ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Short story writer with great appreciation for Ellen, Ernest, Kurt, and... Micro-Fiction. [September 2001]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4) Eurojazz (Short Stories) Stuck in Italy, partying, and then some... [650 words] [Popular Fiction] Heyman (Short Stories) Taipei: Big spiders, no drinking water, and lots of Taiwan Beer... Give me 10 reviews and I'll post pictures of the actual spiders ;) [557 words] [Popular Fiction] On Orcas Island (Short Stories) Yuppie vacation to local resort... [269 words] [Popular Fiction] White Church (Short Stories) A passing of innocence and the expectation of one's future. [349 words] [Literary Fiction]
God Bless The President John Karl
Returning from a weekend in Seattle my wife and I stopped off at the Blue Moon Tavern in the
Northwest section of downtown Portland for a late lunch and a couple of beers to help us unwind from the long rainy ride back on a day that started out so cool, crisp, and sunny.
We opted to sit around the fireplace, adjacent to the bar. A young heavyset woman already seated by the fire noticed our intention
and removed her coat from the unoccupied, wooden chair beside her and offered it to me. She was with two male friends and had an accent distinctly European, like that of an Englishwoman. I pulled a metal chair from a stack in the corner and replaced the one she’d given me.
I ordered a stout for myself and a porter for my wife as we warmed our hands by the fire. It was a circular fireplace that could easily seat ten people with adequate room on the elevated hearth for dining or tired elbows.
Music from the seventies enveloped the bar with ABBA then Frampton. I played a string of songs from The Pretender’s “Singles” CD on the jukebox close to the restrooms thinking the seventies songs would return afterwards but they never did.
“... and that way, while your taking lessons, I’ll get a chance to get some real skiing done.”
“So you’re saying I won’t really be skiing?”
“No, I’m just saying that in the beginner’s lessons they only show you how to get up after you fall and maybe how to snow plow, but if you want, I can show you all of that and we could be skiing together by the afternoon.”
While I was trying to explain the politics of snow skiing to my wife I could not help but return the stare over her shoulder of a man who’d just stepped up to the bar. He was a middle aged man with jet-black hair, wearing an army green jacket, waist length, that covered his dark blue jeans. He was about five feet ten inches tall and was glaring at me with an eerie grin and wild look like the kind only Deniro could do so well in the movies and I returned a quick glance to my wife.
“You can at least goddamn smile!” he muttered out loud. “Shit, maybe I’ll just kick you’re ass.” I looked back at him and he was still staring at me. Slowly I removed the steak knife from a finished plate beside me and placed it within immediate reach of my hand. He stood up from his stool and mumbled something incomprehensible and I looked at my wife and she looked at me and I prepared to put the knife in his leg if he chose to walk over to us in any sort of threatening way. He was drunk in the worst sort of way, the whiskey way; when a man no longer knows himself or what he does.
“Someone call for a taxi?” A sturdy young man with blonde hair in a long sleeve white shirt with black suspenders that fell around his shoulders stood directly in front of the drunk as if he had known the answer to his own question all along.
“Yeh, that’s mine,” the drunk shouted and followed him toward the door. “Who you votin’ for?” he shouted to anyone who’d listen as he stumbled out. “Bill Clinton’s the President, you know... God Bless The President!”.
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