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Re-publishing – Bobby’s Socks

I decided to re-edit and republish my first novel, Bobby’s Socks. In the #Metoo era, I mentioned it in the forthcoming novel, A Year inside the Moon.

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It should have been a day to remember: in the meadows beyond the school summer camp, Bobby had his first kiss. But when a slung rock shatters his friend Breck’s front teeth, Bobby must be punished… He’ll spend the rest of his life trying to forget Assistant Principal Diabolus and the terrible things that happened in that lonely cabin.

The years pass in a haze. Diabolus haunts Bobby and his friend Willis like a specter, preying on their bodies when backs are turned. By the time he graduates, Bobby is a shell of the man he might have been; he spends his days and nights stumbling between college bars, his thoughts drifting again and again to suicide.

But when Ardee, an old girlfriend on her way home from college, finds Bobby passed out in the street, his journey toward recovery—and revenge—can finally begin.

Bobby’s Socks is the moving story of one man forced to confront his abusive past, and is a sober reminder that, through love and healing, suffering can be transcended—and evil confronted.

A Year Inside the Moon

At fifty-something, Rob has reached a twilit crossroads. A recent divorcee, he’s fled Houston to settle in St. Petersburg, Florida. Now, peering up at the mockingbird singing in a banyan tree, he wonders whether he could have done things differently.

Across the road, The Moon looms. Week after week, as autumn fades into winter into spring, Rob finds himself sat at the cosy bar, watching locals and out-of-towners drift in and out, their spectral lives affording brief glimpses into other worlds. 

Rob talks and listens—he meets UFO conspiracists, South African ship-builders, aging artists, college students, the ill, the mourning—while, out in the world, Houston is swallowed by floods, the #MeToo movement shakes America, and, beyond the Florida coast, Hurricane Irma grows ever closer.

Savoring each fleeting encounter, Rob ponders the changing world and his own place within it. By the time Irma hits, plunging Florida into chaos, he barely recognizes himself—and when the mockingbirds gather once more in the banyan tree, he realizes an even greater change is yet to come. 

A Year Inside the Moon – An Excerpt

I thought it would be interesting to share the below excerpt from A Year Inside the Moon. I think this section from the second chapter sets the tone for the story.

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Those Crazy Girls

It was just past cocktail hour midweek in late September as the sun’s reflections blanketed St. Petersburg in a temporary warm, auburn haze. Hugged by a calming breeze, I walked alone under laurel oaks and coconut palm trees. I strolled past a large hotel construction project and then down the street toward The Moon. The uneven brick alleyway was paralleled to the main roads that the city fathers had smoothed over with blacktop, or nice Portland cement concrete. I typically avoided those clean roads that were lined with fancy shops for art or clothes, or busy restaurants with guests who dined outside under colorful umbrellas.

Earlier in the day, an all-to-typical tropical storm popped open, and the black battle clouds treated the roads and alleys the same. The deluge cycled down the street’s six-inch-high curbs toward the harbor, or quickly disappeared within the sandy soil supported by sections with dense green St. Augustine grass. The only hint that a storm had passed by were the coffee-with-cream puddles left behind within the concave sections where the alleyway bricks descended from loose sand and natural decay.

St. Petersburg was built to last, I thought. It was covered with enough hidden alleyways from neighborhood to neighborhood that even a London taxi driver would have considered it deep knowledge to successfully navigate them. As I walked and biked Old Northeast, I realized those meandering alleyways were the town’s soul. Its hidden truths. It was where modern progress abutted original granite curbs and baked in place like an old-world history. The silent history was left within the Augusta Blocks or Baltimore Blocks or the bricks from the Southern Clay Manufacturing Company. Over time, the alleyways and the brick streets were protected by a healthy oak tree shade. The bricks had different colors of reds, oranges, and browns. They had imperfect repairs, but they nonjudgmentally circuited behind expensive homes, modest apartment dwellings, and in front of the preserved 1920s bungalows. The streets were wrinkled, flawed, but they were defiant. And the blacktopped downtown streets ceased at the old neighborhood entryways, but for the areas where the concrete or blacktop hopped past and invaded sections when short-sighted zoning laws ruled. But if you inspected those older blacktopped roads that were deteriorating, the bricks were still there, just temporarily hidden underneath like ugly 1970’s shag carpet over quarter-sawn oak flooring.
It was along the downtown bricked alleyways, held together by sand, time, and developer disinterest, that was the location where the restaurants’ waiters, cooks, and worker bees hid to take their breaks. They smoked cigarettes. They leaned against the pungent metal trash bins and expressed their angst. After a while, they seemed to recognize me. They acknowledged my existence as I passed by them and walked toward The Moon.

