<\/p>\n
\nThere wasn\u2019t a single person in the bar who did not forget what Teddy Roundman looked like. A big man, they all said, all who were in the bar the night of Teddy\u2019s return. A very big man. Decent guitar player, decent singer but a better singer than guitar player. A very poor teller of jokes. He had only one joke, thank goodness. They all thanked their lucky stars for that. Having been on the radio, Teddy Roundman was their only star. Tonight, after spending three years in prison for aggravated assault, Teddy was returning to play, one night only, at Jack\u2019s. No one could remember this much excitement ever at the bar.<\/p>\n
PAM<\/p>\n
They call me Mrs. Lee around here because they think I look like Pamela Anderson (when she was younger) who married rock drummer Tommy Lee. Annoying isn\u2019t the half of it; the name stuck and that\u2019s all they call me now. I\u2019m Pam. I am the bartender here, at Jack\u2019s. Have been ten years now. Must like it or I must like to be annoyed, frustrated and tired every night. I was born to be a bartender; it\u2019s in my blood. Mom was one, all her life, the way she explained it. Claims she raised two of us kids behind a bar. I was one of them.<\/p>\n
I was bartender even before I was married. Stopped when I got married. Came back to it when my husband died. Derek. Great guy. Died before we could start a family. A scaffold he was on at a construction site where he was working, collapsed. Died on the spot. We met when I was working the bar at the old Embassy downtown. Hangout bar. Great bands. Cheap pitchers. I fell for him, like, instantly. Beautiful blue eyes, drop dead (oops, didn\u2019t mean that as a joke) smile, crazy about me. We got married year after we met. Derek left me \u2013 died \u2013 three months later.<\/p>\n
Bartending, the job, the work, helped take my mind off missing him. When I thought about him, the pain was like nothing I\u2019d ever known; I knew it would be with me the rest of my life. Jack\u2019s is a hoppin\u2019 enough place to keep me busy, my brain occupied. Teddy. Jeez. Teddy Roundman. Got three years for aggravated assault. Called me at work two weeks ago asking if we had any entertainment booked for such and such a date \u2013 tonight, actually \u2013 and asked if he could have the gig if it was available. I told him sure, you\u2019re a crowd favourite, Teddy. He said he might be a little rusty, but he\u2019ll practice hard for the gig. I told him not to worry about that. He thanked me. I didn\u2019t ask him how he was or how it felt being out of prison.<\/p>\n
Everyone I told, gave me a look. They were pissed at me, trying to hide they were excited and anxious to see it happen. I admit, I was all of that, too. Talking to him, I\u2019d forgotten he\u2019d went away for aggravated assault. A policeman friend of mine told me Teddy was lucky, he could have gotten fourteen years, but, since there was no weapon used \u2013 just his hands \u2013 they gave him three. I\u2019ll bet, because Teddy\u2019s a nice, quiet guy, he probably got it easy on good behaviour.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll have to see how he is when he comes in tonight. I don\u2019t want to grill him too hard on being in, being out, how he feels. Teddy doesn\u2019t say much. He leaves that for the stage.<\/p>\n
ROGER<\/p>\n
Mrs. Lee\u2019s opened up a can of worms letting Teddy come back. Who is she, anyway? She doesn\u2019t own the place. That\u2019s Jack, Jack Bremel, and he\u2019s out of country. She can\u2019t make decisions like that. Shouldn\u2019t. She\u2019s inviting trouble, is all I can say.<\/p>\n
Why should I care? As long as she brings me my whiskey when I want it. I don\u2019t care what happens. I\u2019ll just watch everyone else, see what they do when Teddy comes walking through the door.<\/p>\n
My hand\u2019s shaking. She won\u2019t serve me if my hand\u2019s shaking bad. It\u2019s always shaking. What\u2019s the difference she serves me or not? I don\u2019t need to be here. I can go somewhere else. I\u2019m here because Jack\u2019s is close to home. Five-minute walk, unless my legs give out or want to roam on their own. Been known to happen.<\/p>\n
But. Teddy. Man. Who would have thought, eh? Me. I did. Always thought he had it in him. The way he talked. Way he sang. That look in his eyes. Always thought it was a matter of time before he blew up. Everyone reaches that point. Everyone.<\/p>\n
Didn\u2019t think he could do it, physically, though. Guy\u2019s as big as a house \u2013 tall and wide. Have to be in shape to do what he did to that guy. Course. One punch from Teddy and your face will cave in.<\/p>\n
I used to be in shape. When I was a firefighter for this city. My good years. Ten of them. My story\u2019s like a lot of the guys\u2019: the job got to me. Saw too much shit and horror I couldn\u2019t take no more.<\/p>\n
Life gets to you. Teddy knew that. Maybe why he snapped. I watched him up on stage. Eyes closed, mouth in a big O, his cheeks red and shaking like Jello. I could tell: Teddy was hurting. Something, someone, hurt him. Knew it whenever I asked him to play \u201cYour Cheatin\u2019 Heart\u201d and he wouldn\u2019t look me in the eye, but just nod and grunt (meaning, yes, he\u2019ll play it), every time I asked him.<\/p>\n
Maybe Teddy, like me, has a broken heart. Someone he loved left him; accused him of being someone he wasn\u2019t and left him. He didn\u2019t have the opportunity, the time, to change, to make things better. Someone he loved told him they didn\u2019t love him anymore and left him.
