What did Mike want? He’d never had a drink before in his life.
A man down the bar asked another bartender, “What you got on tap?”
Worked for Mike. “What have you got on tap?”
The bartender’s grin went wider. “Coming right up.” He filled a frosty glass and passed it over the bar. The stranger he used as a guide handed over a ten. Mike did the same and hurried off before he gave himself away.
He made his way farther into the room, nodding to folks who nodded first, politely answering all inquiries of, "How ya doin?" with a well-rehearsed, "fine." If he knew he was lying, and they didn’t care, did it really count as a lie? After much weaving through bodies, he arrived at the back and an empty table, out of sight of customers coming through the front door. Not that he expected anyone he knew, he just thought it safer that way.
He'd spent so many years “protecting the family’s good name” after all.
The club was packed on Friday night, with several couples gyrating against each other out on the dance floor. At nineteen, he’d never been that young and carefree, laughing and humping against a lover in time with the music. He’d never even danced with a girl before. The preacher didn’t approve of dancing.
Several young men, and a few older ones, passed by the table, running curious eyes over him. Mike wasn’t model material, but he’d been told he was cute, and more than a few girls at church giggled when they talked to him. His deep brown eyes got him attention, as well as the nearly-black hair that tended to curl if he let it grow long enough, which he didn’t.
Keith had once run his fingers through those curls. "So soft," he’d said.
Keith. Liar. Not going there. Once Mike wanted Keith to be his first. Keith didn’t deserve to be his first. Had the guy even felt one moment’s remorse at Mike’s supposed death?
He sat in the shadows and took a sip of beer. Ahhh… That was… Then again, all his parents allowed at home was water, milk, and decaffeinated tea. They frowned on soda, though he’d drunk plenty before his dad died.
First time for beer, though. He took another sip, fighting a wince. Wouldn’t do for people to know he’d never had a beer before.
He watched and waited. Would someone suitable come along? Did he really want that? Though he sipped slowly, all too soon he’d drained his glass.
The music stopped and a DJ’s voice announced, “We have a special request tonight. Can we have a moment of silence for Trickster?”
Trickster? In a cowboy bar. Several men pulled off Stetsons, and he followed suit, holding his father’s hat over his heart.
After a moment, music started again, playing Trickster’sLoser.
Nothing left to lose
They’ve taken everything
Left me with nothing
Nothing left to lose.
I once had it all
Flew high in the sky
See how hard I fall
Nothing left to lose
Nothing left to lose
They’ve taken everything
Left me with nothing
Nothing left to lose
One footstep, two
Got to keep going