“Your usual, dear?” Edwina asked. She was the youngest bartender. She was a bit larger than Jane or Kate, but with a decidedly direct personality behind fashionable, thick, black eyeglass frames.
“Thank you,” I said. I looked over at the couple to my right. “Cheers.”
“You look a little like Andy Dufresne,” she said. She had an androgynous appearance, but a perky countenance. She sat next to another heavier-set woman near the bar’s center section. “It’s the hair. Yeah, it’s the hair, you know, the Tim Robbins character from Shawshank Redemption.”
“Hmm, sorry,” I said, sipping my Guinness. “Not sure I know Andy.”
“Careful with these two,” Edwina said. “Top off your drinks?”
“Oh, you are the devil,” she said. But she quickly downed her clear liquid cocktail with a significant gulp. “If you insist . . .”

The closer woman, a bit older with salt-and-pepper hair cut just above her shoulders, gripped my left forearm.

“I’m Annie,” she told me and nodded to her right. “My wife’s name is Constance.”
“Hey there,” I said. “Call me Rob.”
“Rob,” Annie said as she closely examined my face, “I don’t know why, but I like you.”
“Would you perhaps blame it on the alcohol?” I asked, grinning. “I have that effect on women, but I don’t think I’m on your team, or am I?”
“Good point. We both like girls,” Constance said as she put her arm around Annie. “You have kind eyes, a calm vibe. Have a girl?”
“She’s being honest,” Annie said. She leaned over toward me, her head shot forward like a skinny snapping turtle emerging from its shell. “She lacks a filter, but I love her just that way.”
“He’s good,” Edwina said with a wink at me. “You crazy girls hungry?”
“We love The Moon,” Constance said. She opened her arms wide and held up her hands like a televangelist. “Everybody gets treated the same.”
“We’re just drinking, babe,” Annie said to Edwina. She blew her a kiss.

We sat quietly for a few minutes to admire the busy bar scene. The television had zero volume as it displayed a hard-fought rugby match. Beneath, Edwina opened a chilled wine cabinet. She retrieved a bottle with red wine, pulled out the cork, and filled a cabernet glass. I thought Annie and Constance appeared content to be together. I thought it was what I missed the most, the simple moments to merely exist with the one you love as time swept past.

End.

Coming Soon…. Bobby’s Socks

Coming Soon…. Bobby’s Socks

Coming Soon… A Year Inside the Moon

A Year Inside the Moon – Chapter 21 – Mothers&Daughters

(Dear Interested Reader, remember, these are my first drafts for the novel, A Year Inside the Moon – this version has some flaws)

Mothers & Daughters

“You’re a cutie,” she said. She glided her warm hand along my arm and onto my hand. “Buy a girl a drink?”

“Thank you,” I said. I shifted the Guinness between us, and I had taken in a full gulp. It was later than my normal nights at The Moon, as I had stayed out to watch the 4th of July fireworks.

“Got a name?” She said. She was petite, freckled, with curly strawberry red haired.

“Rob,” I said. “Still trying to feel my pulse after the fireworks, I think those depth charges got me.”

“Hi, Rob, I know, they were scary,” she said. She was pale, and gaunt, and like me, our prettier days were behind us. “I’m Lauren, I come in here all the time, I’ve never seen you.”

