Classic Carnation #1

The deep toned wood and leather upholstered chairs of old Johnny's bar smell deeply of cigarettes and whiskey. It's one of my favorite smells, like Granddaddy's pipe smoke or a quickly brewing thunderstorm. It fills my nose and shoots straight to my soul as I hop a stool at the beat and brazen bar.

"Whisky and tea, please."

"That's quite the drink there little lady."

The man sitting next to me I'm guessing is somewhere in his mid-thirties. He's attractive in a familiar way, with ruffled dirty blond hair and rough stubble plastering his chin, creating a calloused and cold-hearted appearance. But there was laughter in his sweet green eyes as he nursed his mint julep and lit a Marlboro. He watched the smoke as he exhaled. "What's a girl like you doing drinking something like that in a place like this?"

I thanked the bartender for my drink and smiled at the rough and tumble man, "Whisky launched Greta Garbo's talkie career, why shouldn't it launch my evening?"

He chortled. "Leave it to you. Old movies always were your thing." He took a drag off his cigarette and missed the perplexed look on my face. "You look good. Real good. Apparently that whiskey's been treating you good. How you been?"

I'd already entered the conversation, and not being able to handle compliments or awkward situations, I couldn't dance my way out. "I'm well. I've been living in Tennessee, handling distribution for Jack Daniels for some time now."

"Ah, the truth!"

I smiled, "Yes, the truth. I had a man that loved me and left me and I became a better woman for it. I enjoy a good shot of whiskey, a quick mystery novel, Boston and James Taylor, and the warmth of a righteous man pressed against me. I go dancing once a week and I sleep in whenever I can. I know these things make me happy and as long as I've been doing them, I've been doing good. How about yourself?"

As I asked the question, I knew it was a mistake. The lilt and joy in his eyes had retired and been replaced by a somewhat wistful sadness. The light on his cigarette was growing dim and he exhaled a final time as he crushed its remnants into an ashtray. "I am dying. Slowly and apparently by choice. Or lack of control, take your pick. Diagnosed just last Tuesday with advanced stage lung cancer and since then I ain't left this seat. Don't have much left to live for, so I just sit here smokin my life away and thinking." He motioned to the bartender to bring him another drink. "Johnny's been kind enough to erase my tab and let me drink for free. He's a good man that Johnny."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. What do you say to a man who's been told he doesn't have much time to live? Apologies don't seem to cut it and they feel so insincere and cliche. "How long?"

"A month, maybe a few weeks. Nothing they can do about it now. So I go from being a man to being a number. Another tally mark against the tobacco companies. Judged and measured by one sin, one choice. Nothing else about me will matter. Just another number, that's all. Another warning sign along the road of life." He took a swig of his julep and lit another cigarette. "I like to watch the smoke. Each time I let it out it's like watching a moment of my life. Some secret or memory I'd like to relive again."

I managed a tight-lipped grin and tried to imagine what it must be like to be him. To be a man with nothing left to live for. I put my arm on his shoulder, confident that I was one of the few, if not the first and only, who'd tried to offer him some sort of comfort. He turned his head and gazed into me, then turned back to nursing his mint julep. Managing a quick snort, he said "I'm sorry. You waltzed in here with confidence, looking for a good time. And here I am depressing you. You always were a doll. You know, when we were kids, I always thought you was prettier than pearls." My face burned with the compliment as I mustered my best smile. He smiled back before returning to his cigarette. He exhaled and watched the smoke. "Anyways, I'll let you get back to your evening. Sure was good seeing you again Meg."

I turned and stared down at the drink I'd completely forgotten about. I watched the pearls of sweat as they dribbled down the edge of my glass and tried to concentrate on something other than the inhaling and exhaling of the man next to me.

"What was that one?"

"What?"

"That memory. The one you just blew out. What was it?"

"When I was seventeen and I had sex in a pew at church camp. Thought I was a real badass. In truth, I was just an idiot and a teenage boy."

"And the one before it?"

"Holding my baby niece for the very first time. She wiggled quite a bit for one so tiny." He laughed whole-heartedly for the first time since we'd begun conversing. I watched him relive the moment in his mind. "Why d'you ask?

"I want to know. Someone should know, and I'd like to hear. Tell me all about all the little things and the big things."

There we sat for the rest of the night. A man and a few of his friends came and celebrated his promotion while my friend told me about the time he got to play his guitar for David Letterman. A bachelorette party came and left while I heard about the time he broke his ankle trying to make the winning catch of his little league game or the first time he took a girl to a dance. He told me about the first time he made love to a woman named Callie one summer night in the back of an old Chevy and how she was the only woman he ever loved. How she'd broken his heart and he'd only recently managed to forgive her. We watched the bartender begin to wipe down the bar and a single tear trickled down my friend's face as he told me about quitting his job to come sit in old Johnny's bar and await his end.

The flickering of a streetlight outside provided our only lighting as I stood and kissed him good-bye. I thanked him for his time and slowly released his hand as I walked toward the door. A few feet away from the bar I turned back and gazed at the silhouette of a husky man, bent over the counter, smoking peacefully a cigarette.