Bar at the End of the World

We get all different types coming through here. It’s one of the only places for miles where someone won’t shoot you on sight for touching their land. There’s always a fine layer of dust settled on the bar and chairs no matter how many times I clean it. Some of the windows have broken panes only covered by a bit of cloth. Before it would have been the kind of place that people avoided, but standards have gotten pretty low in the last decade.

Now it’s a way station. It’s a place where a person can sit and relax and not worry about getting hurt because Theo collects all the weapons at the door and locks them up tight. We are the last bit of humanity here and I ain’t about to let some of us get killed off in a bar brawl. It’s a forced kindness that makes some people chafe, but makes my job easier.

There are two people in the bar besides me and Theo. Vic is in the kitchen, like always, cooking up whatever he managed to harvest from his greenhouse. We have a cow, goat, and a few chickens too, but Vic don’t touch them unless he got permission from little Stacy. That girl is fiercely protective of her animals. Came to us with the lot of them following her like some sort of barn animal pied piper. Still one of the strangest things I’ve seen to date, but strange is the norm now.

The wind picks up sending bits of dirt tapping at the windows. The door flies open bringing the wind and the dirt inside along with a person covered head to toe in ragged material. The other customers grunt and groan at the grit getting in their food.

“Pipe down. It ain’t like there ain’t dirt in every nook and cranny anyway.” I lean on the bar as the woman sheds her goggles and the scarf around her head. All Theo collects from her is a small knife. You can tell a lot about a person by what sort of weapon they have. She’s either too naive or doesn’t care enough and both are dangerous when you’re alone.

She sheds more layers dumping sand onto the floor. She smiles up at me sheepishly glancing at the two men eating their food. She tucks all of her stuff quickly in her bag.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“You might as well be sorry for breathing. There ain’t nothing here not covered in grit.” I fill a bowl with some water and grab a cloth. “Including you, clean up a bit.”

“Are you sure?” She probably hasn’t seen much water in a while.

“It’s fine. That’s what this water’s for. Bathroom’s around the corner if you want a bit of privacy. I’ll watch your things for ya.”

The woman hesitates again, glancing at the men then looking back at me. Even in all this chaos there is still a code between women. We protect each other. The men eating are harmless, but she’s suspicious of the unknown. Maybe she isn’t as naive as I thought. When she comes back out her skin is pinked from scrubbing, but she’s gotten most of the grime off her. She sits at the bar with just a bit more pep than before. I pour the dirty water into the cleaning filter and hand her a glass to drink.

She keeps her hands in her lap. “I don’t have much for bartering.”

“First glass is always on the house. We’ll talk trade once you're finished.”

She picks up the glass and sips it. Her face melts like she’s tasting a fine wine. That stuff ran out years ago.

“It’s nice to have water that doesn’t taste like dirt.”

I laugh. “We only serve the finest quality H2O at my dusty bar.”

I go off and let her finish her water in peace. I tell Vic to get another plate going because even if she can’t barter I ain’t about to let her leave without a full belly.

She is still nursing her glass after I check on all my customers. She keeps glancing around, her fingers twitching. Some people want to stay quiet when they come in, but this one wants to talk. Listening is half my job as a bartender even when I served alcohol instead of water.

I settle on a stool close to her. “So, you got a story worth telling?”

“I’ve got a story. I’m not sure it’s worth telling.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The woman grips her glass.

“I’m looking for my son. He disappeared a few months ago. The people in town said that he probably just wandered off. They went out searching for him, but didn’t find anything. I heard whispers about traders who take children and sell them. I couldn’t imagine if he were with them waiting for me to find him and I never came.” The woman’s voice fades to a whisper near the end. She blinks back tears like someone told her they were shameful.

I scowl. “I’ve heard rumors of them. Life is hard enough without scumbags like that. How long you been looking?”

“Three months.” The woman stares at her water a second, jaw tense, before taking one large drink. When she puts her glass down she seems a bit more steady.

I take her hand and squeeze. “I’m not one to give false hope, but I do wish you find him.”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are searching for truth. “Am I stupid for looking?”

This woman is strung out. Even with the grime wiped off her face her skin is still weathered from the sun. The worry in her eyes is making her look older than she is. I don’t think the wrong word would stop her from looking, but it could make it a hell of a lot harder.

“Loyalty ain’t stupid. Like you said, if your boy’s out there he’s counting on you to find him. There ain’t much to look forward to in this world. A chance at somethin’s worth more than anything.”

She squeezes my hand. “You’re what I imagined my mother would have been like.”

I wave my free hand at her, but her words warm my heart. “It’s part of the bartending job. A lot of people come in here beaten down and looking for some sort of comfort. I can be that for whoever needs it.”

The woman smiles. “You’re good people. Not many think that way anymore.”

“It takes a weak person to only think of themselves. I ain’t ever been called weak and neither are you. You’ve got your son on your mind and that makes you strong.”

The woman’s face flickers, uncertain.

“Come on now. I told you I don’t go around giving false hope. Ain’t nobody weak that goes out on their own in all of this.” I wave my hand to the dust and sand past the window.

The woman nods. Something shifts in her eyes just a bit. Vic comes out with a plate of food and I leave the girl to eating. She scrapes her plate clean like all of them do. Ain’t nothing better than a home cooked meal.

“We can fill any bottles you got. We can come up with a trade.”

“What about the food?” The woman digs through her bag.

“Don’t worry about that. Just come back and visit with your boy.”

The woman gives a small smile and sets a few things on the counter. She has a map labeled with the territories, a few bits of fabric and thread, and a pack of matches, the small kind that you used to get at hotels. I take some of the thread. Stacy’s clothes are in need of mending. It's thick and homemade, but it’ll do. I give her a few updates that I know on the map.

She puts all her layers back on as I fill her bottles. I take down her name and her son’s in my ledger, probably the closest thing to a census left in the world. When I hug her at the door she melts into it. I hope it gives her enough energy for her journey ahead.

“Remember to come back and visit with your boy.”

She pulls away from me, and I’m proud to see the steel in her eyes.

“I will.”

She goes out the door. The wind has died down and I watch her leave, waving when she turns back. I pick up my broom when she’s out of sight and work on the dirt she brought in.

“Do you think she’ll find him?” Theo tips back on his chair.

“It’d be nice if she does. We need good in this world.”

“Always the idealist.”

“Someone’s got to be in this dust hole.”

I sweep out the last of the dirt and go outside. I prop my broom against the wall and tuck my hands in my pockets. The dirt and wind have made all buildings shells of what they once were. It looks nothing like when I first opened the bar. But we make life where we can, even at the end of the world.