An Advent Calendar - 20. Door#20 - Red's Bar

Red’s Bar

Frank didn’t know how he’d actually ended up at Red’s Bar. In fact, he couldn’t remember having noticed the place before, even though he took the exact same way home from work every day. A door had suddenly opened, spilling out a laughing man surrounded by warmth, air scenting of orange and cloves, and Christmas music. Next, Frank found himself on a barstool, with his arms resting on polished, dark wood, staring at a strange, spicy smelling beverage in front of him—until someone cleared their throat, and startled Frank out of his thoughts.

The man behind the bar was old, almost frail looking, his face a maze of wrinkles. Long, stringy, yellowish-white hair touched the shoulders of his washed out red shirt. Frank could see a flash of uneven, stained teeth when he smirked at him, and immediately disliked the guy. The eyes however, looked as if they had seen it all but were still curious to explore the world. They pierced Frank’s very soul, blue shards of ice that slowly melted in his heart.

Frank shuddered, and quickly averted his gaze to the glass he’d cradled between his hands; watched twirling tendrils of white steam slowly dissolving in the air.

“What do you see?” When Frank looked up questioningly, the barkeeper pointed at his drink. “Look.”

“Nothing.” Frank almost rolled his eyes. What a stupid question that was. Or was this guy offering to teach Frank the art of reading tea leafs as part of the service?

“Look!” The man’s gaze had become more piercing, if that was even possible.

Just to confirm there was nothing to see, Frank looked back at his glass. To his horror, an invisible force grabbed him and pulled him inside. He couldn’t say it in any other way. As soon as he realized where he had landed, he squeezed his eyes shut. I won’t be here. I can’t be here again. He shook his head violently no, but it didn’t help. Frank was about to see the most horrible time in his life in fast motion.

Seven-year-old Frank snatched his sister’s teddy bear and hurled it away as far as he could. Tammy squealed while she ran after it, thinking it was a funny game. Only, as soon as she’d vanished between snow-laden bushes, little Frank quickly turned and ran in the opposite direction. He had plans to build a big snowman all on his own, without her continuously nattering and running about, asking silly questions, or wanting to help him.

The snowman was almost finished. It had become even more glorious then he thought. Frank was searching his coat pockets for the stones he wanted to use as eyes, when two police officers appeared at the little clearing in the park. As soon as they detected him, they ran over, asked him if he was Frank Hill, and when he confirmed it, they told him there had been an accident with his sister, and they needed to bring him to his parents, who waited for him at the hospital. Frank remembered how proud he had been of himself for asking for their badges first. Hadn’t his teacher told him again and again to always ask for legitimation, and not simply follow supposed policemen? It was all he had concentrated on, not the fact that his sister was in the hospital.

The view switched, and invisible Frank stood beside his mother, who was on the phone with a friend, planning their next girl’s night out, while his father was watching a basketball game, both barely acknowledging Frank and Tammy leaving through the front door and oblivious to what was happening later outside until the police knocked at their door.

Another switch. This time, adult Frank followed his sister trudging through the snow on her short legs, her eyes searching everywhere for her beloved companion until she reached the shore of the lake. The ice glistened enticingly in the winter sun. Curious as all four-years old are, Tammy tapped her foot on the frozen surface, and when it held, she went on and on…but the ice wasn’t thick enough in the middle. There was a loud crack, and she disappeared. A woman walking her dog witnessed the entire drama. She saw her falling in and immediately called for help.

Frank watched police and firemen swarming the area, frantically searching for Tammy. It took too long to find her under the ice. He saw paramedics working desperately to save her life in the ambulance, while they rushed to the hospital.

Frank knew it was all in vain. Tammy never regained consciousness and now someone was forcing him to stand beside her bed and witness her passing. It was much more peaceful than he had thought. An enigmatic smile grazed Tammy’s face, he was sure she saw something wondrous, and then she was gone.

Everyone said it was a horrible accident, but Frank could never forgive himself, nor could his parents. Like in a kaleidoscope, he saw short sequences of them fighting, blaming each other, and Frank, for Tammy’s death, until they divorced a year later.

His mother disappeared from Frank’s life without trace. He stayed with his distraught father until he was eighteen. The man tried to care for Frank, but he had become some kind of automaton, who provided food and clothes, but never a hug, or a word of praise. While he watched himself growing up, Frank felt the coldness and lovelessness of his childhood as clear as he had back then.

Frank was hiding his face behind his hands for a short moment, as he knew all too well, where the next trip would take him: to himself standing at his father’s grave, who committed suicide shortly after Frank had moved into the dorms.

Balling his hands into fists, his entire body was shaking with pain and rage by now. Why did he have to live through all this a second time in his life?

