Chapter 122 The Weight of the Night
The streetlights were yellow and the road was long and deserted. With the engine humming softly like a weary voice Carson’s car glided through the silent streets.
His jaw was locked and his hands were firmly gripping the steering wheel. He kept replaying the argument he had with his mother.
He let out a breath through his teeth. As he drove he could not make out the city lights.
He had no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that he needed to leave—from the house from the oppressive silence and from everything that made his chest feel too constricted.
He made several turns before coming to a stop in front of a tiny bar nestled between two historic structures.
The Docklight was written in a weakly flickering blue neon sign. After parking he took a seat and gazed at his image in the rearview mirror for a considerable amount of time.
His eyes appeared older and more worn out than they should have. At last he emerged and made his way to the door.
There was a slight smoke and rain scent to the air. The bar was quiet and dark inside with the clink of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation.
At the counter a few men sat by themselves, their faces partially obscured by the darkness.
When Carson walked in the bartender glanced up.
“Evening,” the man said.
Carson moved to a stool at the counter and took a seat.
“What will it be” the bartender inquired
“Whiskey.” Carson said
Without saying another word the man nodded and poured the drink. Carson watched the amber liquid swirl in the glass before lifting it slowly.
The first sip burned down his throat and settled heavy in his stomach. He sighed softly.
“Have you ever felt like you’re living someone else’s life?” Carson asked him slowly.
The barman’s eyebrows shot up.
“It depends on the day.” He answered
A brief smile passed across Carson’s face.
“It’s every day for me,” he said.
The man waited while cleaning a glass.
“My mom wants me to wed a woman I hardly like,”Carson remarked. “She says it’s about family business and reputation. But now none of that seems real.”
Slowly the bartender nodded. He remarked “That sounds like a big load. “
“Yes,” Carson said.
Gazing into the glass as though it held answers he took another sip.
“I informed her that I was done… that I’m not going to follow through” he stated.
“Well done,” said the bartender.
Carson chuckled softly but the sound was devoid of happiness.
“She didn’t take it well.”Carson said
“They never do,” the bartender remarked.
He raised his head.
“You’ve got children?” Carson asked
The bartender stated “One daughter. She is obstinate. Like her mother.”
“So you understand it,” Carson said. “Parents always believe they are the experts. Even if it destroys you.”
The bartender gave a small smile.
“They might simply be unable to let go.” He suggested
Carson took another look down.
“Perhaps” he muttered.
A slow tune took over from the old jukebox in the corner. The sound hummed softly throughout the room.
Carson raised his glass once more and took a sip. The voice of a man two stools away.
“You seem to have had a long night.” He asked
Carson’s head shifted a little.
“That’s something you could say,” he said.
“What’s wrong at home?” the man inquired.
“That’s another way to put it,” Carson said.
The man gave a little laugh.
“Join the club.” The man said “Everyone in this room is fleeing from something.”
Carson smiled slightly.
“I arrived at the right place then,”he remarked.
The gentleman gave a nod.
“My name is Paul,"he said.
“Carson.” He replied
They gave each other a quick handshake. Paul held his glass up.
“To things we can’t change.” He said in a loud voice.
Carson also gave a raise.
He remarked “And the guts to leave them.”
After that they drank in silence. As the whiskey warmed up inside his chest it no longer burned as much.
After a while Paul got up and threw some cash on the table.
“Good luck,” he said to Carson.
“You too,” Carson said.
Carson stood there staring at the vacant seat as Paul walked away. Now that he was trapped in thoughts the air around him felt heavier.
“What am I even doing?” he asked in a low whisper.
The barman gave him a look.
“You just have to stop thinking sometimes,” he said.
“It’s easier said than done.” Carson said
“Perhaps” the bartender said. “But it’s the only way to breathe.”
Carson’s gaze lowered to his partially drained glass. He kept the words in his head. The only way to breathe.
He leaned back and pushed the glass away from him a bit. For a brief moment the light from the hanging bulb above his head flickered casting tiny shadows on his face.
He recalled his mother’s voice which was piercing, authoritative and disappointed. Bridget’s loud reckless laughter reverberated through the upscale rooms he detested.
“I can’t marry her,” he muttered.
The barman gave him another look.
“Then don’t,” he said.
Carson gave a tiny smile.
He stated “It’s not that easy.”
“It is always that easy,” the man stated. “You simply don’t like the price.”
Carson’s eyes averted as he looked up.
“You might be correct,” he remarked.
As more people left the bar became quieter. The wall clock indicated that it was past midnight. Time had slipped from his grasp. He put some money on the counter after finishing the last of the whiskey.
He advised keeping the change. “Friend, look after yourself,” the bartender said.
Nodding Carson said. “You too.”
The cool night air felt good against his skin outside. In the background there was the soft hum of distant traffic. Slowly he made his way to his car feeling heavier with each step.
For a moment he leaned against the driver’s door and gazed up at the sky. Only the dim light from the city could be seen, no stars were in view. To himself he spoke softly.
“I have to figure this out.” He stated
He climbed into the car and turned on the ignition. Dimly the dashboard lights came on. He was immobile for a long time. Sitting there, he listened to the engine's steady rhythm.
“I just want peace.” He whispered to himself
The image of himself in the mirror stared back at him exhausted, unsure yet somehow composed.
At last he left the parking lot and proceeded down the silent street. The blue neon light from the bar dimmed in the mirror until it vanished.
He rolled down the window a little as he drove. The cool wind brushed his face and carried away the last scent of whiskey.
He continued driving into the darkness, the road ahead empty and endless.