Personal Yummy #52
Perhaps even better than working Saturdays with Adam and Anthony is spending time with them after work, the three of us sitting beside each other at the bar, eating, talking, and drinking; discussing the events or nonevents of the day; challenging each other to a shot of Jägermeister, tequila, Sambuca, or Goldschläger (a cinnamon-tasting, pretty liquor with gold flakes floating around in it); the achiness in my feet and the diligence of the day being replaced by and rewarded with a juicy burger, glistening, thick, hot french fries, a refreshing beer, and laughter; the popular music enhancing everything.
A couple of times we hang out elsewhere after work, once at a dark, smoky billiard club in Oakland, amid pool sticks and too many pitchers of beer; another time across the street at the Manor Theatre, where Adam and I (after some serious convincing by him) go to see the crime thriller Seven (Anthony passes on the invitation, his eyes focused on the door; his feet moving fast under him past Adam and me at the bar, where we sit having a drink before going to the movie; his backpack slung over his shoulder; and the words “Can’t stay tonight, guys. I have two papers at home waiting to be written…” following behind him. It seems that he is afraid of pausing, of stopping, afraid that if he does, he won’t escape). Most of the time, however, we are perfectly content and eager to hang out at The Grill after work—for one hour, two hours, four hours, six hours!—or even, sometimes, until “last call!” can be heard traveling through the place, from the bartender, to the waiter or waitress, and finally, always, to the disappointed customers, who look up and utter, completely shocked: “It can’t be that late already—can it?!”
We, too, share the customers’ sentiments. Sure, we’ve been here all day—working—but the place brews its own kind of magic, has become—over time—a person in itself, a friend, a confidant, someone whom you just can’t walk away from without a thought or a twinge…a second home—and, for some, the only place they will ever call home. There is always someone to talk to, to joke with, to flirt with, to learn from, to care for; always someone new and interesting to meet or observe; always some good story to listen to or tell, or memory to hear again; always some wonderful music—whether jazz, classic rock, rhythm and blues, eighties hits, Rolling Stones favorites, or Frank Sinatra ballads—to lose yourself in.
How I love these Saturday evenings sitting at the bar after work under the dim lights, whether with Adam and Anthony, or alone—relaxing, drinking, eating, feeling, wanting, thinking, longing, learning…and living…experiencing not yesterday, nor tomorrow, nor earlier today, nor later tonight, but the now, and all that it holds.
******
The above excerpt is from my coming-of-age novel—The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, a young waitress who dreams of becoming a professional dancer.
Available where books are sold…
personalyummy.com 