“Been back in St. Pete, less than a year,” I said. I waved over at Jane. “I like this place, I stayed out for the fireworks, I’m usually gone by now, and I guess everyone’s going home now.”

“Yeah, but we can make our own fireworks,” Lauren said. She sat down on a stool, she smirked over at me. “I’m just flirting, it’s not a hot spot, The Moon’s comfortable, it’s also safe.”

“Hey, there,” Jane said. “What are we having? A change in your habits?”

“I’m good for now,” I said. I had nudged my elbow over at Lauren. “It’s what she’s having, not me.”

“Thank you, well, such a gentleman,” Lauren said. She tapped on her red lips. “A brandy, maybe, in a nice snifter, you know?”

“Roger that,” Jane said. She winked over at me. “Give me sec…”

“It’s all about the fragrance,” Lauren said. She smiled.

“Pardon,” I said.

“The brandy,” Lauren said. She laughed like a rhythmic metronome for a constant C-flat. “The smells, they influence my palette, they take me on a journey to France.”

“That’s nice,” I said. I gripped the cold Guinness. “From St. Pete? Or, other.”

“For the most part,” Lauren said. “It’s home, my daughter likes it here, she feels safe here.”

“I take it, then,” I said. “There’s a dad nearby?”

“Yeah, very good guess,” Lauren said. “I needed to keep him in her life, even though I don’t think he wanted to be, which I don’t understand.”

Jane returned with the fragile glass that was wide at the bottom and narrowed toward the top. He poured the brandy with a four-count into the snifter.

“Cheers,” Jane said. She smiled, and she moved back down the bar.

“Cheers,” I said. I sipped my Guinness.

“You should smell this,” Lauren said. She slowly swirled the dark auburn digestif within the snifter. “Eau de vie, water of life.”

“I can smell it from here,” I said. I nodded my head. “Never had a taste for it, but bottoms up.”

“What’s your story,” Lauren said. She wobbled a bit, but she had smiled to shake off her alcohol buzz. “I’ve got ex’s scattered about Florida, or, are you a married man looking for some fun?”

“I do have one ex,” I said. I shrugged. “Ah, she’s still a good girl, it’s just one of those things, life I guess, right?”

Lauren slowly smelled the digestif. She swirled the contents in the glass. She closed her eyes as she had savored a sip.

“I’ve been roaming downtown, tonight,” Lauren said. She wiggled on the stool. She set the glass on the bar top, and she looked over at me. “It’s hard to find a good man, by the way, that’s a nice watch you are wearing.”

I looked down at my tanned left wrist.

“Anniversary gift,” I said. “Long, long time ago, so, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, public relations,” Lauren said. She frowned. “Politics, you know, a room full of soul sucking vampires. And you?”

“Peddle insurance,” I said. I sighed. “And I write novels, nothing famous, insurance world funds my passion.”

Lauren sat back. She contemplated my comment. She stared up at the antiqued ceiling tiles.

“What do you write about?” Lauren said. She grinned. “I’ve never met a real author.”

It was a question I had grown to have hated, because if I answered truthfully, I thought. But, perhaps I had been in the mood that night at The Moon.

“My first novel,” I said. I directly stared over at Lauren. “It was about child sex abuse, and the epi genetic link to suicide.”

Lauren held her breath for at least a minute. She was stone faced. And even though The Moon’s lighting was dimmed, I could tell she had blushed. It was as if I had quickly punched her in the face, and stepped back to observe my handy-work.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lauren said. She looked away from me. Her eyes searched for something unseeable. “Why? Well, I can only guess…”

“I know,” I said. “It doesn’t go over well at cocktail parties, either, but that was my first novel.”

“Of all the things I thought you’d say,” Lauren said. “That’s not what I had expected. Science fiction, a thriller, but not…”

“My publisher loved it, they thought it would sell,” I said. I shrugged. “I didn’t think it would, but, I went for it, but you know, I got back something better than money.”

