Last Drinks

Ironic, she thought, that Jolene is playing, when I was the one doing the begging, even though I did nothing wrong.

As Savannah soared down the dirt highway at 70 miles an hour, the air flew howling past her ears, her blood racing. As the miles passed, she felt her long blonde hair on her neck and shoulders, ruffling in the wind, and tasted the salt on her cheeks. Eventually, pulling into the parking lot of an unusual little dive bar, her belly ached with more than hunger. She slammed the door as she climbed out of the late 50’s Chevy convertible. Straightening her shoulders, she tweaked the lapels of her red blouse and smoothed her black pencil skirt in front of her. The heels of her pumps ground into the gravel as she strode into the bar.

It was the kind of place you would expect this close to a rinky dink town. The lights were warm but low, restricting her view of the edges of the room. The smell and haze of cigarette smoke contributed little to the stale air inside. A brighter light illuminated the pool tables to her left, with some locals mostly just holding the cues and talking over a beer, rather than actually playing. The bar stood to her right, a bored-looking female bartender absentmindedly drying a glass. A country song twanged from an old radio behind the bar, the jukebox sitting powerless and dusty in the corner with a shabby “Out-Of-Order” sign affixed to the glass with tape. As she entered, a man with greased back hair and only slightly better dress sense than the rest of the patrons sitting in a corner booth looked up and leered hungrily in her direction. Savannah ignored him.

Approaching the counter, she spoke to the bartender, feeling old as she mused how young the girl looked.

“What does a girl have to do to get a pint around here?”

The bartender chuckled.

“I totally haven’t heard that one before. Well, at least not in an accent like that! Aussies are welcome hereabouts anytime, have your first one on the house.”

The bartender drew a beer from a tap labelled XXXX. It wasn’t something Savannah usually drank, but on this occasion, it was exactly what she wanted. Propping herself up at the bar and taking a sip, she screwed up her face as if she had sucked on a lemon - the booze was worse than last time, if that was even possible - and waited.

It didn’t feel like long before the door cracked open like a thunder strike, hitting the wall with an almighty crash that startled her out of her thoughts.

“WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The man roared as he came through the doors. He was dressed in a simple T-shirt with skinny jeans, all in black broken up with smudges of dust from the road. His boots clattered against the floor and his forehead glistened with sweat and even more grime, a vein bulging in his neck as he approached Savannah.

She turned to face him, a small part of her shrinking away, but another part reminding her to adjust her posture and extend herself to her full height.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

It took all the courage she had not to flinch as he came close to her face, pointing at her with an accusatory finger. He scoffed.

“Hello Jimmy? That’s all you can say?”

He paused.

“You got the nerve to stand there and say ‘Hello Jimmy’ with what you’ve been up to?” he spat. This was the part that she had been dreading.

“You’ve been up to no good behind my back with Dale, I know it, I’ve heard and seen enough to know you’ve been cheating on me!!”

His voice rose in speed and pitch slightly as he accused her. Savannah took a deep breath, but before she could speak, he continued.

“Don’t you dare try to deny it, I’m not the only one who’s noticed!”

Savannah signalled the bartender for another round for the two of them, and then took Jimmy’s elbow and guided him as best she could towards a booth. As they slid into the bench seats, Jimmy hissed at her again. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and shrank back away from him.

“You can’t even talk to me, can you?”

“Calm down, Jimmy, it’s not what you—”

“Not what I think? Of course you’d say that!”

“Will you let me speak? You still haven’t heard my side—”

“I don’t even know if I want to know your side of the story, Savannah! Just tear my heart out and crush it, why don’t you, before you lie to me again.”

“Please, you’re being melodrama—”

With a crack her head whipped to one side as he hit her, her hair falling across her face. A cry escaped her lips as she brought a hand up to her cheek, now crimson and throbbing with the pain of the strike. She glared at him, as if daring him to try it a second time.

“Take care what you call me - you’re the one who’s done the wrong thing here.”

“Listen to me - you’ve got it all wrong, Jimmy. Dale’s just talking shit. You know him better than I do, you know I’m telling the truth. And besides, if you touch me like that again, you know it’s over between us anyway.”

Jimmy’s face wobbled, doubt taking root in his mind. For a moment, Savannah thought he might cry.

“I can’t take it with you anymore, Savannah. We’re so broken, what’s even the point? I can never trust you. It’s over. We’re over!”

“Fine, if you won’t listen then it’s your loss - just leave me alone!”

He scrambled out of the booth, his drink untouched, and almost ran toward the door. She let him go, despite the conflict that had just occurred, her mind and body warring between shock and calm, staring into the distance. She heard the ignition of his truck turn over then the squeal of tyres and the rattle of the gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot.

The lights seemed to dim, then stabilise, blinking momentarily like fireflies, as Savannah slowly came out of the memory. The bar hadn’t changed much since that day, but she had - it had been over two decades after all. The regulars continued to congregate around the underused pool tables and warm the barstools, and the old twang of country music had been replaced only by the voices of newer, younger country artists. The jukebox had been substituted for one of those modern karaoke machines, popular with the younger crowd on a Friday and Saturday night. While the current bartender was probably of a similar age to the one before, Savannah was now in her mid-forties and felt not just old but positively ancient in comparison. The chic blouse and pencil skirt of her memory had been exchanged for the slightly worn soccer mum uniform of a sensible long-sleeved shirt over jeans and runners. Her hair was worse for the wear, greying and wound up in a ponytail.

Twenty years, she thought, and I’m still coming here. Why did he have to insist I’d cheated? He was so stupid to think I would ever do such a thing! And with Dale?! Ugh...

