Bottom of a glass

This started out as a couple paragraphs a year or so ago. I modified the story several times and ended up with two endings, I am not sure which one I like best. Please let me know your thoughts.

Bottom of a glass - By Mark Andersen

My day of searching for work, any work was finally over; I could finally stop for a desperately needed drink. I had been lucky enough to make a few bucks cleaning an old woman’s gutters today, so I could afford to stop and quell the tremors that were going through my body. I walked into the parking lot of a non-descript building. The only way you knew the place was a tavern was the neon signs in the dirty windows.

I opened the door and the bar patrons squinted in the light of the open door; I walked up to the bar and sat on a stool. As I waited for the bartender, I looked around the darkened room. Salesmen were plying their clients with drink to get them to buy more. The lonely woman, whose flower had faded, was clutching the drunken younger man for her shot at feeling fresh and young once again. The younger man she was holding was looking through drunken eyes at a youthful beauty, not a faded flower. Then there was the barfly, who has nowhere else to go, striking up a conversation with anyone about anything, just to tamp down the feelings of loneliness he felt.

It seemed like no matter where I went to escape the rigors of everyday life, these same people were always there. The faces were different; however, they were the same clientele. It did not matter if I went to an upscale bistro, or the lowest dive bar. They were always the same. In some ways, I felt indifferent to the defeated inebriates in the taproom, feeling neither joy nor sorrow for their plights. On occasion I may feel as if I should stand up and shout to the regulars that there is more to life than sitting in a tavern...but then again, who was I to talk...I was also sitting on a stool in a saloon. The bartender, a gruff looking middle-aged man who looked like he had been a boxer in a former life walked up to me and said, “What’ll it be Mac?”

My body shuddered in anticipation of the elixir I would soon be drinking; it was all I could do not to shout out, “Give me a Fucking beer NOW!” instead, in a low calm voice I asked,

“What do you have on tap?” I asked

“Bud, Miller and Schlitz.”

None of those sounded appealing to me, I was hoping for a local craft beer…but in my desperation, I would settle for the leavings at the bottom of the keg.

“Give me a Schlitz.” I said with an edge to my voice.

The bartender brought me a pilsner glass, a tall, slender, tapered 12-ounce trumpet shaped schooner, inside that vessel, a golden colored brew. Like a Pavlovian dog, my mouth watered at the sight of it, perfectly poured with a white foam head. I took a sip, it hit the spot, the shakes would soon stop.

I was not always a drunk spending my last dime on beer; I used to rush home from a high paying job every night to my wife and children. That all changed about six months ago when I came home from work and found an empty house. Nothing but a note lying in the middle of the living room floor, a note that left more questions than answers, the note simply said, “I am leaving you.” I have not heard from her or my children since that day. I called the police; they said they could not force her to talk to me. My lawyer said that it will take time but he will eventually get me some kind of custody agreement. Not sure why I want custody anymore…I do not want my kids to see me as a broken man who can only find joy at the bottom of a glass. I did track down her mother one day to see if she would talk to me. She just looked at me as if I was some kind of monster. I wish I knew what I had done, what I had said to lose everything that was important to me in my life.

I counted the money in my pocket; I had earned fifty dollars today, at four bucks a beer that bought me twelve beers and left me enough to leave a tip. It would be cheaper for me to buy a case at the grocery store, but going to that crappy apartment to drink it alone was even more depressing than drinking it here. The only thing she left me was my clothes. She even took the nails out of the walls that once held the family photos, it only took me a couple months to lose that cold empty house, not that I cared anymore, the bank could have it back, it was nothing more than an empty shell, much like me. At least, in my mind, I could justify my drinking; it was the only thing that would put me to sleep on the filthy carpet in my apartment; alcohol was the only way I could find peace in my life.

My glass was empty, the bartender who was still there asked, “Want another?”

“Yea, I will have another.”

“You drank that first one kinda fast, everything alright?” The bartender asked.

“Yea, everything is alright, just thirsty.” I replied.

“Alright Mac, slow it down though.”

“Alright.” I said, my mouth already watering for another beer.

The bartender set the glass in front of me; I counted out eight singles and paid for the beer. I drank slower this time, savoring the flavor as the amber liquid slid down my throat. My shakes had stopped; I was beginning to feel normal again. Funny, the closer I got to being in an altered state, the closer I felt to being normal.

I was about to order another when she came in and sat beside me…I smelled her perfume first, it was an aroma that did not belong here, a sweet lilac smell that was out of place in a locale that smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. Not only was her scent out of place, she was out of place in this hole in the wall dive bar. She was a petite thing, barely coming up to my shoulder. Blonde hair and blue eyes as well as a style that said she did not belong here.

