from where he sat.
Trixie smacked Red on the arm. “What are you looking at, Red?”
Red had been gazing down the beach, looking at a set of headlights that were illuminating the tops of the dunes. “Oh ... nothing. I guess.”
“Well, it’s time for another tree. Folks are waiting.”
He looked at his watch, “Oh, crap. It is.”
Red inspected what was left of his inventory and decided on a short, fat Douglas fir. He reached in, grabbed it by the trunk, and pulled it out of the sand. He stood it up and bounced it on the ground a couple of times. He looked up at the headlights in the dunes. He watched them for a few brief moments, but, from around the bonfire, he could hear folks calling for another tree. They cheered as he came around the corner dragging the fat evergreen. They all scattered and backed up as he tossed it into the flames.
It was still fresh and green, more so than the others. It would be a slow starter. At first, everyone heard the crackle and popping of needles and branches. Then a stream of bright, green smoke worked its way out the top as the rich chlorophyll began to get hot and burn off. Then, in an exchange of roles, the flames took over and stretched high into the sky, casting heat and light for everyone to enjoy. As the flames roared, the area around the pit was lit up like daylight.
From where Nigel sat, it was an awesome spectacle. The flames seemed to stretch and touch the stars. During the brightest moments, Nigel could see the remaining trees, the people standing around, and all the trucks parked on the beach. It was a good turnout. He smiled and revved the engine to let the glasspacks sing. He put the Bronco into drive and eased out onto the beach. His eyes had adjusted well enough, so he shut off the headlights and drove by his parking lamps.
After the commotion around the fire, Red walked toward the parked trucks. He stood by his own vehicle and watched as the approaching orange glow got closer and closer. The rumbling sound of the vehicle made it seem closer than it was. Red smiled thinking He said, I would know when it was him. He ran to get Trixie.
Trixie was sitting around the fire when Red approached trying not to seem too excited. “Trix ... come with me.”
“Red, I just sat down. Grab a beer and sit down.”
“Trix. Really. I need you. Come on. I can’t say anymore.”
She didn’t want to, but she got up and followed him through the trees. “Red! Where are we going?”
“Shush! And come on.”
Red looked but couldn’t see any lights. He could still hear the rumble of the engine though. It seemed to be right on top of them.
“What the hell is that?” asked Trixie.
Red said nothing.
The rumble stopped and it got quiet again. Up ahead, Red saw the faint glow of an interior dome light as a door opened. Then it went out the second he heard the door slam.
“Who is it, Red?”
Red said, “Come on.” And they walked further down the beach and stopped. Red was looking around. He couldn’t see anything. Everything was quiet, still, and dark.
“There, Red,” said Trixie pointing. “Right there in front of us.”
The hooded man walked toward them and stopped a few feet away. They studied each other for a while.
“Red. Trixie. Is that you?”
Red smiled and said, “It’s me, buddy.”
They closed in on each other and exchanged hugs and manly pats on the back. Trixie still didn’t understand what was going on and said, “Red? Who is it, dammit?”
Trixie watched as the two parted. The hooded one approached her. They were face to face, their features becoming more distinguishable. Nigel said, “Hello, Trixie.”
The voice was so familiar, but still ... she reached up and pulled his hoodie back. Now she could see better. As her focus improved and she realized what she was seeing, she said, “Oh shit...”
Nigel reached up with one hand and covered her mouth. All he could see was her eyes, and they were the size of cantaloupes. With his other hand, he placed a finger to his smiling lips. Red chuckled as Nigel removed his hand and Trixie attacked him with hugs. All she could say was, “Oh my God! Oh my God! I can’t believe this. Oh my God!”
Nigel laughed and said, “Believe it.”
They broke from their hug and she said, “Let me look at you.” Red continued to chuckle, which gave Trixie reason to pause. She turned to him and said, “You knew. You asshole. You knew all along and never told me.” She looked at Nigel and asked, “How long has he known?”
Nigel laughed and threw up his hands and said, “I’m not getting into the middle of this. No way.”
“How long dammit?”
“Since yesterday morning. But I told him not to tell anybody.”