“I don’t understand,” Lauren said. “Maybe I’m just to buzzed to think, now, I don’t know.”

“When I told my old friends,” I said. “They thought my first novel would be funny, but then I told them, and like you, they didn’t have a response, they were all very quiet.”

“And then what?” Lauren said.

“Everyone of them, everyone,” I said. I nodded. I had stopped. I had not wanted to cry in a dark bar. “Told me they loved me, as the saying, that was priceless.”

Lauren picked up the snifter, she closed her eyes, and she warmly sniffed the digestif. She sipped it. She cradled the glass. She appeared to have expressed a prayer.

“You were a man ahead of his time,” Lauren said. She nodded over at me. “You were into #Metoo, before, anyone was aware of it?”

“I suppose, but I’m just happy to have survived,” I said. I tapped on the bar top. “But it’s not about me, it’s about we, there are many, many others who work hard for victims. If we can get kids to talk, just talk, that begins the healing process. It opens them up, in some way, I hope my words help save a life.”

“What was it called?” Lauren said.

“Bobby’s Socks, as in the possessive,” I said. “I published it with a pen name.”

Lauren wiped a tear away with a tissue from her purse. She fake smiled over at me, and then she leaned forward and touched my hand.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Lauren said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I was raped,” Lauren said. “The first time was in high school, you know, I drank to much, at a party, and the next morning I realized.”

“It can be a cruel world, sorry,” I said. And I had sat back. I had opened my arms, and hands. I had learned over the many years since the book was published, I should remain quiet and still, and allow Lauren, and all the other people moved by the story, to tell me their story without interrupting them. But it also had given me solace that I was not alone, and that my story might in some minor way have helped another human being.

“The next time, I was at what I thought was a job interview, a dinner,” Lauren said. She interlocked her fingers. “I had just gotten divorced, single with a little girl, he made me go up to his hotel room, and well, you know, I had to survive.”

“Some men can truly be pigs, part of the reason, I’m not much of a lady killer?” I said. I winked at her. Lauren wiped her eyes. She laughed. “But, I think you’ll be all right, you’ve gotten this far.”

Jane returned from the other side of the bar.

“All okay?” Jane said. “Over here?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I’ll have one more Guinness, and then I’m done.”

“I’m fine,” Lauren said.

“Roger that,” Jane said. “Give me few moments.”

“How do I protect my daughter?” Lauren said. “She has to learn, grow-up into an unknown, unforgiving world.”

I thought it was an impossible question to have answered, but it was the question any good parent would have posed.

“I’m not a parent,” I said. I sucked in a deep breath. “My ex was a career woman, she understood me. We didn’t feel the need to have children, not to mention I would have been terrified.”

“I can imagine,” Lauren said. “I wish I wasn’t, but I am.”

“I don’t have an answer,” I said. “But, I think just give someone the space to talk, it’s the hiding in shame stuff, I think that’s the genetic harm. It’s like PTSD, abuse literally flicks on the wrong gene instructions.”

“I had no idea,” Lauren said. She sighed. “I won’t lie, I thought about it, when I was a lot younger. But, my daughter was more important than anything. I had to figure out how to keep going, I had to try and to protect her. Now, she’s a teenager, and all I do is worry about her.”

“I do know there are sick people,” I said. “Who do sick things.”

“Maybe I’ll read your first novel,” Lauren said.

“It’s a scary read, be warned,” I said. “I think for children, you need to make it a cool thing.”

“You lost me?” Lauren said.

“It’s not cool to pick on someone,” I said. “It’s not cool, to make a male, child sex abuse victim, into a rich sexual predator, it’s a stereotype that’s not cool. It’s sick.”

“Now,” Lauren said. She nodded. “I understand you.”

“But, make it cool to speak up,” I said. And I remembered my colorful woven socks, socks that represented DNA strands, and the genetic harm from abuse. “I do have this really cool socks idea. I have a few test samples, at home, remember my first novel was called, Bobby’s Socks. Get it?”