“Because you need to see this so you can let go of the guilt. I can feel it radiating from you in spades.” The barkeeper stood beside Frank, peering down at his father’s casket. “You feel responsible for the death of your sister, for your parent’s divorce, for your father’s miserable life and lonesome death.” His claw-like hand firmly grabbed Frank’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, any of this.” When Frank opened his mouth, the man stopped him with a shake of his head. “Your parents relied on you taking care of a very active and curious four-year old when it was their job. You were only seven years old, Frank. A child. If you really need to blame someone, it would be them.”

Suddenly Frank stood in the same park he had built his snowman. It was cold. A woman, who looked familiar somehow, sat on a bench, wrapped in a stained down coat, a half empty bottle of booze in her hand. The rickety pram beside her seemed holding all her belongings. When Frank stepped closer, he saw vacant eyes gazing at the sky. She was dead.

“Mom! Oh my God! Mom!” He turned around, frantically looking for someone to help, but all he saw was the crazy barkeeper, and even though he knew it was far too late, he yelled, “We need to call an ambulance!”

“This happened years ago, Frank. It had been decided that your parents needed to atone for what they did to you for the rest of their life.”

“What they did to me?”

“Yes, what they did to you. They abandoned you when you needed them the most. They let you live in guilt, when really it was them who were responsible for your sister’s death. Had they admitted this, had they sought help for themselves and for you as it has been offered to them many times, had they loved you, cared for you as you deserved it, nothing of this would have happened.”

Somehow, the view of his dead mother and his father’s grave merged right before Frank’s eyes.

“You mean my sister would have never died?”

“Your sister was never going to be an adult. She was always meant to become the very angel she is now.”

And the view switched again. Frank and the barkeeper were in another hospital room. This time a small boy had just passed away, and while his family loudly mourned his death, Tammy appeared. She helped him getting up from the bed, took his hand, and together they laughed, while they skipped through a white door. Just before they left, Tammy turned around, smiled at Frank, and gave him her typical little wave, before the door closed behind them.

Frank gasped. “Tammy.”

“She takes their souls home. She loves what she does. She is happy, Frank.”

“I know.” Seeing Tammy lightened Frank’s heart. It felt as if a huge burden had been taken from his shoulders. Still, he couldn’t forget about his parents. “What happened to my parents? Surely they have suffered enough in life. Where are they now?”

Frank had barely finished his question, when he found himself in a nursery, where two small children were sleeping peacefully in their cribs.

“They’ve been given a second chance.” The barkeeper took Frank’s hand. “It speaks for who you are that you asked for them, after everything they did. It was right to send you to me.” His grip became firmer. “The name is Red.”

Frank looked around the bar. Nothing had changed. The drink in his hands was the same. It was still hot, still untouched. Then his eyes met Red’s—Why do I know his name?—who winked at him, grinning as if they’d been friends for years. Frank frowned. The barkeeper was a good-looking guy, maybe in his mid-forties. The slightly worn red shirt showed off broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, covered in ink. His long, silver-white hair was held back in his nape by a red leather band. He nodded at the drink in Frank’s hand. “What do you see?”

Irritated, Frank thought, ‘What a stupid question.’ He narrowed his eyes at Red. “Are you telling me I should try reading tea leafs, or what?”

Red just lifted his left eyebrow, then pointedly looked at Frank’s glass.

He was about to say ‘What?’, when heard the dark liquid whispering at him. As soon as he looked, he was rapidly falling through its billowing surface.

They were in Frank’s cubicle. Red, seemingly bored out of his mind, leaned against the wall, watching Mr. Walters handing This-Morning-Frank a huge stack of papers. Right-Now-Frank’s eyes were glued to the desktop background of the computer screen. It had changed to the intricate patterns of a beautiful tattoo. A raven seemingly painted in watercolor, black with dashes of blue, surrounded by tiny feathers adorned with ancient runes. It was his design. The last that was left from back in the day, when he and his best friend Chad had dreamed of opening a tattoo parlor. While he saw himself accepting the additional work from his boss with a stoic face, he remembered how they had it all planned out. Frank would create elaborate ink, while Chad designed unique body jewelry. Somehow though, the idea had fizzled out.

No, that wasn’t right. It was time to face the truth.

As if to confirm this, the kaleidoscope was on again. Frank saw himself with Chad, telling him they needed more money before they could go looking for a shop. Next time, he witnessed himself explaining that their business plan needed to be refined, otherwise they would run out of money too quickly. Then he walked behind his hesitant past-self and a frustrated Chad, assessing a perfectly fine shop, hearing himself telling his friend it wasn’t a good enough location for what they had in mind. Finally, he was forced to watch himself accepting his current job as a paper pusher—only until they had enough money of course. In the end, he lost himself in the security of a regular, albeit boring, soul eating job, burying his dream deep inside himself. Because he was a coward.

