Truth, this place seemed like it existed just to be a local gathering hole for those of us who lived up in the mountains on the west side of Misted Pines—a good twenty-minute haul just to get groceries and seriously sparsely populated.
But no one would want to drive that drive into town to have a few drinks and commune.
Though that hulking lumberjack wanted his neighbors safe and sound, and he didn’t make any bones about it.I knew this because there was a sign on the shelf with the liquor that said,I’ll serve you as much as you want, but I’ll also take your fucking keys.
One could just say, it was without a doubt that hulking lumberjack could take anyone’s keys.
And if that wasn’t enough, he wasn’t stingy with the bowls of pretzels and popcorn, seeing as he scooped one out for every drink he served.
Not many people were communing that night, not verbally.
No one uttered a sound.
We were together, though.
Woven together by soft, gentle, sad songs of hope lost, promises broken and love always remaining just out of reach.
I could not say I wasn’t mesmerized by how handsome the singer was.The build of his body.The easy way he wore his faded olive-green button-down and jeans, the scuffs on his unpretentious, round-toed brown boots.
I absolutely was.
I could also not say I wasn’t fascinated by his deft fingers strumming or curling to press out the chords and how natural that came to him, like that guitar was an extension of his body.
I absolutely was that too.
Mostly, it was the music.
And the way his eyes often landed on me sitting at a table with three people I didn’t know, not drinking my beer nor eating from any of the bowls of pretzels and popcorn on the table, my eyes glued to him as he told his story.
His story was my story.
It wasmy story.
Through the skin and flesh, bone and marrow, straight to my soul…
My story.
I knew it wasn’t exactly the same.It couldn’t be.
But he got me.
Hegotme.
I had good friends.People I loved.
And no one on this planet got me.
But that man got me.
All good things had to come to an end, but fortunately for me that night, that end wouldn’t be the same as it was for everyone else at The Link just off County Road 10.
I knew it was over for the others when he sang Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon,” the only cover he’d done all night, because the vibe shifted.
They knew that was his finale.
And when he was done, twisting to lay his guitar in the case lying open in the only space still available on that stage floor, he didn’t even dip his chin to the raucous applause, whistles and hoots of the people in that bar.
He just clipped his guitar into its case, grabbed the handle and got up, proving I was right, he was tall—again, not super tall, but not short by a long shot—I’d place him at about six two.Then he stepped off the stage.