\nLike me.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Lee sees my glass is empty. I watch her take her time to pour a two-ounce shot of Crown. Like I have all the time in the world. I don\u2019t. I don\u2019t want to. I am impatient for the end to come.
\n
\n
\nGLORIA<\/p>\n
Oh my. Teddy. After all this time. Will I still be angry with him when I see his face? That was my first thought after Mrs. Lee told me Teddy was coming back to Jack\u2019s to perform for one night only. Not, how will Teddy feel returning, the eyes of everyone in the bar on him, everyone thinking \u2013 as I did \u2013 why did he do it? Even after three years, I still think that. Why? Why, Teddy? I thought you to be a different man than that.<\/p>\n
Teddy and I had talked, here, at my little, well-lit table in the corner of Jack\u2019s. He would finish his set of songs, old Country standards, gently, almost lovingly, place his Fender guitar on its stand, then make his way to the bar first for his beer, then over to me. We never talked about his music, except the one time I asked him about that song he wrote and recorded that got him on the local radio. It was called \u201cCuriousity,\u201d and all Teddy had to say about it was that it was his way of figuring out the world. He watched people, he\u2019d said, and saw them in his own way. That conversation could have gone on all night, but that\u2019s all Teddy wanted to say about it. He smiled at me, finished his beer, and went back on stage to play his songs.<\/p>\n
Everyone knew Teddy was not one for smiling. Even when he tried telling that one joke of his about a man, a Fender, and a duck walking into a bar. I thought, like everyone else, he did not find the joke funny. But he kept trying to tell it, maybe to finally get it right, to see if there was actually any humour in it.<\/p>\n
Teddy struck me as someone who wanted things done right. There was a meticulousness about him. He was careful how he walked, and talked, sipped his beer. Watching him tune his guitar was like watching someone perform a ceremonial rite in slow motion.<\/p>\n
They say for him to do what he did to that man he\u2019d had to have been very precise with his punches to inflict that amount of damage. When I heard that I thought: yes, that\u2019s Teddy alright.
