The Truth

Seattle had always been one of my favorite places to visit due to the fantastic scenery, complete with mountaintops and ocean views.  But along with the picturesque city comes the penalty of very wet weather. It was on one of these damp summer evenings that I took shelter from the rain at the Vessel bar in downtown in hopes of warming up with a slight buzz running through my veins.

The bar had recently been re-done I was told, and had a very modern feel to it.  The walls were painted a bright, hip red and black, and the decorations were of a modern taste, accented with metal sheet backdrops and steel-looking bar stools. I took my seat upon one of these, the cool sensation going right through my jeans and giving me a chill. I was promptly greeted by a waiter wearing a fancy black dress-shirt and silver buttoned vest and black tie.

"What can I get you?" He smiled politely. His demeanor was quite proper and made me feel as if I were under-dressed, but I then noticed he didn't have many other patrons to attend to.

"I'll have a Woodchuck, thanks." I flashed him my ID and he nodded before retrieving my drink. He went back to wiping down the counter in an arbitrary manner as if trying to look busy.

I took another look around the near-empty place and decided it probably doesn't fill up until after ten, realizing now that it was only just after 8pm. In fact, I saw only one man a few stools down with short blond hair wearing a striped suit and light blue tie. He also made me feel drastically out of place with my jeans and black Pearl Jam T-shirt, but I figured I'd not be staying long to taint the atmosphere for a prolonged period.

I sipped my cider trying to appear invisible when my presence was compromised by the blond well-dressed man.

"Melanie McCready. Great shirt. It must be you."

I quickly looked around to see who else he might be addressing.  "I'm sorry?"

"You look great. So much older than the last time I saw you.  I think you were knee-high."

The man scooted closer and slouched to the stool right next to mine. I instantly felt that if he weren't wearing a suit, I'd assume he was homeless, the way he carried himself.  "You've certainly got his eyes, that's for sure."

As I returned his gaze, I noticed that his eyes were a piercing  blue that almost identically matched his tie, and also were damp with obvious drunkenness.  I quickly realized he thought I was someone else and politely tried to explain.

"Oh, I...I'm not..."

"He's a great musician, your dad.  Not many people have the talent to both play and recognize good punk rock."

I smiled to be polite, but I still had no idea who he thought he was talking to. 'McCready?' I thought. 'Did he mean the Pearl Jam musician? My shirt must have triggered a memory or something...'

Than man gulped down more of his beer, some of the foam spilling down his chin. While he seemed kind of gruff and matter-a-fact in his speech, he also had an odd delicateness to him that seemed specific, but completely unfitting and unrecognizable in the outfit he was wearing.

"You need be careful with the mainstream music can bring. If you let it, it can eat away your soul, take away your life, fucking bullshit.  It's contagious with people who know it and perform it." He smiled and laughed a little in a cynical way.  "Or maybe that's just the drugs."

"How do you mean?" I answer, still trying to be polite and uncertain of whether I want to burst his bubble or not about my boring, run-of-the-mill identity.  I fidget with the water droplets forming on the outside of my bottle.

"They eat you alive."  His blue eyes look right into mine with an expression of sincerity that leaves me speechless.  "Sometimes, you go to extreme measures to overcome it.  I thought rehab would help, but that wrapped up the media more.  And there is no rehab for a love of performing music if that shit is involved.  So sometimes, people do even worse things."

I stared as I watched the man ramble, while also feeling like rambling was not a natural state of his.  The rest of his body language, while kind of sloppy at the moment, had a reserved feeling to it as he kept his arms tucked in and his coat tightly buttoned.  He seemed to recognize this abnormal state of himself and went quiet, staring straight ahead as he took down more of his beer. I wonder how many of them he had today?

"Worse things?"  He genuinely had my interest, being so peculiar and obviously so out of himself.  It made me feel quite certain he was not normally a drinker.  Today must be a special occasion.

He nodded and glanced over at me, as if feeling uncomfortable to say much else.  Feeling like he no longer wanted to talk, I pulled my cellphone out from my purse and checked the time, and date:  August 18th.  'Huh. I wonder what must be special about that?' I also started to pull out my wallet when the man made an audible smacking noise on my bill that the waiter had brought me when I'd not been looking.  My eyes followed the sound to see he'd placed a $5 on my check.

"This is on me.  I was never able to buy my little girl one, and never will.  I could have been like your old man and kept it together even through the worst shit.  Instead I ran away, taking the easy way out.  Easier than anyone else could have imagined, invented, or conspired.  No one knows.  I thought I could go back to the way it was before it started..." He took one last gulp of his drink before wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing up.  "...But something's in the way."

As I watched him leave, there was a tragic aura about him that made it clear that wherever he was before, even here at this bar, he was never coming back.