My Last Call

Tuesday nights were always the same. Small groups of people meandered in and found a table or a booth. Individuals normally migrated to a stool at the bar where they knew Ollie. The bartender was always available to engage in a friendly conversation or to lend a sympathetic ear. Friday and Saturday nights were too busy for him to socialize, but as for the rest of the week, he never ignored a customer’s need for a drink and good chat.

It took Max several visits to his neighborhood bar before he felt truly at home there, but once he did, it became his second home. He would arrive about the same time every night, take a seat on the second stool from the end of the bar, order a beer and maybe some food, then settle in and observe people. Seeing Max sitting on the second barstool from the end became so familiar to the regulars that they regarded him more as a fixture instead of a fellow patron, which is precisely how he wanted it.

Each night, hours would slowly drift by the same way customers walked in and out of the pub. Max scanned each one as though he was searching for someone or something, but never finding an answer to his quest. This routine would never vary until Ollie called out, “Last call for alcohol.” This announcement was always followed by the song, Closing Time by Semisonic, playing on the bar’s stereo. The song triggered the same dejected look on Max’s face every night as he slid off his stool, gave a goodnight salute to Ollie, and walked off into the night.

This Tuesday night felt different somehow. Ollie traversed the length of the bar with more urgency than was usually necessary for the beginning of the week. There was a cluster of new customers who had just arrived from a town hall meeting and had congregated around the far end of the bar. Several of them took ownership of multiple empty barstools, including the one Max had claimed as his.

A quiet rage swelled inside. Everyone knew that was his stool along with the stool next to it. The second stool was even more important than his because without it, where would Marta sit? She may not have joined him yet, but he knew she would arrive eventually, and when she did, Max needed to have a special place of honor just for her. It was probably nothing more than a simple misunderstanding, but either way, the people sitting on those stools had to move.

Before he took his first step, Max felt a gentle tug on his right coat sleeve, which caused him to spin quickly in that direction. Shock, anger, frustration, all melded into delighted surprise when he realized who was tugging on his sleeve.

“Marta, you’re here! It feels as though I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you to arrive.”

“Sorry, Max, but some things take longer to finish than others. In my case, I thought I’d never get to join you. Everyone was so persistent in wanting me to stay with them, but in the end, my wishes were more powerful than theirs, and here I am.”

“You have always been strong-willed. That’s just one of the many things I love about you. I think it’s time we celebrate. Ollie, look who’s here!”

“Marta, as I live and breathe, I guess we can’t say that anymore, can we? At least not after what happened in this place. Right, Max?”

“What happened is in the past. Now that our final member has joined us, we can all move on to a happier place where the booze never runs out, and there are no mass shootings. I will miss this place though. After all, it’s where I met the love of my life.”

Marta reached over and hugged Max, and Ollie brought over three drinks. He called to all the patrons who could hear and see him. They raised their glasses high as Ollie bellowed, “Last Call, Everyone!”