I Need A Bar

I need a bar. Not a sports bar. Not a yuppie bar. Not a trendy bar with modern themed decor. I need a bar.

You know – a BAR. A place where the smoke of countless cigarettes lingers in the air. A place where a Wurlitzer jukebox loaded with heartbreak resides in a corner alcove. A place where the lights are dim and no one knows your name – or cares.

I need a bar.

It has taken many miles of solitary driving and many  hours of Travis Tritt’s songs for me to realize why I, a non-drinker, need a bar.

A bar was not a place that Greg and I went to more than a few dozen times in our forty-two years together. Each time we went to a bar it was connected to work or concerts, never just a spur of the moment “Let’s go to a bar” night.

Everything I see and do reminds me of Greg, especially driving – even in the new truck that Greg was never in – and Travis’ music. Greg and I frequently rode around for hours at a time on back roads, major highways, and some places that it seemed the roads were only in Greg’s imagination, there was so little trace of a track. We listened to music, most of the time Travis Tritt, and Greg sang along, entertaining me and making our lengthy drives seem much shorter.

I have tried driving for hours and listening to Travis Tritt’s music to alleviate some of the grief I have from losing Greg to cancer in 2019. While it has helped, I knew I needed something else. A week or so ago I realized what it was that I, a non-drinker, needed – a bar.

Someplace to sit in a dark corner, sip on a Coke, listen to music, and ignore the world. Something that was not an integral part of our life together. Something and some place that is not a constant reminder of what we had – and were – together. Somewhere neutral, unassuming, aged and steady, caring not if I stay an hour or until closing time. Somewhere I can find new thoughts unconnected to my past.

I need a bar.