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When Gene’s flight gets delayed and he’s stuck in Boston over night, he somehow ends up in the kind of bar Finny would have loved, had they reached a bar-going age together.
At least, that’s what Gene tells himself every time he finds himself in a bar like this. Boston, New York, San Francisco, anywhere his work takes him, he seems to be drawn to the places, and always comforts himself with the excuse of, It’s for Finny.
Which, admittedly, doesn’t make the whole thing any less suspicious or pathetic.
Yet, he continues to find himself in these half-lit places where men dance and laugh and drink together. In fact, he’s visited this particular venue at least twice before. He’s almost comfortable now, though can’t help the thought that perhaps he’s a bit too old for this. He is 38, after all.
Gene doesn’t get paid much mind as he sits at the bar, but he doesn’t particularly care. He’s still as plain looking as always, and now without the simple added beauty of youth. A few guys glance his way from the dance floor. He knows he gives off the air of a man who isn’t exactly looking for interaction, simply wishes to be there. Finny would have thrived on the attention, and Gene can just imagine him: in the middle of the dance floor with his sea of admirers around him, arms above his head and eyes closed to better focus on the music. He’d twirl the way he had at the Christmas party all those years ago, looking as much the river god as he ever did at Devon. Gene knows he wouldn’t be able to resist were Finny to hold a hand out to him, dragging him in, and suddenly it would be just the two of them, only Gene worth Finny’s attention.
Drifting out of his fantasy, Gene’s eye is drawn to the end of the bar.
Pressed as far into the corner of the bar and the wall as he can be, is a round faced man with brown hair swooped too carefully across his forehead. He looks more uncomfortable than Gene ever was in these situations, clutching a drink to his chest though it looks like he’s barely sipped at it.
In front of that guy, another man sits on a bar stool. He’s tall and slim with a head that reminds Gene of Frankenstein’s monster. He’s grinning out into the room, swigging from a beer bottle. He’s holding a smaller man close against him. The third man is bespectacled, almost ginger, and looks pleased, glancing up at the man holding him, stroking the arm that loops around his shoulders. A soda sits next to him on the bar.
The three of them are there together, Gene concludes from the way the man in the corner seems to be hiding behind the other two. As Gene watches, two more men stumble out from the dancers. One, a pretty brunette with soft hair, is dragging the other by the collar. The one being dragged is broad shouldered and has dark liner around his eyes. He’s shouting back into the crowd, “I’ll be back, beautiful, don’t you go anywhere!”
“Having fun, Charlie?” Frankenstein chuckles as the other two approach.
Eyeliner—Charlie, apparently—leers and replies, “Always, Pitts, you know me.” He leans forward and snatches Glasses away, digging his knuckles into the poor guy’s head. “Not everyone stays with their high school boy as long as you and Meeks.”
Pitts starts laughing as Meeks struggles away from Charlie, but the man in the corner coughs around a small mouthful of his drink and widens his eyes pointedly at Pretty Boy. The others fall silent and glance over apprehensively. “Todd…” Charlie says quietly.
Todd smiles sadly and looks away. “It’s alright guys, don’t be stupid.”
A breakup? Gene wonders.
Despite Todd’s forgiveness, Charlie reaches out and squeezes his shoulder sympathetically. “Come on,” Charlie declares after a moment. “Let’s head somewhere else. Obviously Knox is too straight for this shit.” He slips his arm through the man in the corner’s and begins to lead him away.
Knox blushes but plants his feet. “We’ve got to toast, Nuwanda. Every bar we got to as a group, we have to toast. You instituted the tradition, after all.”
“Right!” Charlie cries and swings back around to the bar, dragging Knox with him. He waves at the bartender and shouts, “Five shots please!”
“Six,” Todd says quietly but definitively.
The other men look at him for a second, and then Charlie corrects himself. “Make it six!”
The bartender sets six glasses in front of them. Everybody but Meeks snatches one up, and they all look to him.
