Piece of the Week, Lemon, Lucas Robins

So, are you wondering where the rest of the story is? Liz isn't, but Laura is eternally vexed by this bit of whimsy. Judge the philistine among them for yourself--we promise Lucas Robins' story won't take too long to read. Best with a whisky...but not neat, with Coke. Because everything goes better with Coke, we promise. No, we don't have a sponsorship with them. We promise.

Lemon

by Lucas Robins

The bar is dark, even at noon, and the rainstorm outside brings an even deeper level of isolation. A man dressed in a sloppy version of business attire walks in from the rain, not finding it difficult to locate his friend at a tall round table -- hardly anyone comes to this place for lunch.


“How ya doin’, Jerry?” the other man asks, as Jerry shakes the water off of his coat.

“Just fine. Same old stuff. I’m ready for some of that single malt, though. Thirsty.”

“I hear that, my friend.”

The waiter knows what to bring without any words spoken. Jerry and Phil like it neat.

A moment passes as Jerry stares into his glass, admiring the color of the liquid that he sees. The dark amber swirls remind him of his wife’s hair. The two loves of his life. This brings an entirely new line of thought.

“So, I hear it was a lemon,” Phil interrupts.

“Yea, the bastard doesn’t work. Always having to fix something. Not worth the effort.”

“For sure, my friend. No need to waste too much time with things that can’t be fixed. Best to get out while you still have your skin. You know what they say about when life gives you lemons,” says Phil, sweeping a hand across his hair before reaching in his jacket for his cigarettes.

“Yea, you find that asshole who talked you into buying the lemons, and chuck them at his face.”

The two share a hearty laugh, followed by a brief silence. Jerry begins to wonder about his current situation. Mostly about the empty glass in front of him and the way that he is to cure that specific predicament. He leaves the table without a word, and makes his way to the bar. Standing and holding an empty glass that is leisurely taken from his hand, Jerry looks up at the bartender.

“So I hear it was a lemon,” the bartender says.

Jerry takes a long time to decide what to say. Almost as if the words seem foreign or just difficult in concept.

“Yes, sir,” Jerry says, “Doomed from the start.”