“Oh, anybody! So, that’s who I am these days? Just some old anybody. Well, I guess that puts you in the shit-house too.”
“Trixie ... come on,” said Nigel. “You know what I mean.”
She smiled back and said, “I know. Just giving you a hard time. You sure are a sight for sore eyes. Holy shit! Where’s my crackpipe?”
She went to searching her pockets until she pulled out a large contraption with a mouthpiece. She pulled hard on it and exhaled. When the huge cloud of smoke exited her mouth, Nigel looked at Red.
“My Christmas gift,” said Red. “She stopped smoking. She’s vaping instead.”
Nigel looked confused and Red said, “I’ll explain later.”
After taking a hard hit, Trixie went back in for another hug. When they broke, she went over to Red, who was grinning from ear to ear, and smacked him on the arm, “You’re still in the shit-house.”
They were walking back toward the fire when Trixie asked, “What time is it?”
It was 2350. Ten more minutes.
They were standing amongst the trees when Nigel asked, “She’s here, right?”
“Yeah,” said Red. “But...”
“But what?”
Red said nothing.
“Come on, now. But what?”
“Dammit, Nigel. She brought somebody. I’m sorry. She brought a date.”
“Oh.”
It got quiet. Then Nigel asked, “Who? Who is it?”
“They’re sitting by the fire.”
Nigel put the hoodie back over his head and worked his way through what was left of the trees. As he disappeared in the dark, Trixie smacked Red again and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Moments later Nigel reappeared and said, “You’re an asshole, Red.”
Both Red and Trixie were smirking as Nigel ducked back through the trees for another look. Nigel stood in the shadow of a tree. His hoodie was down just above his eyes. He watched her as she sat by the fire, her date, Luke McKenzie, by her side. She was gorgeous in the light of the fire. He couldn’t quite make out the hair color, but it was dark. No doubt, she would be sporting a fresh color for the New Year. That made him smile. He wanted to run to her, but he didn’t.
She and Luke were talking when Trixie sat down next to Candice. She wanted a front row seat. All of a sudden Candice looked up and noticed him by the trees. She held a look and offered a friendly smile. He smiled back and was about to step forward into the
light when she went back to talking to Luke and Trixie. She didn’t recognize him. She was just being friendly. He kept his eyes on her. He loved watching her every move. He paid no attention to anyone else. He never noticed all the folks running around handing out cups of Champagne until someone shoved one in his own hand.
Then Red came out from around the corner with a huge tree and hollered, “Who’s ready for a New Year?”
Everybody stood and cheered. Red said, “Who’s got the time?”
The hooded figure in the trees yelled, “I do!”
Everyone was looking at the hooded one. He took a couple of steps forward and looked down at his watch, his face not visible. He started to count down. “Here we go folks! Five! ... four! ...“
Red threw the tree into the fire and Trixie reached down and took Candice’s hand. Squeezed it tight. Candice looked to find Trixie wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Three! ... two! ... one!”
With all their cups in the air, everyone yelled, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Nigel pulled the hoodie back and watched as everyone was kissing, hugging, and toasting. Nigel saw someone approach from the side and offer a hand. “Happy New Year, friend.”
Nigel took the hand and said, “Yes. Happy New Year.”
Brian Bowen held Nigel’s hand tight while his mouth fell open. The only words he could find were, “Son of a bitch.”
“Hello, Brian.”
The tree was starting to go good now. Everybody was watching as the flames shot toward the heavens. It was like a floodlight was turned on, and Nigel returned his gaze to Candice. She was looking at him. Nigel was smiling. She covered her mouth and began to cry. She looked at Trixie with asking eyes and Trixie nodded her head and said, “Yes.”
When Candice looked back over at Nigel, he was already heading her way. She began to tremble as Brian yelled, “Hey everybody, look. It’s Nigel.”
Nigel’s pace quickened and Candice moved to meet him halfway. They came together in an explosion of passion. They held each other tight, and she kissed him on the mouth and all over his face. Then she stopped to look at him. “I’m not dreaming, right? It … it really is you?”