Novella
Happy Hour @ The Empire Way-stop
# Brigadoon
Chapter 1: The last Way-stop in NY
I wore a royal blue knit dress with cowl-neck to hide my turkey neck. I wound a bright chiffon scarf around my wrist to attract attention when I clapped for the musicians, or while taking a dramatic sip from my drink. I was attempting to distract from my 323 pound frame. I wore shimmering seed-pearl earrings to catch the evening light as I moved to the beat of the band. Again, to distract from my 323 pound frame. I was as primped and ready as I could be short of emergency liposuction.
I was headed to the last way-stop in New York, The Empire. This tavern and inn had been in continuous operation since 1835. I arrived at The Empire hoping to meet a man.
No, affirmation/intention, I will meet a man who will change my life.
Beating back my fear and shyness, I counted each riser on the steps to calm my anxiety — a trick learned in childhood to counter my fear of the stairs. I leaned my head forward to propel me through the narrow door. In the tiny foyer I straighten up, suck my stomach in as much as possible, take assessment in the hall mirror and head held high I go to my safe place, the bar.
Seated on the corner, I wait. I wait for the bartender/owner to see me. I wait as he waits on others, I wait and watch and listen…it is what I do so I feel okay, almost happy.
The bar, which was deep in the heart of the building, was empty except for me, the occasional customer and the serving staff. There was an odd tension and sense of urgency given the nearly empty dining room. Most of the customers were outside.
Out on the wrap-around porch of this 1800s victorian way-stop was a blue-grass band named The Fat Rock Boys. The banjo and base pulled me out to the porch away from my safe space. Something about the sound of blue-grass, the harmonies, the tight interplay of the musicians makes me happy.
I learned a long time ago not to fall for a banjo man, I tried not watching him, not catching his eye or smile. I couldn’t stop myself, completely taken by the strength in his hands and the dance of the muscle in his arms, the sound of times gone by reeled me in — but he was not the man I came to meet.
My worlds and lifetimes were swirling around me, every musician I ever heard playing on the summer breeze, every exchange of longing with a blue-eyed man, every table I’d ever waited on…I began to think this was the end and my eternal summation was unfolding in this three hour span. To get out of my head and collapsing universes I watch and listen..its what I do, I start to feel almost okay…happy. If this is the end of my story then at least I leave with an interesting tale to tell folks on the other-side.
I witnessed seven lives collide on a porch in the middle of nowhere NY, on a street aptly named Brigadoon. It was an evening, as all are, that would never come again. But it had a rarity attached to it, a sense of alternate universes merging into 180 minutes.
Chapter 2: Amy ‘what ya gonna do’
Chapter 3: The Barlow Knife
Chapter 4: (under construction)
