Peter McFeely

The stool had no back so Vin used the wall for support. He could feel the coldness of the concrete through his jacket sleeve. Neither the cheap vinyl nor the chipped red paint added much warmth. As he shifted his weight, loud creaks emerged from the rivets holding things together. Indeed, the stool felt like it might disintegrate completely should Vin slide back exposing more than the two inches of his perched buttocks to the sticky padding. He danced with the stool, working his body with the straining wood to maintain uprightness, his left foot pressed one wooden leg inwards, the right provided stability, safely anchored on the floor. He could feel the coldness of the ground as well.

“Alright Vin.”
Faces appeared from the street.
“Alright lads.”
“Fucking freezing tonight. Do they not give you a hat or nothing?”
Vin shrugged. The face said it every time it was cold.
“And you’re still on that stool! Jesus Christ Vin, it’s going to collapse under you some night. No offence but I hope I’m here to see it!”
The faces laughed at the thought of Vin swimming amongst splinters on the cold floor. Vin laughed too – it wouldn’t be the worst thing about the job.
“Here, Tommy’s just after winning on a scratch card – maybe he’ll buy you a new one?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah Vin, fucking brilliant. 120!” Tommy pulled a fist of notes from his coat pocket. “Going to be some craic tonight. Hope that grumpy bald git behind the bar is pouring them quick!” Vin laughed again. He was not a fan of the barman in question.
“Didn’t tell the Missus of course – otherwise the bitch would have the money spent before I’d even collected it. Least I deserve is a few drinks. Fucking stressful looking for a job all day.”
“Too fucking right you – tonight’s about you Tommy!” his mate congratulated him.
Vin forced himself to hold the smile. These guys were idiots. He pulled the door signalling it was time for the men to move inside.
“Enjoy yourselves lads.”

Vin settled back into his straining throne. He followed the music to distract himself from the coldness. It moved through the concrete, specking the paint and bouncing the stool. It travelled through his cheap jacket and heavy shoes, seeping through his skin and deep into his soul. To the naked eye, Vin was still. But he didn’t need to move – the music moved through him; his veins contracted and expanded in time with the beat.
Vin nudged his head forward, glancing up and down the street. Quiet. He took the notes from his inside pocket. The rough strokes of ink were indicative of a man who had spent little of his life applying pen to paper. Vin had left school young – his wasn’t a family with a scholarly background. Working hard was the way he was raised, supporting his father in tending the small farm and accompanying him to the building sites. Sitting in an office didn’t appeal to him. Life had always seemed plentiful. His father planned to leave the animals to him and, a powerful young man, he knew he could labour when needed. Then the economy had changed. The cost of keeping the animals and tending the land was more than the profit he could derive from their produce. Labouring was there, but it was difficult to secure ongoing work when he had nothing but informal experience as his credentials. And then Maggie.
She arrived unplanned three summers prior. A wailing, screaming wet mess who immediately filled a room with her presence and a building with her noise. She must have been 95% lung given the length and depth of the bawls. It didn’t matter. He and Marie were happy. Maggie filled their hearts. The animals and land were sold, enough money to launch the family with a celebration and a new home. Vin knew the money from bit-part work wouldn’t suffice and Maggie was too important for both parents to be absent in dead-end jobs. So he went back to school. Through his time labouring he learnt that there was opportunity in the trades – the economy might dip, but people round here couldn’t live without electricity and clean water. He enrolled in a plumbing course and applied himself fervently, Maggie provided the purpose previously lacking in his education. He continued to pick up day work here and there, studying late into the night. Breaking down and building back up various pipes, joints and fittings. Maggie’s noise filled his ears and drove him on as he saw sunsets turn into sunrises. As time passed, Maggie quietened. Her screams became sobs and then happy gurgles. Now, she spoke. Softly. Sweetly. But sparingly. Vin faced a double dilemma. Money from the farm was rapidly depleting, but he was unable to resist the temptation of an afternoon with Maggie and Marie in his arms. He started to skip on job offers in daylight hours. He also found he lacked the focus for studying now that the house was quiet. He needed noise to focus. It was only by accident that he discovered the band could replace the shrieks and clatters of Maggie’s cries. He took the job as a bouncer at the behest of a friend, someone who knew there was little stress but enough money. Vin was a big man. Mean when needed. The bar rarely had any trouble and with Vin on the door it would be even rarer. Alcohol makes people do stupid things but it rarely involves asking for physical reprimand from a man whose neck is thicker than your torso. Now, Vin was paid to be in a place he could memorise his notes. It was the perfect solution. Except for the idiots – and there were plenty of them.

He heard the glass shatter first. Then the sloppy guffaws. The men turned the corner and into the doorframe. They were halted by Vin’s arm pinned to the wall.
“Gentlemen.”
“Fuck – size of him.” From the back of the group.
“Alright mate, how’s it going. Who’s playing. How’s your night.” Short non-questions designed to smooth the path to the bar.
“It’s OK.” Vin answered anyway. “Where are you boys coming from?”
“Ah, just up the road.”
“Few on board already?”
“Ah, just one or two. We don’t really drink.” The joker looked round at this friends and though Vin couldn’t see the wink he knew it came. The friends failed miserably in trying to disguise their laughs.
“Ah. Well that’s too bad. In this bar, we’re looking for people who drink. Better move along.”
“What? Wise up mate.” The funny guy paused. “Good one…” he ventured and stepped forward.
Vin’s arm stayed pinned to the wall but his chest and shoulders grew.
“Not tonight.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I said not tonight. Plenty of other bars in the town. Try one of them.”
The men stared him down but thought better of it.
“Come on, let’s go.”
They skulked back out of the doorframe and Vin slid back into his stool.
He saw the glass sail past and heard it crack on the shutters of the bar.
“Fucking prick!”
Drunken laughter and fleeing steps.
Vin sighed and closed his eyes. He felt for the beat in the concrete. Six more months he repeated to himself.

Next >