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M-T Barrel Bar |
| Written by Luke Strunk | |
| Tuesday, 08 July 2008 | |
Taylor Evans believes that he is a good guy. He goes to church almost every Sunday and never drinks to excess. He loves his wife most of the time and never cheats on her. He would never think about skipping out of his responsibility of helping to raise his son and daughter. For Taylor, God and family come first. Today has been one of the rougher days. Which is why he has come back to this place, "The M-T Barrel Bar." He grew up just three blocks from this dark, stinky hole in the world. But this butt-can of a bar is where some of his best friends from his youth still come to shoot pool and talk politics. Taylor has been known to call his wife at times, usually on the tougher days, and say, "I'm gonna grab a beer on the way home." This is all the communication that his wife needs, to know where he is going and when to expect him home. It doesn't happen often, but when it does she knows it's been a bad day, and when he gets home he will have put the worst of his day behind him. At six-forty this morning Taylor woke up to find that he would be arriving at work at a different time than usual, as the alarm was supposed to go off at five-thirty. He bolted out bed with full intention of making it to work by the seven o'clock start time. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and headed for the back room to put on his boots. As he sat on the short bench in the back room he realized that turning on the light might have alleviated much if not all of the pain in his back that came from sitting smartly on the large gray cat whom he had decided not to have de-clawed. Surprisingly the noise from the cat and the howling from Taylor didn't wake the rest of the house. The bloody ribbons on his back would heal in a few days and the cat would probably forgive him by the time he returned home this evening. He pulled on his boots neglecting to take the time to re-hook and tie the long laces, as he was in a great hurry. He unlocked the back door and stepped out onto the back porch. He relocked the door while checking his pockets for the car keys. He pulled the door shut tightly and took a step towards the car. Unfortunately, the distance between the car and the back door was longer than the length of his bootlace caught tightly in the door. Taylor went down hard as the lace cinched the boot tightly around his foot. He almost stayed on the back porch, but alas he didn't make the complete journey down the steps to the lawn either. With immense pain from his ribs he crawled back up to the back door and removed his bootlace. Now, finally reaching the car with twelve minutes to get to work he thought, "I can still make it if I hurry." He caught a lucky break at the first stoplight, as it turned green just in time for him to get a clear path through without slowing his pace. He now had eight miles of strait dry road to try to make up some time. Without another headlight in sight in front or behind, he pressed the accelerator to the floor. Fifty, sixty, seventy, seventy-five, eighty now he was cruising. He might actually make it to work on time. Where did those headlights come from? Red and white lights flashed in his mirrors. So much for not being late, Taylor pulled to the side of the road, just as an ambulance raced past his driver side door. He gave a huge sigh of relief as he pulled back onto the road. This time he accelerated to only five over the limit, and continued his drive to work. As he approached the second and last light between himself and his destination the light turned yellow. He pressed the accelerator and leaned back as not to see the light turn red before he was fully under it. Watching him run through the intersection from the left side was a police officer in his patrol car. The lights came on and Taylor knew he would be late. The officer was very efficient and quite smart too. He had no trouble figuring out that Taylor's drivers license being on the dresser at home was going to cause more problems for Taylor. This was turning out to be a very expensive drive to work. Taylor arrived at work twenty-five minutes late. The company he works for makes entertainment stands and cheap bookshelves. He usually stocks the parts for other people working on the line, but it's a first come first choose shop. Today he isn't the first, and what's left is packaging the hardware for the units. This job stinks. He must count out all the nuts, bolts, washers, and other hardware that goes with each unit. He must place them into a machine that will plastic wrap them for shipment. The job is really boring. At least he got the extra sleep this morning. The coffee machine is out of cups and the snack machine is empty. He decided to work through his half-hour lunch so that he could go home on time. Besides, he left his lunch in the refrigerator at home. While every one was eating lunch the machine he was operating decided to join them, and began over-heating the little plastic bags. This caused them to stick to the heater bar. He now had molten plastic bags dripping onto his left hand. When swinging his hand around to remove the blistering hot packaging, the plastic whipped around and landed on his neck. The short flight from his hand to his neck failed to cool the plastic at all. The last two hours at work were spent in the shop nurse's office getting salve and bandages placed over first- and second-degree burns. While walking to his car he placed the call to his wife from his cell phone. "I'm gonna stop for a beer on the way home Sweetie. I'll see you in a bit." Sitting on a stool at the back of the bar with a cold beer in his only good hand. He joined a couple of his cronies as they shot pool and talked bad about the president. Among the noise and confusion of the bar a young man walked in, and stepped to the counter. Before anyone realized what was happening the man began waving around a large black pistol. Someone tackled the young man and wrestled him to the floor of the bar. Taylor looked at the two men scrambling around on the floor just in time to see the orange flash. A bright white flash then followed as the light fixture over the pool table went dark in an explosion and shower of glass. The police showed up quickly. These officers were really smart too, as they had no trouble figuring out that the man on the floor with the big man sitting on top of him was the one who needed attention. The officers gave the young man a stern talking to, and a chauffer-driven ride down town. Taylor decided it was time to head home, he had seen what he came for; finally, here was someone having a worse day than he. He gathered his things and drained the last of his beer. He walked calmly out to his car and drove home. As he walked up to the back steps, his wife came out to give him a warm welcome. Both of his children were close behind. At the moment that his family gave him their group hug, a blinding white light flashed behind Taylor's eyes. Taylor slumped to the floor of the bar. The large caliber bullet had struck just above his right ear, exposing his final thought to his friends.Copyright 2008 Luke Strunk |
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