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I’m the first to arrive at the Binn. Cindy is behind the bar as usual and has four pints of beer balancing in her hands as I walk through the door. The wobbling of the glasses doesn’t stop her from shouting hello across the room. I don’t see a sign showing entertainment tonight. Part of me was hoping Brice Hawkins might be playing again. That guy is pure talent. Most of the high-tops and other tables are empty. I forget eight o’clock is early for a night out.
“Hey, Cindy, I’m going to grab a table for the guys.” I sit at an empty high-top and face the television hanging over the bar.
“Sure thing, sweetheart, be right over,” Cindy says in her usual cheerful tone.
The Binn is an extension of home, filled with familiar faces and recognizable laughter. I’m mad at myself for how long I stayed away, locked in my own personal hell.
As I’m checking the score of the Red Sox game, an elderly man spins around on his wooden bar stool to face me. “You Earl’s grandson?”
“Sure am. John, right? Good to see you.” I stand and shake his frail, weathered hand.
“I haven’t seen you around in a few years, but I knew it had to be you. You’re looking more and more like the old man.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
“Now, I ain’t gonna bad-mouth Earl, but I hear he’s thinking of selling his land. That true?”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that, but let’s just say a decision hasn’t been made yet. If it were up to me, that would never happen.”
“Ain’t it up to you, boy? Damn Earl has to have one foot in the grave by now. Trust me, I’m right behind him. Makes little sense for someone our age to make such big decisions. It’s a shame. What do you plan to do?”
I take a second to compose myself after absorbing his harsh words. I know my grandfather is aging, but being reminded so bluntly is a stab to the heart. “I can tell you that Earl still has his wits about him. As for agreeing with him, I don’t, and I haven’t given up yet.”
“You shouldn’t, that’s for damn sure. Only a fool would leave land here. An old friend used to say that the only thing that you can buy for certain is dirt. Once it’s yours, you keep it. You dig deep and put your roots down. Don’t let your grandpa be a fool.”
Struck by the rawness of his words, I simply nod in agreement. John turns his stool back toward the bar and signals for another drink. The old man is correct, though—you can’t buy anything for sure, other than dirt. Whether it be Green Breeze or my grandfather, there is no way in hell I’m going to let our land turn into a turbine farm.
A gust of wind blows into the tavern as the door swings open, and in walk the guys. “What’s up, homie?” Tyler approaches and slaps my shoulder blade. “This is becoming a regular occurrence. I love it, man.”
“I wouldn’t call it a regular thing when I’m leaving town in a couple weeks, but yeah, I’m glad I’m here.” I was about to mention my appreciation for them, but talking about serious shit doesn’t come easy with these guys. I decide to buy a round for the table, a thank-you they understand.
“I’ll be back.” I head to the bar and squeeze behind two women in their forties. They’ve visited the country store a few times. I get the sense they must recognize me because they elbow each other and smile. “Hello, ladies, sorry to crowd you. I’m going to place a quick order and be out of your way.”
“No problem. You can squeeze in wherever you’d like,” the woman to the left says. Her friend gives her a hard jab.
“I’m sorry about her. She’s had quite a day, and apparently, we’ve had a few too many drinks. I’ll watch her while you get what you need,” she says with a laugh and wraps her arm around her friend, whispering something in her ear.
Cindy finishes serving a customer at the end of the bar and makes her way over to me. “What’ll it be, Jackson? Pick your poison.”
“Oh, we’re not getting crazy tonight, Cindy. Just three IPA drafts and one soda water.”
“Coming right up. Your boy, Ryan, is still on the wagon, huh? Good for him.”
“For sure. I don’t see that changing soon. When he puts his mind to something, there’s no changing it. And it seems to work, so more power to him, right?”
“As long as you boys keep coming around, I’ll pour you whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Cindy.” I take the drinks but avoid her eyes because I know what she’s hinting at. Cindy’s been serving me since the day I turned twenty-one. She also knows I plan on leaving. Cindy will be someone else I leave behind.
Knowing soon I won’t be able to stop in for a beer and to shoot the shit knots my stomach. Will there be bars similar to the Binn in New York, or will they be stuffy and cramped? I’ll be starting over from scratch, knowing no one other than my parents.
I head back to the table, trying to shake the uncertainty building in my chest.
“Here we go, guys.” I pass the drinks around. “A toast, to us.”
“A toast? Dude? What?”
“Shut up and listen. Raise your damn glass.”
