Some nights Elizabeth feels this way when she works the bar -- just a rush sometimes when things go right when everything falls into place in the puzzle snick-snack way and every once in awhile you stop to catch your breath and wonder "what's going to go wrong?" and that fear never really goes away, it is always there under the skin, in the back of your confident words sits the fear in your throat, that everything can't go so smoothly, that
something will go wrong and you better be prepared for it when it happens and own up somehow that, yes, it is your fault.
But on nights like tonight she can almost forget it. The orders roll in and the tips pile up and the night gets its own special rhythm and she knows things will run so fast and smooth -- no dropped glasses, no broken bottles, no bad bottles of wine or bad kegs of beer. The crowd is full of happy drunks and it's not too smoky yet and the band, the band from Newfoundland, they seem pretty good and god they've got the crowd roaring sometimes and she knows they'll tip her well because of it. She should send the band a round at the end of this set to thank them.
And she just keeps trawling the bar, a glass here, two draft there, fill the waitress's order, walk down the bar, waiting for that urgent eye contact, the raised hand, sometimes even money being waved in the air all to get her attention.
copyright © Patty Archer 2001 |
