Birthdays don’t mean much to a fella once he’s hit the big 2-1, can purchase a beer in any bar in town and raise it to his lips in plain view. Not that Davey had waited until legal age to sit up at the bar and sip a beer. Davey Senior liked to drive down to Willie’s, with little Davey on his lap. Small hands under his on the steering wheel. Once there, he’d pull up a stool and toss around a little banter. (The kind of thing that would have been called gossip if the women said it.) Little Davey would steal a sip, while his Pa pretended not to see.
Davey watched his Pa with wide eyes that became a mirror to show him who he would become. And didn’t he do his darnedest? He cultivated that swagger in his walk, the lazy lilt in his voice, the snigger that wasn’t quite a laugh, but made everyone else laugh because it sounded of filthy thoughts and suspect joys. He was liked. There wasn’t much better in life than that.
Davey still keeps his father’s stool, since Davey Senior isn’t around to sit in it anymore. He raises a glass to his reflection behind the bar. 6-0. Now that’s a big ‘un. Same age as his Pa was when he passed. Davey came close to Death himself once, didn’t he? Stood right up and looked it in the eye. Yes, it had only one.
Read on here.
Copyright © Eleanore Etienne 2014
Snipe Hunter was selected for reading at Liars’ League in March 2014. The theme was ‘Truth and Dare’.