“I’m in charge of getting you home, I can’t drink,” Meeks explains, and picks up his Coke to toast with.
Charlie scoffs and Pitts presses a shot into Meeks’ hand. “One shot won’t hurt, Meeks,” Knox says and Todd nods in agreement.
Meeks rolls his eyes but raises his drink with the others. Charlie raises his eyebrows and looks around at his friends. “Well? Who’s going to say it?”
After a moment of silence, Todd declares, “I will.”
They look at him in mild confusion, but without further ado, he clears his throat and begins.
Gene shifts closer to hear, trying not to be too obvious.
“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow out of life.” Todd’s voice quavers and he has to pause, looking down. “To put rout to all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.”
No one moves for a second, then Charlie knocks his drink back and the others follow suit. Gene finds himself drinking from his own glass. He really doesn’t have any idea what they’re toasting to, but he agrees with the sentiment of Todd’s speech.
They stand together, no one speaking. The sixth shot sits, undrunk, on the bar with Todd’s fingertips brushing against the rim. Todd speaks up first, “You guys go ahead out and decide where were headed, I’ll pay the tab.”
This is met with general cries of outrage from his friends. “No way!” Knox protests.
“It’s your birthday, dumbass, we’re paying!” Charlie shoves Todd’s shoulder. As he stumbles, smiling, Todd’s fingers continue to reach for the last shot.
“Nah, I’ll get this one,” Todd assures them. “But you guys are paying at the next place for sure, don’t worry.”
Pitts moves first, Meeks’ hand in his, bringing Meeks along as well. Knox follows them willingly, and tugs Charlie by his sleeve. “Meet you outside, birthday boy!” Pitts calls over his shoulder and Todd waves.
Charlie’s voice carries back over to the bar as they exit, and Gene can hear as he says, “That blonde at the other end of the bar was making eyes at you, Knox.”
Todd smiles and shakes his head. He gets the bartender’s attention and requests the group’s tab, then looks down at the shot that still rests between his hands. Gene strains to hear him as he breathes out.
“Oh God, Neil.” Todd drops his head to the bar and sighs, “God, Neil, you should have been here.”
Gene watches Todd collapse and his heart breaks. Suddenly, he understands Todd’s sadness and he understands the carefulness of his friends. Gene wants nothing more than to tell Todd that he understands, but doesn’t see how that could offer much hope, seeing as Gene is still sitting alone even twenty years after Finny. He hopes to God that Neil won’t do the same to Todd.
Todd pays the tab but doesn’t leave just yet. He wraps one shaking hand around the drink set aside for Neil and raises it to his lips, throwing his head back with eyes squeezed tight shut. It’s a private moment, so much so that Todd sent even his best friends away. Gene knows this, but still he can’t stop himself from watching.
When Todd puts his glass down, he sets his jaw and looks up. His eye catches Gene’s and they each stare at the other in surprise. Caught in the act, Gene doesn’t know what to do, so simply nods once, hoping that it will mean something to Todd.
Todd’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at Gene’s gesture, but he nods back, then turns suddenly and leaves. The empty glass sits, abandoned, on the bar.
Gene swallows hard and looks away from the odd group’s corner for the first time since he noticed Knox hiding there. He notices that his hands are pressed hard against the surface of the bar and he peels his fingers up slowly. After a moment, he looks down the bar for the bartender, then calls out, “Excuse me!”
The bartender pours Gene a shot when he asks for it. Gene grabs it tightly, knuckles going white while his mind races, directionless thoughts always whirling back to the image of Finny smiling at him. The wound Finny left on him has long since scarred over, and he’s had twenty years of trying to convince himself that the mark isn’t as big as it really is.
Finally, Gene rolls his eyes at his own sentimentality and mutters, “Everyone knew you were a goddamn fairy, Finny. Everyone knew we were.” He throws the shot down his throat and decides to blame his tears on the burn.