Chasing Yesterday
Chapter I: Born to be blue. “Hey!” he pointed his empty glass at the bartender. I was looking at him from behind the bar. I was alone. So was he. He was drinking whiskey and seemed like he had a lot on his mind. I didn’t care for him at that moment. I thought he was the type of guy that went to a bar alone and didn’t give a shit about anything that was happening around him. The world seemed empty for him. After he shouted at the bartender, he asked for whiskey neat. I never liked whiskey. Even the smell of it made me puke. I drank beer like every other night. The bar that I went to, I could call home. The bartender, Tom, was my best friend. I didn’t talk to anyone else besides him for about 2 years. I was isolated, he was my glass of scotch. He poured another glass for the guy at the bar and made his way to me. He told me it was the end of his shift and wanted to join me for a drink, and I said “Sure. And what are you drinking this fine night, sir?” “It’s amazing that you’re wasting your time drinking all the booze in this bar and making me rich” Tom said to me after taking a sip of his red wine. We looked at each other and smiled. “See that guy over there?” said Tom, pointing at the guy sitting alone in the bar, drinking whiskey. “Yeah?” “Why don’t you go and talk to him? I think you’ll like him” “No thanks. I just want to sit here and drink myself to death.” I said and finished my beer. I ignored the awkward moment and asked him for another drink. He told me that he was going to meet up with Claire. Claire was his girlfriend, she was a socialite and I didn’t understand their relationship. I couldn’t understand how a 26-year-old bartender was attracted to this mind numbingly dumb girl who was handed all she had in life. No effort, no will power, just living off her mom working her ass off to please her daughter. He took the last sip of his wine, gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed to get his coat and left the bar after collecting his tips. Which none of it was generously given by the mysterious ‘dying man’ at the bar. I was alone once again. I looked at the man at the bar, he took out a piece of paper out of his pocket, read it, poured some whiskey on it, let it dry for a minute and then put it back in his coat. While I watched him, the other bartender came and asked me if I wanted another beer. I said yes and gave him the empty bottle. I didn’t know that bartender, I assumed he was new. Tom never said anything about him, and I was desperate to make friends so I went over to the bar and waited there for my drink. He was short, had long blond hair
Chasing Yesterday
which he wore like a hipster and tied it like a ponytail. It was also greasy, you could tell that he didn’t care much for appearances. While I waited for my beer, the drunkard man fell asleep on the bar. He looked like an alcoholic Willem Dafoe, roughly 65 years old. He wore an allblack suit with no tie and seemed like he hadn’t showered in a long time. The bartender gave me my beer and I asked him about the cryptic man next to me. “He comes in every night, orders a glass of whiskey neat, takes out this note of his, pours a little whiskey on it and then usually falls asleep. Like around, 4 a.m., a man comes in and takes him away.” “Hmm. Do you know the guy that takes him away?” “No but let me tell you he is never late. It’s like clockwork. 4 a.m. and he’s here to pick him up.” “Maybe it’s his driver, maybe he waits in the car every night and then takes him home” “Could be. I mean he looks like one.” “FUCK ME!” screamed the drunk guy. At this point, there was no one in the bar besides me, the bartender and the drunk man. “You okay?” asked the bartender while cleaning the dishes. “I have to go. Thanks for the drinks.” He paid the bartender, didn’t leave any tips and then took his coat. His eyes weren’t fully open, so he dangled around in the dark, trying to find his way out of the bar. The bartender asked him if he needed a cab but by then he was already gone. Chapter II: The following. “That was weird.” Said the bartender. “What?” I asked. “He always stays here until 4 a.m. Never once I saw him leave before his ‘curfew’” “Well you have to break the routine at some point, right?” He didn’t respond and seemed a little bothered by all of this. I didn’t understand why, the guy just wanted to leave, what’s the big deal with that? 4 a.m. or 2 a.m. why does it matter? I realized that night that people don’t like it when you shock them, even if it doesn’t affect them directly. People love stability. Otherwise every little thing is intimidating. The clock hit 3 a.m. and I was bored out of my mind, so I paid the bartender and left right after the drunk guy. On my way to my apartment, I heard a man screaming from the distance.
