Clarity

Stefani lifted her feet to cross the threshold of the Clarity as she did twice a week for twenty-one years. The bar was not always called Clarity, but it had always been less than two blocks from her apartment. The previous owners sold the place, and the new owners rebranded. Stefani did not know the new owners’ names, but she appreciated that they kept everything the same. The blue paint chipping off of the doorframe bore the same cracks of time weathering Stefani’s face.

Perhaps in the rush to get the bar and restaurant running, the new, nameless owners forgot to scrape the previous name from the door and instead opted to cover them up with fresh white stickers, though one could still see the “D” and the “V” fading away underneath all that Clarity. Stefani knew the hostess by name, and when they met eyes, she smiled and opened her arm to direct Stefani to the bar. Likewise, the bartender, noticing the time, pulled down a clean glass and dug around the shelf for Stefani’s cognac. Stefani shuffled over to the corner seat along the bar and groaned as she eased onto the stool and folded her hands. From the corner of her eye, Stefani noticed a young woman walk around a table near the large front window, inevitably decide on the seat nearer the kitchen, and wrap her purse around the back of the seat before settling in herself.

Clarity was never busy on a Tuesday night, which is why Stefani made the two-block journey biweekly. She enjoyed the solitude and faint violins forever on repeat, which blended into the ambient clinking of fresh glasses the bartender positioned in rows and rows. The bartender carefully set the cognac in front of Stefani and turned his head upwards to focus on the woman sitting alone. The bartender lingered for a moment then returned to his washcloth and dirty glasses. Stefani could hear the young woman ask for a glass of Merlot and could feel the rush of air as her server walked by to collect her drink. Stefani swirled her drink and took two tiny sips as she glanced at the dusty clock measuring just after 7:15.

Stefani glanced once more at the dusty clock after she finished her second glass of cognac. After running her gaze across the fancy, French labels of dark liquids, she watched as the minute hand passed the hour hand and stepped over the 12. “Already 9 o’ clock, huh?” Stefani, concerned about the dark seeping into the skyline and streets, picked herself up from the stool and stumbled away from the bar. As she inched toward the door, she noticed that the woman remained in her chair. The glass of Merlot remained untouched.

“Stood up?” Stefani offered to the woman.

She hesitated and breathed out. “Not quite,” she said. Stefani changed trajectory and approached the woman’s table.

“Don’t worry,” Stefani said: “I’ve been stood up more times than I can remember. All it takes is one good person to waltz into your life, and it’ll all be worth it.”

She replied: “It’s not that. It’s just that—” The woman sighed again and muttered to herself. Stefani’s eyes drifted to the wine glass.

“Not much of a drinker?” Stefani asked.

The woman looked up from the table, obviously distressed, and replied, “It’s not for me.” Stefani did not want to intrude upon the woman’s privacy, so she told her “Good Luck,” and she turned to walk away.

She stopped her and said: “Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s getting late. It’s getting very dark outside, and I think Clarity is closing kind of soon, so I need to call a taxi. Could you stay a bit longer until my taxi comes? I don’t feel safe walking around at night.” The woman offered the other chair at the table, so Stefani agreed and crumpled into the chair opposite her.

The woman dug her phone out of her purse and started tapping to order her taxi. Stefani opened her mouth a few times to speak. Inevitably, she found herself asking, “Young lady, I’m sorry to ask, but are you okay?” The woman hesitated again before introducing herself as Rachel.

She pushed the Merlot away from her and said: “I think I’m just confused. I-I’m not sure I know how to feel.”

Stefani fixed her eyes upon her face and said: “Clarity doesn’t close tonight until 10 o’ clock. Do you want to talk about it? I come here every week to drink and to listen to Bach. I’m an excellent listener.” Rachel leaned forward and quieted her voice.

“Okay, so—this may sound a little crazy, but I have been having the same dream for years. I’ve experienced it enough to remember basically every detail.”

Interested, Stefani asked: “What happens in the dream? I, myself, don’t dream anymore. My body is always too tired. Maybe my memory is just bad, and I forget them in the morning.”