Lauren sipped her drink.

“I get it, now,” Lauren said. “Let me guess, take a walk in another man’s socks? Something along that line of thinking.”

“Perhaps we’ll test market our socks with your daughter?” I said. “If she thinks they’re cool, you never know.”

End.

NS

A Year Inside the Moon – Chapter 20 – Rainbow Tutus

(Dear interested reader, remember, these are my first drafts for the novel – the entire book was 25 chapters – it’s been sent to the professional editors, so this version has some flaws…)

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Rainbow Tutus

“I didn’t see that coming,” I said. It had been a late Saturday evening toward the end of June. I quickly walked inside The Moon after I scooted just past the hostess Britany who had been inundated with guests crowded in near her podium. I luckily found an unoccupied stool at the bar near the Guinness tap. “You all are seriously busy.”

“I know, it’s great,” Kate said. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a wet rag. “Give me a second, kind of swamped.”

“No worries,” I said. I leaned onto the bar with my elbows. I was squeezed between others. I observed the unusually loud, colorful crowd that inhabited The Moon.

An older man was sitting next to me, he was enjoying a clear liquid beverage topped with green limb wedge. He was good-sized, with short salt and pepper hair, but he was meticulously dressed with razor sharp creased pants, and a multi-colored long-sleeved shirt.

“You’re not part of the team?” he said. He grinned over at me.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You’re not wearing any rainbow colors,” he said. He sounded just like his clothes, crisp and specific.

At that moment, I looked behind him at the back bar area, and I had realized most people nearby us were wearing some sort of rainbow shirt, or patch, or even a colorful rainbow colored tutu. I had seen those tutu’s earlier in the day.

“I’m not sure what to say,” I said. I looked down at my boring shirt and shorts, and black flip-flops. “I’m Rob.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Eddie said. He pushed his black framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He grinned at me with perfect white teeth that were slightly askew. “My twin, Edwina works here, you know her?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. I nodded. “I sure do, really nice lady.”

“We are similar,” Eddie said. He twisted his head back over towards me. “But different, you know, well, maybe you don’t?”

“Am I that obvious?” I said.

“You’ll be fine, dear,” Eddie said. He patted me on the shoulder. “We aren’t contagious.”

“Sorry to ask a stupid question,” I said. “I’ve only been back to St. Pete for less than a year, what’s up?”

Eddie smirked back over at me as if I had told him I’d just invented the incandescent light-bulb.

“Oh, honey,” Eddie said. “It’s Pride day, didn’t you get it?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve been working over in downtown Tampa.”

“That explains it,” Eddie said. “Different world than St. Petersburg, but that’s not a bad thing.”

I sat up straight as Kate had quickly served me a fresh Guinness. It was not finished frothing, and the glass was caked with tan foam that had not been wiped off.

“Sorry,” Kate said. As she disappeared behind a dark column.

“No worries,” I said. I sat waiting for the light tan brown to evolve into a really dark red.

“Isn’t that filling?” Eddie said.

“No,” I said. “It’s actually low in alcohol, and calories, at least for beer, otherwise, I’d just drink water.”

We sat within the boisterous crowd, but as if a ship had suddenly been hit with a strong wave, several revelers swayed into us, pushing us up against the bar. But, I had expertly zen like gripped my Guinness until the brief squall had passed by us. Eddie had shoved his shoulders back up against them.

“He’s mine,” Eddie said. He smirked over at me from within the temporary human cave opening.

“I don’t think it’s ever been this crazy,” I said. I laughed. I sipped the Guinness.

“Oh, honey,” Eddie said. “Stay in St. Pete for a few more years, you’ll see.”

“You’ve been here a long time?” I said.

“Decades,” Eddie said. But then, Eddie’s smile faded. Perhaps age provided life experiences I thought, even if you do not want to accept the experience. But, Eddie’s eyes told me there was someone else that had once been close to him that was no longer with the living.

“Your eyes tell me another story,” I said.