Chasing Yesterday
I couldn’t make up what he was saying but it seemed like he was in the middle of a heated conversation. If it was a conversation, he could be talking to himself for all I know. I lit up a cigarette and headed towards him. As I turned around the corner, I realized that it was the drunk guy from the bar. Normally I wouldn’t do this at all, but I was drunk so I asked him if he was okay or if he needed some help going back home. “Do I know you?” he said. “Yes. I mean no. Well, you were at ‘Blue Bar’, I saw you there.” I said as I offered him a cigarette. He took one and realized he’d lost his lighter so I lit it for him. After that he didn’t say anything and started strolling around. “Where are you going?” I pried in. “I…don’t know. I don’t even know where I am.” He responded I walked over and stood in front of him. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open so I asked if he wanted to sit down for a little while. When we sat down he leaned back and laid on the sidewalk. “Hey…Do you have your phone on you?” he asked, his eyes closed, smoking his cigarette. “Yeah. Do you need me to call someone? Your driver maybe?” “Wh-What driver?” he asked while his eyes opened up and he tried to look at me. “Um. The man that comes to the bar every night to pick you up? I just assumed that is was your driver.” I was feeling a little intrusive, obviously I didn’t know the guy and I was firing up questions about his private life. However, just as I was about to say sorry he said: “Oh! No, no, no! He- he’s not my driver.” He smiled. “I was going to ask- do you have any music on that thing?” I was surprised. But I shouldn’t have been, he was wasted and all he wanted was just some music to enjoy on a cold winter night. So, I said yes, and put some John Coltrane on. I had just watched a documentary about him and it was the only thing that I listened to these days. The music sounded peaceful but also chaotic at the same time. “Ooooh! Good choice kid, good choice.” He waited for a second and spoke again. “1975. Yes, 1975. I was 10 years old when my mother- yes that’s right my mother- took me to a concert. I guess she didn’t want to miss the show and I’m glad she took her 10-year-old son to a jazz concert at 11 p.m. Oh yes, aren’t I glad. And you know who’s concert it was?” I laughed and asked if it was John Coltrane. “Oh no. No. It was Thelonious Monk.” He started laughing.
Chasing Yesterday
“Well, I don’t know where this story is going anymore” I said. Clearly, he was a little confused and a very drunk old man. I got up and he took me by my hand and pulled me back to sit down. “Hey! That was rude of you, I didn’t even finish my story. I’m an old man, see. I don’t have many people to talk too at 3 a.m. when I’m drunk out of my mind okay? So, help me out here.” “Yes. I suppose no one would want to listen to you babble all night.” I laughed and then he smiled as well. “Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, the concert. As I was saying, it was Thelonious Monk with Paul Jeffrey and Larry--oh! I love this song! Let me just--enjoy it for a second” he said. A Love Supreme, Pt. I – Acknowledgement was playing. When I looked over to him, he’d fallen asleep. At this point I didn’t know if I should take him back home or to the bar and wait for his ‘driver’ to come and pick him up. I figured it would be much easier if we went back to the bar and waited there, and it wasn’t that far away so I woke him up and we made our way back to the bar. “What the hell are you doing? I didn’t even finish my story!” He shouted “Come on, I’m going to take your drunk ass back to the bar. You can tell me there” He weighed heavier than he looked. Or I was just too drunk to carry this 65-year-old man. When we got to the bar, the bartender, which I didn’t know the name of, saw us and helped carry the man to the back of the bar. I asked for a beer and right then, the old man came out of unconsciousness and told him that he would very much appreciate if the bartender got him a beer as well. Chapter III: Time of the blue. It turned out to be one of the weirdest nights of my life. What the hell was I doing with a 65-year-old alcoholic man in a bar at 3 a.m.? I was intrigued by him, he didn’t seem like most of the old people I knew. He had this look of an art teacher of some sort, a homeless art teacher maybe. He also had these strange facial features, just like Paul Gachet, the doctor that Van Gogh once painted. After thinking about it, I told him that he looked like Paul Gachet, however did not tell him that it was the doctor that Van Gogh had painted. “Hah! Paul Gachet huh? I didn’t know young people nowadays appreciated good art, oh excuse me I meant to say exceptional art.”