Rachel continued: “Well, every night I come to a bar with peeling blue paint and old, red chairs to meet someone. I can hear Bach playing quietly in the background when I sit down. I order a glass of Merlot, and a man comes in to meet me. We sit down, and I slide him the glass of Merlot. He smiles and drinks the entire glass in one gulp. I laugh, and we talk for hours. It’s always the same. I sit down and order a drink, and he comes in and takes the drink. Then we talk.”

Stefani, listening intently then asked, “What do you talk about?”

Rachel responded: “I’m not completely sure. He tells me ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then the words are just muffled. I’m there in the moment, and then I just fade away. It’s like I’m outside of my body. I just sit back and watch. I can feel myself crying, and at the same time, I see myself sitting at this table. Smiling. Happy.”

Stefani interrupted, “What does this man look like?”

Rachel responded: “He has short, dark hair hidden in a baseball cap. I remember, because he is always dressed in a beige suit. It’s like he was worried about being underdressed, but he wore a baseball hat anyway. He’s so beautiful. Dimples, dark eyes. I’ve been dreaming about him for years, but I’ve never seen him in real life. It’s weird. I can still see the shape of his nose and his long eyelashes. It’s so familiar, but I swear I’ve never seen someone like him in my life.”

Stefani interjected: “That bar sounds a lot like Clarity, peeling blue paint and everything. The radio is broken, and it only plays Bach day in and day out.”

Rachel replied: “Exactly. I stopped by this place before, and the whole thing was just spot on, but I wasn’t old enough to order a drink. Today is actually my twenty-first birthday. I know dreams aren’t real. I know it’s just chemicals swirling around, and memories pieced together into some sort of narrative.” Rachel’s voice started breaking. “I just thought that if I could stop by and order a drink, maybe my dreams would be real. Maybe fate would be real. Maybe I could order a glass of wine and figure out who this person is, and maybe everything would just make sense. Maybe I could find out why I was crying and happy at the same time.”

Stefani told Rachel “Happy Birthday.” Rachel’s eyes, watery, glinted the streams of light sneaking in the window from a newly lit lamppost. Rachel thanked her and pulled the glass of Merlot to her chest. She lifted the wine as if to toast her new friend. She swallowed a huge gulp, leaving one purple-stained swig in the bottom.

Rachel leaned into Stefani and asked, “Do you think dreams are real?”

Stefani thought about it and replied, “I don’t think I know.”

The two sat as the bartender switched the lights of the Clarity off one by one. Stefani noticed a yellow car pull slowly into view from the window. The two stepped out of Clarity. Rachel helped Stefani drop from the threshold onto the concrete. Directly behind them, the minute hand of the dusty clock stepped over 12, and Clarity was closed.

The lock clicked, and the two walked to the taxi. Stefani was interrupted as she told Rachel, “Goodbye,” by a shape across the street. Noticing Stefani’s shifting gaze, Rachel focused her eyes in the dark. A man stood in the dark, half in the field of light the lamppost projected onto the sidewalk, half shielded by the shadows flooding the streets. Stefani and Rachel fixated on the single person, and the three were isolated on the island of light hidden in a sea of black buildings. The taxi driver, agitated by the delay, crooked his head to yell authoritatively at Rachel to get in the cab. In the dark, Rachel hoped that the lamppost beams would uncover a beige suit or baseball cap. Without seeing, the three gawked at one another before the figure lifted his hand as if to wave. Rachel, caught between the gruff voice of a tired driver, Stefani’s presence, and the salutation of an unintelligible stranger, raised her hand in response. She broke her line of sight and ducked into the cab. The figure across the street dissipated in the night. Rachel slammed the yellow door as Stefani watched over her.

A moment passed before she rolled down her window to look at Stefani once more. Stefani, bewildered, turned to her face peeking out over the plane of glass. Stefani asked, “Do you know that person?”

Rachel paused to think. “I don’t think I know.” Rachel crammed her finger underneath the mechanism and rolled up the window. The taxi pulled away from the curb and drove away leaving only shrinking red spotlights in the distance. Stefani turned and started her two-block journey home.