“You’re a kind man, divorced, right?” Eddie said. He grinned at me in an attempt to conceal the tears that had emerged.

“I guess I’m obvious,” I said.

“You’ll find a good girl, again,” Eddie said. “Someday, just be patient, my dear.”

“I’d like that, I guess my face has turned into a lost persons billboard,” I said. I nodded. I lifted the Guinness. “Cheers, to?”

“Daniel,” Eddie said. “His name was Daniel.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But cheers to Daniel, he’s not forgotten.”

“You’re sweet,” Eddie said. He dapped his eyes with a napkin.

“What happened to Daniel?” I said.

“Oh, nothing special,” Eddie said. He stared down at the tile floor. “He just got old, like me.”

“It’s hard to realize,” I said. “Getting to be old is a blessing, he must have been a good man.”

“He was,” Eddie said. He looked over a me. He touched my right forearm. “It’s strange to talk about him in the past tense, you know, it’s like time has stopped, and all.”

“How long ago?” I said. I sipped the Guinness.

“Oh, just last year,” Eddie said. “He died at home, prostate cancer, the hospice nurse was a angel. I can hear his voice, he sounded like a New England lobsterman, with a silver pony tail.”

“They are,” I said. “It sounds like he went peacefully?”

“He did, morphine’s a lovely thing,” Eddie said. He tried to laugh, but he coughed. “We lived in the same old bungalow, maybe a mile from here, or so, it was an easy walk today.”

“It’s a beautiful area,” I said. “Almost timeless, in a way.”

“Yes, it’s changed a lot,” Eddie said. “It’s gotten a bit fancy, when we first moved here, it was, shall I say, The Burg was then under appreciated.”

It was not lost on me the first time I had come to St. Petersburg, I thought, I was then a young man headed to the children’s hospital. I was like any ambitious person, full of useless information, but I lacked aged perspective. In time, I had learned perspective, and I hoped my information was useful.

“You live in one of those houses,” I said. I laughed. “With the preserved banner out front?”

Eddie sat back. He pointed at me.

“In fact, honey,” Eddie said. “I do, we spent years restoring our home, we earned that banner.”

“They are wonderful, no kidding,” I said. I smiled. “I bike passed them, I think they have a simple elegance to them, and with the old brick streets.”

“Someday soon,” Eddie said. He huffed. “I’ll be gone. I hope they just don’t bulldoze over our home, concrete the streets, and forget we even existed.”

“From the looks of this crowd,” I said. I chuckled. “I don’t think anybody will forget about downtown St. Petersburg.”

“Party’s are fun,” Eddie said. He pointed over at a young lady wearing a rainbow colored tutu. She was fit, and she appeared quite happy. “But those tutu’s, they mean something, in a way, they are for my, Daniel.”

I nodded over at Eddie. I thought he had appeared content. He had a peaceful demeanor about him that he would have accepted what ever would have happened next. It was an expression that his life mattered.

“I noted those colorful tutu’s,” I said. “I was walking back home, I was in your neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “It’s wonderful area to stroll, it’s nicely shaded, and all.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said. I gripped the Guinness. “But, I thought I had stumbled into the opening for Gladiators, you know the opening, the part were Russell Crow and his Roman army are running through a thick forest?”

“Oh yes,” Eddie said. He smirked. “I love savage movies.”

“Well, a woman appeared at the street corner wearing a rainbow tutu, on about 9th Avenue N,” I said. “She sort of had acted as the forward military scout, and then, another, and another, until a colorful tutu army had passed by me.”

Eddie leaned back, he rapidly had waved back over at me.

“Did you think there was a Cher concert in town?” Eddie said.

“Come to think of it,” I said. “Yeah, I thought I might need to hide behind a tree, for safety.”

“Oh, honey,” Eddie said. He gripped my right shoulder. “No need to hide in St. Pete, everybody’s safe here.”

End. 

