This is the worst day of my life, and I feel awful.
I’m sitting, depressed, on a barstool at the Babylon, holding a narrow neck. I have no idea what I’m drinking. The bartender offered it to me. Normally I don’t drink; I hate the taste and the feeling. You can call me a nerd. That’s fine – but today isn’t a normal day.
I don’t know how many hours have passed since I sat down. Life goes on around me. People come and go. I stay stuck to my stool.
“Why are you so depressed?” a deep, baritone voice suddenly asks from my left. I turn my head and see a huge man sitting on the barstool next to me. He must be at least 6’6″ tall, with the broadest shoulders imaginable. It’s not clear if he’s made up more of fat or muscle, but either way, he’s a titan.
“My wife left me,” I answer weakly, not knowing why I’m telling a complete stranger.
“Why?” he asks, still not turning his head towards me.
“She claims she doesn’t love me anymore,” I reply, “that I’m boring, and that she found a new love.”
“Do you love her?” he asks me casually, as if it’s any of his damn business. His question surprises me, though, and I’m even more surprised that it’s difficult for me to answer.
“Yeah… I guess… she’s the mother of my children. We’ve been married for over twenty years.”
“Are you in love with her?”
This time I answer immediately – instinctively. “No! Not for a long time – but how many married couples do you know that are still in love with each other after twenty years?!”
“What happened between you two?” he asks, ignoring my question.
It takes me a moment to answer. “Time and routine have distanced us, I suppose,” I answer thoughtfully. “To be completely honest, neither of us has been really happy for years. I’m afraid it’s affected our children as well.”
“How old are the children?” The stranger continues to question me without turning his head, and for some reason I keep answering.
“My oldest is in college and the youngest is a senior in high school.”
“When was the last time you were really happy?”
His strange question catches me completely off guard. After some thinking, I say, “Over a year ago, when I drove my daughter to college. I was so proud of her.” I suddenly realize how sad and wrong that sounds.
“So why are you so depressed?” He returns to his original question with a raised voice, this time turning his huge, bearded face towards me.
I hesitate. My answer disgusts me. “Because the life that I’ve known until now is about to dramatically change. I’m afraid of the future – afraid of being left alone.”
“Nonsense!” he spits out. “Today is the best day of your life! You’ll figure it out eventually.”
He motions to the bartender to refill his glass with something I don’t recognize – something expensive, though, for sure. I’m surprised when he instructs the bartender to place a glass in front of me as well. Before I can refuse, he is already waving his glass at me.
“To the best day of your life!” he declares.
I hesitate.
“Say it!” he commands.
Normally I don’t like being told what to do, but he did just buy me a drink, and he seems to mean well. Besides, he’s scary. I raise my glass.
“To the best day of my life,” I say lamely.
“LOUDER!” he roars.
I look at him amazed for a moment, but finally shout, “TO THE BEST DAY OF MY FUCKING LIFE!”
Immediately, a wave of relief overwhelms me. I splash some of the drink from my glass in my excitement.
We toast and then empty our glasses in one shot. I immediately feel dizzy. The giant gives me a nod and a satisfied smile, and then gets up from his stall. He taps me twice on the shoulder – almost dislocating it – throws some bills on the counter, and leaves without even saying goodbye.
I follow him with my eyes, perplexed, as he walks away. Then I turn to look at the bartender, who shrugs, approaches me, and fills my glass again with the same fine liquor; I still don’t know what it is. I signal my confusion with a head shake and a hand twist.
“It’s on the house,” he says with a smile. “After all, this is the best day of your life.”
_________________
I would like to thank neuroparenthetical for editing this piece.