Life runs in cycles, or if you care to think so, in circles.
Full Circle
“Okay, Lenny, you make that phone call. When the wives get here, we’ll see the maître d for our table.”
“Could be five, maybe ten minutes, Rob. Why not ask the young gent behind the bar to get you something cool to sip while you wait?”
– –
“What’ll it be, sir? You obviously have some time to burn. Ah! Let me guess. If I can’t, it’s on the house.”
“Okay. Give it a shot.”
“Well, you being an older gent, we’ll rule out milk right away.”
“Hah! No. Never really liked milk even as a kid. But ice cold with a plate of chocolate chip cookies…”
“Oooh! Yeah. My favorite was oatmeal. Then, as a kid it was probably sodas.”
“No. We were poor, I guess. Sodas were expensive.”
“Country boy?”
“Yup. We had iced tea. But I only cared for it in the summer. Haying. After chores and the dew dried, I’d be in the field all day. Cold sandwiches for lunch. Great sandwiches. After the sun went down, I’d be in the mow until ten at night stacking bales. Hell hot! Iced tea was wet, but never really cared for it.”
“Well, as a youth then, there was probably beer?”
“Sure. At first, underage and all, we’d try to sneak it.”
“Yeah. Been there.”
“We all have. Rites of passage. In the service though, when beer was legal, it kinda lost its charm.”
“What?”
“All the old NCOs in the club wanted to by the young NCO a beer, so they could start in, ‘did I ever tell you about the time in ’53? We were…’ You know the type.”
“No. Never in the service myself.”
“Might have missed something. Maybe not. Times are different now. Soon as I could break from the old NCOs, I’d go to the dining room and have a steak and a Whiskey Sour. Or two.”
“I’d have never guessed. I’ll whip one up.”
“No. Could only stay in the dining room so long. But the old NCOs left the Stag Bar around midnight. I’d go back and work on….”
“Scotch!”
“Back then, yeah. Not anymore.”
“Dang! Thought I had it.”
“Got married. Wife liked wine, so there was that. Froo-froo salad, cheese plates, crackers…”
“You look more like a grilled steak kind of guy.”
“Am actually. Wine, the tannins started coming with heartburn.”
“Well, you never did Martinis?”
“Yeah, before wine & cheese. Nice restaurant, like this, seafood, couple of Martinis…”
“Vodka, right?”
“Yup. Two olives. Had some good ones.”
“I’ll whip you up a good one. On the house, seeing as I didn’t guess.”
“No. Thanks. Too much alcohol, too fast. Tried craft beers for a while.”
“We have a great selection.”
“No. Not tonight.”
“Not much left. You really have me stumped.”
“Went to Irish. Smoother than scotch. Polite. Not so much bite. Slowed down considerably.”
“Not as much smoky taste…”
“Yeah. But after few years, the heartburn and reflux came back with a vengeance.”
“So it looks like maybe you’re gonna want a cup of coffee? Got a fresh pot of Jamaican Blue. That’s what I’m drinking.”
“Bit late for that. Great in the morning. Not tonight.”
“Not much left.”
“Milk.”
“Damn!”
“Yeah. Full circle. Have to watch that too. Not intolerant or anything but it’ll get the reflux started.”
“I have some ice cold right here. Lot of trendy drinks want cream or milk. I’ll get you a glass. Don’t have any chocolate chip cookies though, sorry. Oh. Say. Here comes your friend. Got two lovely women in tow.”
“Been nice talking to you.”
“Same here.”
“Maybe one evening, I’m cooling my heels again, I’ll swing by and have an Irish.”
“I’ll be looking for you. Be on the house.”
– –
“Lenny! Didn’t take long!”
“No, the on-call doc is covering. We’ll be able to enjoy our dinner…”
“Good. I’m hungry. Good evening ladies…”
—
© spwilcenski 2020
TheProse 7/7/2020
spwilcenwrites 10/5/2020
Ramblings 