She asked the bartender, “Can I use your phone.”

“Phone is for payin’ customers.” He replied.

She looked close to tears…

“She is with me, let her use the phone.” I said.

“Thank you sir.” She said.

The bartender handed her the phone, she made a call and then hung up without a word.

“No one answered.” She said.

“You look outta place here, is there something I can help you with.” I said.

“I have a flat…I tried calling my Dad to change it, but he never turns on his cell phone.” She said.

“Why, don’t I go out and take a look at it.” I said.

“No, I couldn’t impose. I will just keep trying; he is bound to turn on his phone.”

“Look, I am just having a beer; it won’t take me but a minute to look at it.”

“Ok, I really would appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

I followed her out of the bar, watching he glide across the floor with confidence. For the first time in months, I was actually interested in something, someone other than me. She looked back at me, flicked her hair and smiled at me.

We walked across the parking lot when she said,
“It’s the red one over there.”

We walked over to her car, a newer model Toyota. I could see right away her tire need to changed, she must have driven it flat, the tire was in shreds around the rim, there was no way that tire was being patched.

“Can you pop the trunk so I can get the jack and spare.” I asked.

“Sure.” She said.

I pulled the spare and jack out of the trunk, then walked around the front of the car and loosened the lug nuts, then put the jack under the car. The wheel came up off the ground; I took the lug nuts off the wheel and pulled what was left of the tire off the car. I put the spare on and tightened the lug nuts then lowered the car.

She smiled and twirled her hair around her finger and asked,
“Can I buy you a beer for helping a damsel in distress.”

“No, but I would love to have a cup of coffee with you.” I said.

“I would love that.” She said.


Ending One

I got in the car with her, wondering just what in the hell I was doing. The tremors started a block away from the bar. While she was filling the car with small talk, it was all I could do to nod and say “Uh-Huh.” By the time we got to Starbucks I was visibly shaking from the lack of alcohol.

“Are you Ok.” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a reaction to a medicine I have to take.” I said.
Once in the coffee shop the palpitations become stronger, it was as if my body was screaming for demon alcohol. I could barely comprehend what she was saying, let alone respond to her flirtations. It felt as if water was streaming out of my pores as I was sweating so much.

“Are you married or do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

“I…I am going through a divorce.” I rasped.

“L…L…Look, I have to go, I don’t belong here with you, I…I…Have to go.” I continued.

“Why? I would like to get to know you.” She said.

“L…L…Look, I am no good for you, I am no good for anyone.” I said as I staggered up into a standing position.

“Wait.” She said as I turned around and walked out of Starbucks.

I walked back to the characterless building I had come from; I sidled back in, sitting in the same bar stool. I caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a Schlitz, as I drank, the tremors slowed and stopped. I felt at ease. I crawled into the bottom of my glass and a sense of peace came over me. Even though I knew the torment would be back tomorrow morning, at least for now, I was oblivious to the world.

Alternate Ending

I don’t know what came over me at that point…I don’t know if it was her come hither smile, or the way she was flicking her hair. Something in me just snapped. She had become the embodiment of everything that had gone wrong in my life. I swung the tire tool at her head; I made contact, like a batter hitting a home run. Blood sprayed everywhere. I kept hitting her, until her lifeless body lie crumpled on the ground.
I walked back into the bar, covered in blood, tire tool still in my hand. The bartender yelled out,

“God in heaven what have you done?”

“Just get me a fuckin’ beer.” I said in a low growl

“I don’t want any trouble, here ya go.” The bartender said as set a beer down in front of me.

“Call the cops; tell ‘em there was a murder out front.”

The police arrived a few minutes later, the bartender pointed me out…like the cops couldn’t tell it was me who did it…I just sat at the bar drinking my beer.

“Sir, turn around and put your hands up.” The cop said with authority.

“Nah, I am going to finish my beer, then, I will go quietly.” I replied.

“Sir, if you do not comply we will use force.” The cop said.

I stood up, grabbed the tire tool.

“I just want to finish my fucking beer.” I said in low animal like growl

I took a step towards the cop, raising the tire tool above my head to strike him….

That was the last thing I remember. Now, looking down on the white sheet that covers my body, I realize the horror of what I have done, I not only destroyed my life. I destroyed the life of a young woman, her family and my children. The choices I have made will leave them with no tranquility in their lives, and I will have no peace where I am going.