Chasing Yesterday
“Right back at you. I didn’t expect you to know it was Van Gogh.” I responded and lit a cigarette. “Well, let me tell you something, I doubt that there was a greater man than Van Gogh. I believe he felt everything, felt too much. Which led to his end.” He whispered. I watched him the whole time and even though he tried to hide it, he put his hand on his heart as is he felt something breaking inside of him and tried to catch it with his hand to put it back together. The bartender brought us our beers and told us that he was going to close in one hour. As we took a sip of our beers, the old man looked at me and finally said, “What’s your name, kid” “Alex.” “Well, I’m Wes.” “Nice to meet you Wes.” We smiled to each other and I asked him to finish the story that he was telling earlier. “Oh yes- wait, let me get my thoughts together. Right, so it was 1975 and I didn’t enjoy the concert at all! I was complaining to my mother the whole time. I mean think about it, what would a 10-year-old know about jazz? I absolutely hated it. When it was over, I rushed out of the bar like there was a fire and I was running for my life. I waited for my mother to come out but she was still inside talking to one of the band members. After 5 minutes, a man came out and started smoking. He asked me if I enjoyed the show but I didn’t even bother replying. He went on about how jazz was complicated and how it was okay if I didn’t like it. He told me you had to feel blue sometimes to really sense what jazz was about. After saying that, he finally caught my attention because I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Feeling blue? How could a human being feel a color? It was non-sense to me at that time. And of course, I asked him how one could feel blue. He looked at me and asked me if I ever feel bad sometimes. I shook my head up and down, and I remember—that smile, he smiled with his cigarette still in his mouth, and he replied if I ever felt blue, I should listen to John Coltrane. He told me he was the king of blue and that I would like him a lot more than I liked him.” “Was he…” “Monk. Yes. My mother apparently saw us from inside the bar and was too embarrassed to talk to him. I guess she didn’t want to feel the embarrassment of having a child who didn’t like jazz while talking to Thelonious Monk. So—the moral of this story, listen to your mom sometimes and you might have a conversation with one of the most respected jazz musicians
Chasing Yesterday
ever.” He laughed and asked me if he could borrow a cigarette. There were two left but I gave it to him still. “You know, after that night, I never stopped feeling blue. It’s like Monk passed his sadness to me after that conversation. Aside from my whole life, when I went to the University of Strasbourg to study film, blue was all I could see. I don’t think I—yes never—never had pure joy in me, I still don’t know why I felt that way.” I didn’t know how to reply, I felt overwhelmed. After some time, I said: “Everyone has a little bit of blue in them. Like Van Gogh, blue was all over his paintings and his mind. I think it was the route of all his pain but also the founder of all his love for life and beauty. If you took that away from him, we wouldn’t have his perception of life through his work. And—I like blue—it’ my favorite color to be honest. Although being happy all the time would be care free, it would also be exhausting. Don’t you think so?” He put out his cigarette and took a sip of his beer for the last time. “How old are you?” he asked “21” He smiled and told me that I reminded him of himself. I didn’t know if that was a bad or good thing. But I took it as a compliment. “Would you mind, buying me some more cigarettes?” he asked “Sure, which one do you usually smoke?” “Doesn’t matter, here—10 bucks for the smokes.” I took the money and left the bar. The shop was just around the corner. I bought the cigarettes and headed back to the bar. As I was walking, I thought about previous conversations I had with people. None of it popped out to be as genuine as the conversation I had with Wes. Maybe I wasn’t young in the head anymore. I know I didn’t feel young, so this exchange I had with Wes felt like I could breathe again. Chapter IV: Busted and Blue As I entered the bar, I noticed that something was off. And I realized, no one was there, except the bartender. Wes had left. I asked the bartender if he’d seen Wes, and he said that he left a couple of minutes ago and paid for my drinks as well. Why would he leave? I thought we were having an enjoyable conversation. Well, maybe not so uplifting but we were being real with each other. I enjoyed being with that crazy old man. So, I started feeling blue again.
Chasing Yesterday
I asked myself the same question over and over again; why? Why did he leave? It was almost 4 a.m. so maybe the mystery driver had taken him away. Anyways, I was alone once again. I went to the table we were sitting at and resumed drinking my beer. But something caught my eye, a small piece of paper was under Wes’ beer. Could it be the note he used to spill whiskey on? I was too intrigued not to look. It said: Some people are just born to be blue. From Thelonious to Wes. Suddenly it hit me, that’s why Wes spilled whiskey on this piece of paper. Feeling blue was all he was feeling at this point. As he said Monk had colored him in blue. That’s why he poured whiskey on it, to remember Monk himself. After that night, I never saw him again. However, I carried that note everywhere I went. At first, I wanted to give it back to him but he never came to the bar ever again. So, I decided to keep it, to remember him and to love feeling blue and to love every emotion I was supposed to feel. As human beings, we should embrace every piece of emotion that is headed towards us and let them color our lives so that we can live life as it is meant to be lived. THE END.