One-
Interestingly enough, the worst things about me are the things I had in common with Brian. He subtly mentioned this to me in a dive bar over Abba. He’d bought me a Manhattan and sat with me in the corner of the wraparound bar. We were the only two people there, thus solidifying our common vice.
There was a particular reason we were the only two people present that night. The Yankees were in the World Series and that meant nobody wanted to go to a bar where there wasn’t a TV. We were Yankees fans, but for various unimportant reasons, we were drinking on game 1. We didn’t live anywhere near one another either, but it would become a tradition to meet halfway down the island for a drink. Truthfully, I drove this far for him, for the company of someone who felt morally and intellectually level.
The bartender, a 5’9” man who never greyed but stayed steadily 20 pounds overweight, was a friend of Brian’s. He’d been a bartender over a decade now and had seen many changes in the bar. His name was Salvatore or “Sal,” for short--and he was a sort of character out of Billy Joel’s Piano Man. He was an aspiring comic, but for now, he managed a bar on Staten Island.
Brian, however, was a much more interesting story. He was a tough nut to crack. He’d been a fireman on the engine 86 for about 3 years now. Before that, he sort of drifted and did this and that. Now that he had a career he liked, we all saw changes in him. I tried to refrain from bringing the past up. It took him until he was 30 to get his life together.
Surely, and least importantly, Brian had a fixation with the decorative--and fake--antiques on display above the top shelf. I was more fixated on the top shelf alcohol. They seemed to think unmarked moonshine was top-shelf liquor. I thought it was ridiculous, seeing as how Sal and I both knew the man who made the moonshine. Perhaps it was our secret.
As far as the ‘antiques’ went, Brian was particularly fixated on one. It was a ceramic (supposedly, it hadn’t been moved since it was placed up there by the last owner and had collected much dust) figurine of Joseph from a nativity scene, completely out of place. Brian’s curiosity was perhaps the most refreshing thing about him; it was something I completely lacked.
“Are you still looking at that?” I asked him and watched as his gaze broke from the figurine.
He looked at me and scoffed, “are you really going to carp on me already? We just got here.”
Taken aback, I struggled to respond for a second, “why don’t you just ask Sal to give it to you?”
“I don’t want it.” He seemed shocked I would say such a thing. He took a drink of the stale beer that Sal had given him from the tap. “Thing is definitely cursed.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
I thought about that for a second. I didn’t believe it. I think if the thing was cursed, it would’ve made sure the overloaded sockets caused a fire. Brian called the place a Collyers’ Mansion. I always told him if the overloaded sockets didn’t start a fire, the incendiary drinks certainly would.
“I think it’s a blessing.” I told him, “this place would’ve been burned down a long time ago.”
Brian furrowed his eyebrows and I could see that he thought that may be true. I called Sal over, which earned me a roll of Brian’s eyes. I pointed up to the statuette, “can you grab that for me?”
Sal raised an eyebrow and reached to the top shelf with his open palm. His tanned hand hovered over the unmarked glass jar, “the moonshine?”
I made a frantic movement of dismissal, “no, no, the little nativity statue.” Sal looked at me, nearly bewildered. Then, he looked back up above the bar. “The little… it’s the little nativity statue.”
“Oh, shit,” he chuckled for a second, “I didn’t even know we had that.” He bent down and swiped a footstool from an arms-length away to in front of him. When he stepped up and grabbed the statuette, he made a visible reaction. He brought it down and while he was doing so, I caught a glimpse of the underside of the statue. It was white with the hole in the centre, meaning it was ceramic like I’d thought. He placed it on the counter and brushed his hands together to rid himself of the dust.
Up close, I started to think that maybe Brian was right. It had a sort of evil aura about it. However, much to my surprise, Brian was completely smitten with it. He brushed off all the dust to reveal that Joseph’s clothes looked freshly painted and had I not known any better I would’ve thought they were. He was painted a sweet brown and cream. Joseph was designed to be observing the baby Jesus. It seemed that they had been separated.
“Damn,” Brian held him over the pile of dust that he’d swept off of him, “I’m keeping him in my car. Like a hula girl.”
I smiled and examined Joseph with him, “you already have a hula girl.”
“He can be looking at the hula girl.”
“I don’t think Joseph would’ve done that.”
“I went to Catholic school,” he gave me mock attitude, “not you.” We smiled together. He went back to looking at the statue and inspecting the inside of it. Sal came back--I had not noticed he’d left--from washing his hands.
“You’re real taken with that thing,” Sal told him and used an old, dirtied rag to wipe up the dust. Brian didn’t respond.
I shrugged, “this is my fault, I pointed it out a few days ago.”
“This is the same one--same set--my mom had,” Brian interrupted himself. I imagine it must’ve been ingrained in his mind for him to remember that. Then again, he didn’t notice it right away. I suppose that explained his fascination with the object. I did recall that his mother was extremely religious. She would go to church multiple days out of the week. Sal, a Catholic man himself, said once that she went to church on days that not even God was there. I saw it fit she should have a good nativity set.
Sal, given that they had met in high school, told him, “oh-- the one on the mantle?”
“...yeah,” Brian said slowly, not because he was hesitating, but because he was thinking. I waited and hoped he would share his thoughts. “...it looks just like it.”
By that point, Sal and Brian were conversing about old high school things. I didn’t care much; I hadn’t gone to school with either of them. They were raised differently than me, so some things they understood to be true were not true for me. For example, once Brian had talked to me largely about Catholicism and being raised Roman Catholic. As an Atheist, I didn’t realise there were so many saints. I hadn’t even known Joan Of Arc was a saint, I thought she was just a schizophrenic.
Brian had never really been a Catholic, though. Which was much to his mother’s dismay. From what he’d told me, she got over that eventually, but she never forgot it. They had a great relationship as far as he was concerned, both Brian and Sal prided themselves on being good sons. I myself had never met the woman. Sal says she’s a funny woman.
“I should get home,” Brian told us and I opened my mouth to speak, but his voice came out instead. “And you’re coming with me.”
Shocked, I leaned back and raised an eyebrow at him, “I’m going? I got to get home!”
Brian shook his head, “You’re drunk! I’m not letting you drive!” I think maybe that was the fireman in him talking. I didn’t take it personally, I think he’d seen just too many dead people. He truly wasn’t even drunk, he’d only drank a quarter of a stale Guinness. I’d had much more than that. I didn’t feel drunk, though.
I narrowed my eyes and hopped from the barstool to the old, decaying wooden floor. Immediately, I had lost balance and experienced a horrible head rush. I heard Brian’s voice boom behind me. He was loud like a gunshot, “you can’t even stand up!”
I could stand up, I was just a little wobbly. I knew he was right though. I shrugged and gave my keys to Sal. He took them like he’d taken hundreds of others’ keys. He had a knowing, yet somewhat disappointed look. I think, perhaps, I was imagining that part. I sighed and slipped on my big, puffy jacket that had been resting on my lap.