\nTeddy was the only one who ever asked me why I sit alone at my little table in the corner. The only one to talk to me, really, except Mrs. Lee asking if I want another rye and ginger, or someone asking me if I\u2019m going to use that extra chair at my table. I never use that chair. I always sit alone.<\/p>\n
I chose this table, oh, I don\u2019t know how many years ago now. It was well lit under a single ceiling light. The light was soft because of the dust and cobwebs it had to go through. I used to read here, even brought a notebook to write down thoughts and observations. The obvious question would be: why would I want to read and write and nurse drinks in a noisy bar and not at home? Because I\u2019m a dreamer.<\/p>\n
When I was a young woman, I saw myself as a writer. That\u2019s what I wanted to be, what I was chosen to be. I had my visions of Hemingway and Callaghan, the beat writers and poets, and put myself in these visions. I would lug paperbacks to bars: The Tin Drum, The Sot-Weed Factor, Sophie\u2019s Choice. Not quick, easy reads; I purchased them at used bookstores and loved their aged aroma and the feel of them in my hands.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately, I could not shake from my thoughts people had something to say about me reading and writing in a bar, being a poser. I stopped bringing my books and notepads with me. Now, I look around at people with their faces buried in their phones.<\/p>\n
Teddy had told me his sister was killed by a truck driver texting while driving. The driver\u2019s inattention caused a multi-vehicle crash on a 401 off ramp. His sister\u2019s car, small and unprotected, took the brunt of the crash. The truck sent it into two others. Teddy talked about the accident like it was the saddest thing in the world, until he got angry.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d seen Teddy get emotional over a song he\u2019d been singing, but this, this anger, was something else entirely. His big, sweaty hands stuck to my table. His red knuckles matched the red rimming his eyes. He had difficulty breathing. He couldn\u2019t focus on any one thing.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t deserve that.\u201d Teddy\u2019s voice deep and sad. He had meant his sister, Teresa, did not deserve to die because of the stupidity and carelessness of others.<\/p>\n
It broke my heart to watch Teddy, oh, I don\u2019t know exactly what he was doing, but it seemed like he was recreating his sister\u2019s fatal accident in his mind. Or he was trying to make sense of the unfathomable. Or he was switching places with his sister, Teresa, and the man at my table was a ghost, and had been for two weeks, when the accident had occurred.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe driver got a slap on the wrist,\u201d Teddy said. \u201cOne dead, three in hospital, and all he got was a slap on the wrist. Tell me. How fair is that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Teddy looked at me then and truly expected an answer from me. I had none. Just empathy and the sly notion Teddy could perhaps write a song about this some day\u2014channel his pain into his music.<\/p>\n
Three days later Teddy beat that man to a pulp. No one knew for sure, but everyone here speculated the man Teddy beat near to death was the truck driver who caused the death of his sister. The man \u2013 whoever he was \u2013 spent some time in the hospital\u2019s ICU and had to undergo nearly two years of physiotherapy. He may have needed facial reconstruction. All this I learned from the gossip going around in Jack\u2019s. People embellished, made stuff up to fill in the holes. So, I don\u2019t know what\u2019s true and what isn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
PAM<\/p>\n
After Teddy did what he did to land him in prison, people in here started talking. Word out was Teddy beat the truck driver who caused the accident that killed his sister. Someone had watched it happen and heard Teddy say things. Not that I\u2019m condoning it, but I feel Teddy was in the right to do what he did.<\/p>\n
He saved me one night, from being assaulted. A drunk stranger in my bar hit on me all night. Wanted to get me drunk. Total creep. I seen it before, but this guy was persistent, or stupid; it was like he looked right through me when I told him no a billion times. I started giving him pop instead of booze; still charged him for the booze because he was such a dickhead.<\/p>\n
Long story short, he waited for me in the parking lot, made his move when I wasn\u2019t looking. Hands and lips all over me. Teddy was there. Yanked the guy off me by his collar, thrashed him around like a dog with his toy. I had to tell Teddy to stop, even though I didn\u2019t want him to. The guy left, staggering around like a broken robot.<\/p>\n
That was the only time I saw Teddy get like that. I offered him a free beer back inside the bar as a way of thanks. Teddy said no. For some reason, I started talking to him about my dead husband, Derek. Teddy listened. Watched me put back shot after shot of tequila. Listened to my sad verbal diarrhea without a word. He knew I needed to talk about Derek.<\/p>\n
No one in Jack\u2019s knows that side of Teddy.<\/p>\n
I can feel their vibes, hear it in their voices: people here have a bad opinion of Teddy. They fear the unknown, like what he\u2019s capable of, what he might do. They\u2019d say different. After a few drinks, their true selves come out.<\/p>\n
ROGER<\/p>\n
Gloria thinks she\u2019s something special because she\u2019s the only one Teddy talks to. I mean, he sits at her table and actually talks to her. He talks to us from the stage. Tries to tell that stupid joke.