He could see this clearly now.

Red flicked his fingers, and they were in front of a tattoo shop. Frank read Illicit Ink on the window and gasped. It was their name. The barkeeper walked around Frank and opened the door for him. “Go inside, look around.” But Chad was behind the counter and Frank hesitated. “You know he can’t see you. Right?”

Still, when they entered the shop, Chad looked up from his phone, directly at Frank. Frank froze in his steps. Only when Red pushed him in the back, he went further inside and looked around as Red had suggested. Some of his designs were displayed on the wall. When he stepped closer, he saw the little sign attached to each of them. Private.

Suddenly, Frank’s position changed. He stood right behind Chad, with the perfect view on the display of his phone. Frank’s own number was blinking and Chad’s finger hovered over the call button, but then he sighed and closed his phone. Just then, a man came out front from the back through a black curtain. When he saw Chad putting away his phone, he smiled warily.

“Just call him already, Chad. You’re meaning to call the idiot every day for ten years. Don’t you think it’s time?”

Chad shook his head. “He doesn’t want having anything to do with me, Daniel. Frank is happy where he is. He has long since forgotten all about me.” He swallowed. “About us.”

Frank lifted his hand, the sudden need to touch his friend almost overwhelming, but his hand went right through Chad, as if he were the ghost, not him. Without looking at Red, he asked, “When did this happen?”

Red grinned. “As we speak.”

Blinking, Frank looked at the guy behind the bar. “Red?”

The man smiled, his perfectly straight, white teeth gleaming in the spotlights from above the bar. “Hey, Frank!” A bright red, sleeve-less mesh-shirt showed off his smooth-muscled body. Long, white hair hung down his shoulders, almost to his waist. “How are you doing so far?”

So far? Frank was confused. Somehow, he knew this guy. Then he remembered. He dreamed of him. WTF? He quickly looked away, his gaze drawn to the dark surface of his drink. Not again! I have to get out of here. Only, he couldn’t.

The bartender startled Frank when he tapped the ring of his left hand against the glass in Frank’s hand. “What do you see in there?”

“Mulled wine, I presume.” Frank rolled his eyes at the stupid question. Then he searched in his coat for his wallet. He really needed to go home. “How much?”

But Red ignored the question. “Look deeper.”

Frank sighed. He was so tired of this game. The guy didn’t look like he believed in all this new age shit he was talking about, so what was his deal. The glass twitched. Frank automatically looked at it, and a vortex sucked him inside.

It was dark. A sharp, cold wind whipped around Frank, tugged at his coat, at his pants’ legs. He immediately turned up the collar, and pushed his hands deeper into the pockets. Thick, wet fog billowed from the river below. It slowly stole all his warmth. He knew this bridge. He had crossed it many times on his way to work and back. Why am I here? His searching gaze finally found a lone streetlamp he couldn’t remember, and a grey figure perching precariously on the bridge railing—the most obvious on him was a bright red Santa hat. When Frank was closer, he heard them humming a song. A song he knew well. It was…damn…it was on the tip of his tongue…Don’t Stop Me Now!

Frank had to reach them! A man laughed maniacally. It was an eerie sound, projecting fear and desperation. Only a few more steps! Then the figure turned their head, and Frank saw into his own face.

“No!”

The man—Frank—let go of the railing and fell into murky blackness.

He’d just jumped into death.

Suddenly Frank felt arms wrapping around him from behind, pulling him into a warm chest, and Red’s voice whispered into his ear. “Don’t let it come to this.”

Frank sniffed suspiciously at the glass before he lifted it to his lips.

“Careful, it’s hot. Don’t burn your tongue.” The barkeeper threw a dishtowel over his shoulder while he watched Frank blowing into his glass a few times first, before taking a tiny sip.

“Hmm, this is wonderful.” Frank groaned when the flavor of cinnamon and cloves, orange peel and star anise exploded on his tongue. “What is this?”

“It’s a secret family recipe.” He nodded in the direction of a corner booth, where and old man and a young guy looking like he could be his grandson, were watching them. “We pass it down from generation to generation among the men of the family.” He held his hand out to Frank. “The name is Red. Welcome to my bar. Are you hungry?”

Frank ate the most delish potato soup in his life, drank another one of these unknown, spicy drinks, and had honey bread pudding for dessert. He felt warm and comfortable for the first time in ages. His thick coat and scarf lay forgotten beside him on a barstool, while he laughed and joked with Red.

“Don’t you want to take this call?”

For a moment Frank stared at Red uncomprehendingly, then he noticed that his phone was ringing; it was a ringtone he hadn’t heard for a very long time

Don’t Stop Me Now. Queen.

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