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of my…”
Josh rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh HELL no. We didn’t feel that way about each other, never have. But from that moment, we were inseparable. He dragged me along with him everywhere he went and even introduced me into his little group of juvenile delinquent friends, Miller and Jackie. The four of us? We raised some hell back in the day.”
“COPPER COPPER ONE NINER COME IN,” Josh’s radio squeaked as a man’s voice came through the static.
Josh pursed her lips. “Speaking of Miller,” she muttered, pressing a button on her shoulder. “Miller, I will call you back.” She was about to put both hands back on the wheel when she appeared to change her mind, pressing the button again and holding it. “And stop playing with the damned radio!”
“TEN FOUR. SEX MACHINE OUT.”
“That stupid shit,” Josh said, but when she turned toward her window I could see in the reflection that she was trying not to laugh.
“What you said about Finn sounds great,” I started. “But there is no way that the guy you talk about is the same guy who barged into my camper and threatened me in the middle of the night.”
“He did what?” Josh asked through her teeth. Her nostrils flared and her knuckles paled as her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She took a deep breath and flashed me a tight forced smile. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of Finn Hollis. You’re not going anywhere.” She winked.
We pulled into a small gravel parking lot. “That’s exactly what I told him.”
CRITTER’S LOUNGE announced the name of the bar on a hand painted sign, complete with drip marks on every other letter. The building itself was a small rectangle with low ceilings. It was so close to the road that a regular compact car would barely be able to park in front of it. Josh’s truck stuck out several feet into the street which didn’t seem to matter since I hadn’t seen another car on the road the entire way there.
Next to the bar was the COIN LAUNDRY and next to that was a book store although I didn’t have a chance to check to see if it was open because Josh was already out of the truck and waving me inside.
“Come on, I’ll walk you in and introduce you,” Josh said. And although the sign on the door was turned to CLOSED Josh pushed it open, then walked right in. I followed.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dark space I took in my surroundings. The bar was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Plastic flags advertising different brands of beer hung below the wooden bar. Hundreds of photos - some in color, some in black and white - hung in frames covering most of the available wall space above worn booths with mismatched tables between them. Some were dark and metal, some maroon with a light wood trim, and some black and white checkered like you’d see in a diner. The bar in the middle was large and U-shaped, taking up most of the space from the right wall well into the center of the room. The stools pushed in underneath it were all mismatched as well. Some had backs and some were just simple black rounded cushions with patches so thin you could still make out the tears underneath.
It smelled like stale cigarettes and fried fish; although it sounds like a horrible combination I didn’t mind it much. There was something comforting about the place. Inviting. Warm even.
Maybe it was the wood paneling on the walls or the chalk sidewalk sign leaning up against the bar that read:
“Specials: We ain’t got none. ONLY BAR IN TOWN.”
The ceilings were low, made even lower by the thousands of strands of string hanging from between the ceiling tiles. At the end of each string was a paperclip or a safety pin holding a torn napkin or post it note. “What are those?” I asked, pointing to the ceiling.
Josh looked up. “It’s a tradition. Been doing it since before you or I was born. People write down a memory of their time here and the date. Some are engagements. Weddings. First dates. Highest poker score.” She pointed to the corner where a small table was set up with two fast food dinner baskets. One held torn papers and the other held string. An industrial looking stapler sat between them.
“All good memories?” I asked, spinning around to take in the thousands and thousands of notes above my head.
Josh shook her head. “No. Doesn’t have to be good. Just significant,” she said, pointing to one closer to the end of the wall that read:
CAUGHT HIM WITH HIS TONGUE DOWN MY SISTER’S THROAT…AGAIN.
-Bessy, June 1976
“Have you ever made one?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to read more of the fascinating notes. Some of them were downright funny.
SHE ACCIDENTALLY BRUSHED IT UNDER THE TABLE WITH HER FOOT.
-Justin, Age 15, August 1984.
Underneath was a note added in someone else’s handwriting:
KICKED JUSTIN’S ASS FOR TRYING TO GET MY DAUGHTER TO TOUCH HIS TINY TWIG DICK.
–HER DAD, August, 1984.
“I’ve written my fair share,” Josh said. “Locals usually keep ours in the same place. Mine are mostly over there in the corner,” she said, pointing to the far wall. “I think my last one was something like TAKING ANOTHER DRUNK TO SLEEP IT OFF IN THE TANK TONIGHT. Actually, I think MOST of mine say that, just with different dates. Well, all of them except my first one,” she reached up and turned one over.
MADE FRIENDS WITH A CRAZY WHITE BOY. -Brittany, AKA Josh, 2006.
“Is there a name for them?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to read them.
“We call them tings.”
“Tings?”
“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure where they got the name from but whoever started calling them that, it stuck.” Josh’s radio beeped and she held it up to her ear while the dispatcher on the other end talked in codes and numbers. “What do I look like, a fucking taxi service?” she barked into the radio.
“No, you look more like a double D to me,” came a man’s voice on the other end followed by a blast of static. “Come on Josh, just come get me,” he whined.
“Oh hell, no! You did not just say that, Miller,” Josh said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” she asked me. “I gotta run this…call.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Thanks for the lift.”
Josh left just as the kitchen doors swung open and out stepped an older man who I assumed must be Critter. He was tall, just under six feet with a larger than average build. His hair was stark white, parted just off the center, long enough to brush the top of his ears. His traditional mustache matched the color of his hair. It was well groomed and thick, slightly longer on the sides stopping a little past his bottom lip. His face was tanned and heavily lined with age, although not so much to hide that he was still a handsome man and must have been quite a head-turner when he was a younger man. His deep amber eyes were hooded by dark, almost black, eyebrows which were just as bushy as his mustache.
He looked up and dropped the glass in his hand. It fell to the floor but didn’t break, rolling to a stop against the leg of a nearby chair.
“It’s you.”
Chapter Ten
Sawyer
Critter spoke with the lowest voice I’d ever heard. It was smooth too, like the lowest note on an upright bass. I didn’t just hear his words. I felt them.
I looked around to see who he might’ve been talking to, but there was no one behind me. “Me?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me silently for a few seconds, squinting like the sun was in his eyes even though the light in the room was dim at best. He took long slow strides toward me until the only thing separating us was the bar itself.
“Sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly. He went back and picked up his broom, setting it against the counter. He grabbed a rag and began drying glasses. “I thought you were someone else.” He flipped his rag onto his shoulder and pushed up the rolled sleeves of his blue button-down, leaning forward with his palms flat on the bar.
Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe this man knew my mom. Josh had said he’d been in Outskirts his en
tire life. “Maybe you knew my mother.”
“Her name wasn’t Geraldine O’Conner by chance?” Critter asked, busying himself behind the bar. “Gerry is what we called her around here.”
“No. My mother’s name was Caroline Dixon,” I said, feeling the excitement of the possibility drain from my system much like the dirty water draining from the sink Critter just pulled the stopper up from.
“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” he replied, wiping the same spot on the bar he’d just wiped a second before.