NS

A Year Inside The Moon – Chapter 19 – Clear & Transparent (my unedited project)

Clear & Transparent 

It was an early June evening inside The Moon. I had sat sipping my Guinness, as Jane had tended the bar area. I had been inspecting the laminated menu for a healthy fish option.
“I miss, my donkey,” he said. He was a large chested man with smooth darkish-skin, his voice had a cadence that split the syllables for, don-key, from down-low, and then, a happy-high. “He was I friend, I good friend.” “I’m sorry, I’m Rob, You’re?” I said. I glanced up at the large man, he had a wide-toothed smile that worked even if he had not meant to smile. “What happened? I mean, to your donkey.”“Me? Javel, but call me, Mikey, it’s easier for you, I had to leave my donkey, now he’s gone,” Mikey said. He sighed. “Sometimes, we have to leave behind, those I love.”
Jane had walked over from The Moon’s busy bartender side, and she had shook the man’s hand.
“Hey there, good man,” Jane said. She appeared to have met the man many times before. “Jägermeister?”“Yes, please,” Mikey said. He carefully pushed his tubular, shoulder length dreadlocks away from his face. “That would be nice, thank you.”“How can you drink that?” I said. I sat back against the chair. “I mean, it’s like cough syrup.”
Mikey pointed over at my Guinness. 
“I can ask you the same,” Mikey said. He looked over at Jane. “True,” I said. I shrugged. “It’s like evening coffee for me.”“My drink has herbs, spices, it must go through the patient-time,” Mikey said. He slowly tapped on the bar top. “To come together, as one, to be one, I.”“Yes,” Jane said. As she poured the ice-cold dark liqueur into a shot glass. “Yes, it does.”“I get that, I think, like bourbon?” I said. I thought about the time from college when several shots of Jägermeister taught me a valuable lesson on how to respect alcohol. I had been lucky. “I guess I should have read your name on your shirt, what’s that all about, you work there?”
Mikey examined his short sleeved shirt, it had his name stenciled on a oval patch in the upper right breast pocket; it was for a local craft brewery.
“It is not just work,” Mikey said. He looked down at me. “It’s I passion, work is for money, passion is for love.”“What do you do there?” I said. “Delivery? Since you’re a big guy, and all.”“No, man,” Mikey said. He looked over at me. He smirked. “I’m the brewmaster, I know how my herbs work, I create all the seasonal recipes.”“Sorry,” I said. “No disrespect.”“None taken, I,” Mikey said. “I don’t look like a brewmaster?”
We sat quietly. The bar was modestly busy as the dim sunlight that remained was cast behind us through the Snug’s windows. 
“Truthfully, I don’t know what a brewmaster looks like,” I said. I stared over at a line of vodka bottles. “I guess you should look like an uptight German dude, with wireframe glasses?”
Mikey sipped the dark liqueur, and he smiled. 
“You know,” Mikey said. “Beer was in the Bible, in Hebrew the word was shekhar, Egypts pyramid workers, a gallon a day wages, by the way, they were not slaves.”“I grew up a Baptist,” I said. “Perhaps that’s why I drink Guinness, but drinking was pounded into me that is was bad for you. But Guinness they say, it’s good for you.”
Mikey considered my comment. Across the bar he had watched a young man flirting with a girl. She appeared to have been over-served, but he noted that she was under Jane’s watchful eyes. 
“I don’t drink beer,” Mikey said. “I only sip this one Jager, for my donkey, but most days, I don’t bring alcohol into my body.”
As I sipped the Guinness, I had thought about Mikey’s comment. 
“How are you a brewmaster?” I said. “Sorry, no disrespect but how do you make beer, and not drink beer?”“Ah, Rob,” Mikey said. He finished off his liqueur. “You have to get outside of yourself, you think I look like I sit at home smoking the weed all-day?”“Well, I guess,” I said. I grunted. “I’m guilty, you’re right.”“You are a Christian man,” Mikey said. “I grew up Southern Baptist,” I said. “So,” Mikey said. “You are a Christian man?”
