Kindness

Chief sits silently next to me as he pours his light beer

into a tumbler filled with ice. I haven't heard him say

a word all night. He usually doesn't. Old Jenny sits 

next to him, talking enough for both of them. Her lips

curve  inward as each word escapes slightly mushed 
of sound or meaning. Chief motions to Stephanie 

at the other end of the bar. She brings over another

bottle and sets it in front of Jenny. "Thanks, Chief,"

she says. Her belly hangs in front of her large breasts

and rests against the bar. She keeps on talking. Chief

may or may not be listening. He sits there quietly, 

politely. The thinning gray hairs cling carefully to his

scalp like the survivors of a drawn out war. I try to 

make out what Jenny is saying. Only fragments of 

speech make it to my ears. The rest is drowned out

by the jukebox overhead, the sound of other voices

being honest for the first time all day. Chief looks 

down at his glass and then straight up, looking past

the entrance on the opposite side of the bar. I can see

Jenny's lips still moving. Her lips make me think of 

the mouth of a fish gasping in the air after  having 

been caught. She still breathes. She still talks. She 

has survived her bout out of the water. Chief slowly

comes down from the flattened cushion of the bar 

stool. "Goodbye, Chief! You take care. You be 

safe out there! You drive safe, ok?"she says. Her

eyes follow him as he makes his way towards the

door. Chief raises his right hand in a backward

wave that we see as he passes invisibly to everyone

else. Old Jenny moves into Chief's empty stool 

and looks at me. "What's your name, honey?"

I tell her my name and take a long pull from the 

bottle in front of me. She continues the story she

must have been telling all night. She's been divorced,

cheated on, heard people condemning her sister

for marrying a black man. I look at her cropped hair

closely, her eyes sitting in her head like they are too

tired to stay open. The lines in her face tell her story

better than her words. I feel her hand touch my 

shoulder, its weight resting there, a space crossed

only by the closest of relations. I look in her eyes

and nod my head. The juke box goes quiet

and I excuse myself to use the restroom. "Ok,

honey." She grabs her nearly empty drink and
finishes it. She brings the one Chief bought for 
her closer. I stagger into the restroom and brace 
myself against the wall. I dry my hands and look 
into the mirror. It's late, it's a weeknight. I can see

the lines etching themselves slowly into my 

skin. More people call me 'Sir' than before.
The jukebox is back on when I walk out into the bar. 
Some reggae tune from a few years ago is playing 

overhead. I don't see Jenny. When I get to my 

stool her last empty has been cleared. The beer

Chief got for her sits on a coaster next to mine. 
It's still full.