Aren't we all?

     The old Irish tenor slurred his speech, but sang like a Celtic siren. His voice came from an age not yet discovered. It made me recall thoughts I never remembered having. It reopened a hole in my heart that I didn't know was there. He seemed to be singing directly into the core of my being. It was as if he knew regretful things I had done, yet did not recollect. He made me rue those unknown memories anyway.

     For some reason I found comfort in this melancholy glow. It was like bathing in my own tears. It was so warm. It seemed right. It was right. It was perfect for this cold, damp night. Like  the others of my ilk, I too gladly found sadness in these songs. Sadness that belonged. I wore it like a tailored suit. It fit to a tee.

     My money was running out, so I drank at a slower pace, hoping no one would notice. I held my glass like a newborn. I continued to listen, hoping to somehow become sadder, and sadder I became.

     I never understood those who in despair, decided to cast their ballot for "The Hereafter". I looked around the tavern and saw others who appeared to be rejoicing in their despondency. Some slight sounds, perhaps titters, made me realize that they were akin to me.

     The barkeep had not moved in quite awhile. Lack of movement meant lack of sales. He too had his own brand of sadness. We all sat carefully caressing our bundles of joy, as we hoped for more pain, more stabs in our hearts. It was our common bond, keeping us alive and coming back. Knowing that tomorrow would be the same as today did not stop us from getting up, dressed and going off to work each morning. Knowing that each day would end as it ended every other day was our motivation to live. 

     This was our lives. What did we have to hope for, a winning sweepstakes ticket perhaps? Money can only make exterior changes. All the money in the world couldn't change our interiors. We were what we were. The "Salt of the Earth"? I think not. Perhaps the "Pepper of Pity". It is not in the ken of many to understand what it is like to be completely hopeless, yet long for the next day.

     I ordered another. When I went to my pocket my hand came up empty. Front, back, inside and outside were all the same. The keep seemed to sense my dilemma and lightly tapped the bar in front of me once. I thanked him with a slight grin, but avoided his eyes. 

     Soon after, the singer fell silent and began to sway as if he was trying to remember what he wanted to do next. I guess he couldn't remember because suddenly he just fell.Boom! Down and then up in a flash. I guess he remembered because he quickly stumbled to the men's toilet. We all applauded as he made his way. I applauded more for the simple fact that he got up, than for his singing. Both were very entertaining, but the encore was special. It had broken the smoky, gloomy, yet somehow alluring spell that his voice had cast over us. Thankfully the spell was broken with laughter. Good intentions or not, we still laughed. Were we amused at the fall or were we just happy to be temporarily relieved from our bonds?

     Not wanting to be the last to leave, I put on my tam and coat as I walked sideways to the door. No, "Good Nights". No, "Good Byes". Desperation does not need nor want any friends, not even acquaintances.

     As I walked to my room, I remembered I hadn't eaten. I had some money under a lamp by my bed. Knowing I had to make a choice, I left the money where it was. I wouldn't need it until morning. Lying in bed, I went back and forth in my mind over how to spend the little money I had left until payday. Sustenance for my body or for my soul? It was an easy choice. As I closed my eyes, I was looking forward to another nights, "Opus of Hopelessness".

Copyright February, 2015 Robert S Dunne