\nTrouble with Gloria is she\u2019s got this ego. Sits alone in the corner like she\u2019s queen of us all. Looks around the room when she\u2019s talking to Teddy to see if we\u2019re watching. Saw her once reading a book like she\u2019s a hippie smart-ass too good for us. But she\u2019s here. In a bar. Drinking. We all are. We\u2019re all the same.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Lee told me to stay away from her. I says, why? She says \u2018cuz of before. I says, what before? I didn\u2019t talk to her before. I never talk to her. Yeah, you did, she says. And you pissed her off so leave her alone. I don\u2019t remember doing that. Wonder what I said to piss her off. Prob\u2019ly told her the truth. She\u2019s no better than us.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll bet Gloria\u2019s one of those women who drove her husband away. Hard to live with, nagging. Fuck. Fuck! I want my baby back. My sweet, sweet Susie. I\u2019ll change. Told her I\u2019ll change. Give me another chance. Come back to me. Susie, Susie, Susie.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Lee\u2019s finally going to give me my whiskey. Makes me wait. Does it on purpose. We\u2019re all the same and yet some like to mess with lives. Their problem is, they think they\u2019re better so they do shit that makes them different. All in their heads.<\/p>\n
The only one different is Teddy. He\u2019s not like one of us, that\u2019s for damn sure.<\/p>\n
GLORIA<\/p>\n
There he is! Oh my, Teddy! Look at you! Lost a hundred pounds, I\u2019ll bet. Wonder if he\u2019s found himself a girl. He has that same guitar with him. That old Fender.<\/p>\n
He\u2019s not looking at anyone. They\u2019re looking enough for him. Staring. So am I.
\nI want to go to him. Hug him. Tell him I missed him. Teddy looks like a new man; different. Like someone who went into a dark place and came out the other side a different human being, an evolved one.<\/p>\n
Teddy heads straight to the stage.<\/p>\n
I know he\u2019s aware of all the eyes on him. Roger, particularly, is throwing burning daggers. Roger has a beef with everything and everyone. No doubt he has a skewed opinion of Teddy. That perpetually soused brain of his swollen with explanations of Teddy\u2019s actions: what he did and why he did it. He doesn\u2019t know Teddy; the big man is nothing but an entertainment to him.<\/p>\n
Roger thinks I was once a married woman. Drove my husband away by being a nag. Life is straightforward for a guy like Roger. You become an adult, get a job, get married \u2013 same sex, of course \u2013 live happily ever after. He should know different from all the terrible things he\u2019s seen as a firefighter. Never saw that kind of man in him. He\u2019s a broken man.<\/p>\n
Aren\u2019t we all broken in some way?<\/p>\n
The single stage light with the yellow gel exaggerates the blue of Teddy\u2019s eyes. He reaches up to angle it down toward his waist. He sees them. Everyone. In their seats, standing at the bar; waiting. He understands they want him to say something profound, friendly, provocative. He never was one for talking.<\/p>\n
They need him. He can see it in their sad, eager faces. With just a few words, he can give them something they can call their own and later share it with anyone who will listen. It\u2019s not much. And he will not give them much, although they all want to hear about his incarceration, all about the event that put him in prison.<\/p>\n
Gloria is crying. Sad, lonely Gloria who, for years, used writing and reading as her connection to the real world. Teddy likes to think he showed her life is full of beginnings. Endings however small, are never what they seem.<\/p>\n
Roger narrows his eyes over his glass of whiskey. Teddy always knew Roger as an angry man. Roger thinks the whole world has done him wrong. Roger is responsible for Roger. But it doesn\u2019t have to be that way. Teddy is proof. Pay the price. Forgive yourself. Move on.<\/p>\n
Pam pretends she\u2019s Teddy\u2019s friend, but keeps a distance, safe inside her world of work, home, work, home, the death of her husband, day after day. Teddy once told her she was the most centred person he knew. He knows now he was wrong.<\/p>\n
People can change or stay the same, or both. Teddy is certain of one thing, and he knew this as he beat the truck driver responsible for his sister\u2019s death: we all need each other.<\/p>\n
He taps the microphone with an index finger.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello everyone. My name is Teddy. So. A man, a fender and a duck walk into a bar.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A Man, a Fender and a Duck Walk into a Bar There wasn\u2019t a single person in the bar who did not forget what Teddy Roundman looked like. A big man, they all said, all who were in the bar the night of Teddy\u2019s return. A very big man. Decent guitar player, decent singer but a better singer…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":5318,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-82","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/82","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=82"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/82\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5407,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/82\/revisions\/5407"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5318"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=82"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=82"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue28\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=82"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}