I squirmed on the chair. I sipped the Guinness.
“I’m a sceptic, let’s say,” I said. “Let’s call it that…”
Mikey examined my face. He leaned back. 
“That’s no commitment,” Mikey said. He shook his head. “But you have to had chosen your own path, without a purpose.”“I just don’t buy into being manipulated,” I said. I leaned forward. “Is there a God? 
Perhaps, but I don’t have any facts, it’s only a feeling, and I don’t respond well to people working to get into my wallet, or people roaming about wearing fancy costumes messing with little boys, and acting like they did nothing wrong.”
“Ah, I, I feel your heat-heart, now mon, that’s were you are hiding,” Mikey said. He pointed over at me. “Science, but you trust the science?”“I do,” I said. “For the most part, if it’s legit.”“Then that’s why, I, can be a brewmaster,” Mikey said. He grinned. “I have a degree in microbiology, I, passed your standards.” “It’s not my standard,” I said. I curiously stared at Mikey.“Yes, it is,” Mikey said. “You just said it, but you man, would consider me overqualified. I, have a masters in microbiology, from here, a brewmasters’ an easy job then, right?”“Well, I would think you’d be doing something medical related,” I said. I nodded. “Work at a lab, I’ll give you that.”
Mikey smiled at me. He nodded. 
“I am,” Mikey said. “I, share my Jah with all living things, my donkey loved my beer. It would hee-haw, and grin at me.”“Jah?” I said. I crinkled my face. “Is this going to get weird.”“Only for you,” Mikey said. “Jah, my God, Jah lives within me, and Jah lives within all living things, like my donkey. My donkey was my friend, he knew me, he always welcomed me home.”“Got it,” I said. I thought at least Mikey’s not going to convert me, and I didn’t have the hair commitment for the faith. “God, or what you call, God.”“My hair remains uncut,” Mikey said. He gently touched the end of a dreadlock. “As a commitment, for Jah.”“It does set you apart,” I said. “Jesus was a brown man,” Mikey said. “You know?”“Yeah,” I said. “He’d have to have been, I understand your point, so, you are Rastafari?”“I am,” Mikey said. “Slave in my blood, but I am not a slave.”“You are far from that,” I said. I puzzlingly looked over at Mikey. “Can I ask you something, not to make you mad?”
Mikey grinned over at me. He touched my right shoulder.
“Weed? You people focus on that,” Mikey said. “As you call it.”“What’s up with that?” I said. I leaned my head toward downtown St. Petersburg. “Over at Jannus, I was at a concert, Raggae music night. I don’t partake, but, I had a contact high, and there were a bunch with dreadlocks, and what not.”“Ah, that is not a grounding,” Mikey said. He frowned. “That is a waste of the holy herb. If the music does not celebrate, Jah, it has not a purpose.”“I suspected,” I said. “An excuse to get looped.”“You have your wine,” Mikey said. “We have our holy herb, it’s for our discussions, to discuss, to open our minds to Jah.”“You know something, Mikey,” I said. “I wish I had your faith, I don’t, I won’t lie.”
Mikey nodded down at me. He took in a deep breath, he stood up tall, and he crossed his arms.
“Someday,” Mikey said. “You may change, Rob, you don’t know a man until he remains quiet, with Jah.”“You know, Mikey,” I said. I shrugged. “Guinness, it’s good for you. I should have another.”“Why do you drink it?” Mikey said. “It keeps me calm,” I said. I thought about what he had really asked me. “It’s my liquid friend that slowly numbs me. So, what makes a good beer?”
Mikey looked over at the Snug’s windows, and he appeared to inspect out into the then turned night time. 
“In the water, the Jah water,” Mikey said. “The pure water is all. I have seen Jah, in my microscope, and then, in my recipes, herbs, spices are a joy, a celebration for sharing Jah.”“I don’t think I’ll understand Jah,” I said. “But I do appreciate good beer, thank you.”“Ah, mon,” Mikey said. He glanced down at me. He whispered. “Jah, comes…”
End.