Even though I haven't been writing full time lately, that doesn't mean my characters aren't in my head at all. Every once in a while, one of them wanders in to say hello. Here's one of them:
Reggie
Hawkins decided that if he kept his head down, he didn’t have to acknowledge
that he was alone. He studied the label on his beer, which hadn’t changed since
the last time he studied it, and took another drink. It didn’t taste any better
than the solitude.
He
finally shifted his gaze down the long wooden bar to where the bartender was
wiping the same glass he’d been wiping for the past half hour. It must be hard
to look busy when there was no one around. Maybe he was just waiting for
Hawkins to leave so he could drop the pretense.
Hawkins
had thought that some of his crewmates might come down, but it was getting late and that
looked unlikely. He really ought to return to his room, but it wasn’t any
better than this place, although the bed was probably a little more comfortable
than the bar stool.
He
took another drink, unsure why he’d come down here in the first place. Maybe
he’d thought there’d be people here and he could find something in their
chatter that didn’t exist on the television or his phone. It was a good thing
the ship was scheduled to leave the next morning or who knows what he would
have tried next.
He
picked at the label, which really wasn’t a label since they’d gone to etching
to save on paper. The trees were probably happy, except that they were no doubt
used for something worse, like toilet paper. He bet they’d rather be beer
labels.
Hawkins sighed. The truth was that he missed Nick Bartucci. He had no shortage of friends—on and off the ship—but no two friends are alike and he missed the one who was Nick.
The memory made him realize there were two things he needed to do: decide if he’d have trouble being aboard Penumbra when Nick wasn’t there … and get over it.
It still took him by surprise when
some random thought pierced his brain and he was brought up short, as if
walking into a wall that he hadn’t seen there. It made him shake his head,
wondering why the memories wouldn’t leave him alone. They could be caused by
anything, really: a laugh, something irritating, a baseball cap he spotted on a
passerby. It didn’t seem to matter. Each time, he felt a sharp dig in his
midsection, followed by shortness of breath and sometimes a coughing fit. A few
seconds later, all seemed normal.
Sometimes Hawkins recalled a memory
on purpose, just to avoid the surprise, but it still affected him the same way.
And this had been going on for a few months. It was time to get past the whole
thing.
He just didn’t know how to do that.
Hawkins turned his head. The bartender had set down the glass and stood at attention, gazing at the front of the bar as if he’d seen a miracle. Seconds later, the sound of voices told Hawkins what had caused the reaction. Three young people, two men and a woman, sailed into the room and docked at the bar, where they placed cheerful orders and carried on a lively conversation. Drinks in hand, they barely considered their options before selecting a booth a few meters from Hawkins, apparently unaware of him or the bartender smiling at them.
Hawkins offered his own smile at the
beer bottle as he listened to the animated chatter, punctuated by laughter and
occasional mock outrage. His muscles relaxed and his spine straightened a bit.
After a while, he was ready to go upstairs and try to sleep.
“Hey,” he said as he reached for his
phone.
The bartender gave him grudging
attention.
“Put their first round on mine,”
Hawkins said.
The bartender nodded and poked a few
buttons on his monitor.
Hawkins saw the balance change on
the little screen built into the bar next to his bottle. He tapped some
information into his phone to increase the balance to include a hefty tip. Then
he tapped the phone against the screen and put it away, which he also did with
the last of the beer.
Then he headed to get some sleep before the next day's flight.
