pub crawl

Mary has forgotten my name again, so I tell her. I can tell from her eyes that she knows who I am. But she cannot remember any of the details. Her eyes teeter, looking electric, searching for conductivity. It doesn't come and her face falls back into that wide smile. Her eyes are bright and lost. I shift weight. I ask her how her friend in the hospital is. She died. "I didn' get to see 'er even", Mary says. I remember that the hospital staff had Mary arrested, for playing music and drinking vodka in the rooms. Mary slaps the side of the bar. "But we go'ne livin' don't we m'girl! Rite? Rite?". Mary slaps her upper arms. "Strong as a horse at sixty-three. Woudn' believe it woud' ya?". As she does this she flutters her elbows out at her sides. Like a beautiful bird. If I mention dancing she performs for me. Kicking up her heels as she exclaims, "Used to have a good time down in Simcoe! Oh we woud have a good ol' time. I'm from the Eeast Cooest y'know". Sometimes she'll launch into dirty limericks. I love these the best.

But Mary is not quite herself today. No dancing just yet. I realise she is torn up about the death. I've been doing this job long enough that sadness like hers shouldn't shock me. But you cannot control these things. It is malignant, like her friend's tumor, the weight of her loneliness. Where will she go in the afternoons? What city bus will she count dimes for? This is a very large hole. Her hands hesitate before they plunge deep in her purse to nab a crumpled envelope. From it she takes a torn twenty and hands it to me between the taps. This is substantially more money than I have ever seen her with before. "I need a good drink m'girl". She asks for a full pint of scottish beer. I give her an 80 shilling. She'll have to drink it slow. Everything will be fine now. For the most part I've given up trying to cut off quiet alcoholics and friendly drunks, especially Mary because we always have good laugh when it is just us two. She tips me a quarter. Her cheque just came in, its the beginning of the month.

I cannot stand to see her sad. I get her to tell me her country sayings. I stick to good topics, like beer, and dirty jokes and picking tobacco. I like it when Mary and I are in the bar together in the afternoon. No one to bother us. No contemptuous men. But before long the middle-aged working boys start to file in after work. They laugh out loud when Mary shows me the new underwear she bought at the corner dollar store. Harder even still, when she offers to give me a pair. I shoot them a quick fuck you stare but not before Mary decides that it is time to leave. She angrily stuffs her purchase back in her bag. "Just tryin' to be nice m'girl. I don' cause no harm darlin'. Just tryin'.. y' know, t' , I jus' thawt. Well." And then she stops and looks at me and laughs heartily and sticks out her elbows. "Ei'm gonna have a smoke eh m'girl!". And I remind her that she'll have to light the cig outside. "Ei'm goin', I'm goin'. Ei'm no trouble eh darlin'". And she flaps her arms an grabs her lighter and stops before the door to light her cigarette, flash me a smile and dash out.