Constant 1: Whiskey on the rocks
Constant 2: An empty stool to his left and right
Constant 3: The constant feeling of "what now?"
The feeling swirled around in his mind like the whiskey he would sometimes swish back and forth before the second or third sip. Before the ritual all of the dealings of the day; work, family, friends, working out, suppressed the feeling; made him live in the moment. But, the ritual brought him back to the grand picture, the idea that had evolved into being dubbed his life. What would he do now with all the time in the world and empty stools next to him? He expected the ritual to figure this out for him; as if the ritual had developed into an entity all by itself; filling the stools next to him and pouring his drink.
But, the ending was the same but never the same. A drink or two later he would see a pretty group of girls sitting across the bar; laughing, talking, surpassing the same feelings he was sure they shared with him. He would smile at one, maybe two of the girls; hoping to find some electric attraction that would sometimes levitate him to the other side of the bar; only in time to get a number or disguised words that said "get away". Accomplishment would set in as he was able to take the easiest step on the path to getting to know a woman but it would eventually lead to disappointment as pessimistic Jiminy Cricket's danced around in his head telling him that the phone call or text would end as so many other phone calls or texts had ended; with no return. It was all the same ending; as if the number had never even transgressed between the two. He would end up knowing the most about them before even knowing them.
The argument with the cricket's was than interrupted by the surge of optimism offered by a Mr. Jack Daniels or a Mr. Jameson. They came booming in; men with long breads, happy guts and optimism followed by meandering to invite some of their brothers in to join the party. They were always very convincing; sometimes convincing enough to lead to a cab ride home. Most of the time he sobered up; with a water and some bull shitting with the bar tender who was caring just enough to warrant a tip. By that time any ride, whether it be in a cab or in his own car, led to a period of self reflection that only made him never want to do the ritual again.
He thought it was all pointless and settled nothing; he even thought that at this very point it had made everything worse. All of this nonsense that led to nonsense; all of this thinking that made him never want to think again. The ritual had ended on another Friday night with him alone and those same two empty stools circling in his head; no longer occupied by Jameson, Jack, or the cricket. Instead the feeling of "what now" was the only constant that followed him from beginning to end in the ritual. You could say that one constant was the whole reason for the ritual; the whole reason he woke up the next morning and felt like it had all been worth it.
He had learned something, he had found something out about himself through the ritual and he wanted more. He wanted to learn, he wanted to figure it all out through experience; through getting lost in all kinds of places, even if those places were at the bottom of a whiskey glass. He wanted to wander, he wanted to enjoy; he wanted to get as far away as possible from all the of the thoughts that swirled in his head at the end of the ritual. Then, though....it all set in: Work, Family, Friends...everything that made him come back to the ritual; to a different bar, on a different Friday, with a different glass. All that he had learned or thought he had learned the week before was gone and was all hidden; at the bottom of a glass.
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