Savannah came to the bar every year to relive that night, to see if maybe she could have done something differently. Every year, nothing changed as she came up empty. Her husband didn’t even know she made this trip - year after year she made some excuse about a girl’s night out or a crafting retreat, and he bought it.

Taking a breath and a swig of the awful beer, she let her mind to wander back once more to recall what had happened after Jimmy had left the bar. Savannah had gone home to her flat, allowed her flatmate to cook for her, wrap her in a blanket and curl up with her on the couch as she had cried. The story had come tumbling out her like a waterfall, how Jimmy had accused her, struck her, and left her all alone.

At least he never hit me again - I swore I’d never let him, or any other man, hit me ever again, she ruminated.

After what seemed like hours, Savannah and her flatmate were interrupted by the dancing red and blue lights at the window. The police had found Jimmy’s truck rolled over not so far down the road from the bar and concluded he’d been speeding and under the influence. In a small town like this, it was a fairly open and shut case. Witnesses had placed them at the bar together and they had told her she had been the last person to see him alive. Sorrow had mingled with grief, as she realised the last words that had said to each other were ugly and hurtful and neither of them would ever have a chance to change that.

And what a stupid fight it was, she thought, I’m pretty sure even he didn’t really believe I had cheated on him. Why were we such stupid kids?

Her flatmate had kept vigil with her that night, her shoulders trembling like a leaf in the wind and the silence marred only by the torrent of her tears. It had taken time, but eventually she had begun to move on, graduating from the local college, meeting her now-husband, buying a house, and raising two children in the sleepy town they grew up in. To those around her, it seemed like she had the perfect life, but to her it had never felt like enough. Or maybe too much, for someone who had escaped death when another had not.

Savannah sighed and stared into the bottom of her empty glass. It was my fault, I could have done something. Maybe if I’d kept him talking...

Although the sadness had ebbed and flowed as time passed, she had never quite shaken his presence or the burden of responsibility for his death. Inevitably, her thoughts and feelings both weighing her down and clawing to get free, she returned to the bar again and again looking for relief. As if thinking of him in this place had conjured his spirit, she heard a voice in front of her.

“I was such a shit of a kid, I’m so sorry I put you through that.”

Looking up from her almost empty glass, Savannah saw Jimmy sitting on the backrest of the booth opposite her with his feet planted firmly on the seat. Apart from his voice, which pealed in just the same timbre as when they were young, he hadn’t aged a day and was still wearing his grubby black clothes. He swiftly leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek, the same one on which he’d struck her all those years ago, and dropped down to properly settle in the seat opposite her. She brought her hand up to the spot he’d kissed, an unconscious mirroring of her past response. She stared at him for a moment, before pinching herself and returning her gaze forward. Jimmy was still there, a cheeky smile lighting up his face.

Well, I’m not dreaming, she thought.

“No, you’re not dreaming, Savannah. You know I’m not really here...but you wanted to talk to me. And so, here I am!”

She thought for a moment. He was right; she had always wanted to talk to him after the accident.

“You hurt me and then went and left me in this hick town all alone. Worse still, I never got a chance to say goodbye. Or take back that fight and make things right again. You might be gone, but I have to live with this - all of this!”she fumed.

Jimmy’s face fell, suddenly serious, his mood altering like clouds encroaching on a summer day.

Finally, he spoke, “You were just a kid too, it’s not like we knew any better at the time. And it’s not like you knew I was going to go and be an idiot and crash my car.”

“But it’s my fault.”

“How on earth could any of this be your fault?”

She paused, the silence opening like a chasm between them.

“I was a headstrong kid, I made my own choices. I mean, I could have made some better ones for sure...” he offered.

He smiled wistfully as he trailed off.

“Sometimes, when your number’s up, then your number’s up. Like, fate, or whatever.”

“What if I had told you something, to make you stay?”

“Like what?”

“Or maybe, if I’d gone after you when you left.”

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you. Not then, I was too angry. So were you.”

“I could have done something,” she burst out.

“What could you have done? You knew you didn’t cheat...and so did I, really. I was just young, angry, and full of booze. And I made a bunch of mistakes. Everyone dies eventually. I just...kind of helped the process along.”

Jimmy paused, waiting for her response. Savannah sighed.

“I’m so sorry, Jimmy. For everything that happened.”

She bowed her head, her face in her hands.

“It’s alright, Savannah. It’s in the past. But you have a family now, you have to live. For them.”

“But what about you?”

“I’m just a memory. Your memory. And you have all of your memories of the good times we had together. Remember when I taught you how to play pool? You were so unaware of the people around you, kept poking them with the cue, knocking drinks off the tables!”

She smiled, recalling the occasion.

“Yeah, at least we got those years together...I miss you, you know.”

“I know. But dwelling on this memory of me just prolongs the pain. It’s time for you to forgive yourself. It’s time to let me go,” he pleaded.

She knew he was right. Twenty years was far too long to be living with the memory of ghost. Her husband and her daughters needed her, alive and present.

Savannah tipped her glass to Jimmy and downed the last of her beer, slowly placing the glass down with a clink. She stood, looking back towards Jimmy.

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye?”she inquired.

Jimmy just smiled.

“What about just ‘see you later’?”

“Sounds much better.”

She moved towards the door, knowing that this would be the last time she came here. With one last look back at the memory of Jimmy, who gave her a lazy wave from the booth, she headed out to her car. The Chevy pulsed to life and she pulled out onto the open road.

As Savannah took off down the highway once more, she turned on the radio, and the dulcet tones of Dolly Parton and Brad Paisley’s When I Get Where I’m Going wafted through the speakers. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and let the wind whip through it, tossing her ashen curls back and forth as she drove. It was time for her to let go of Jimmy, of the past. It was time to be alive.