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| Photo by Caleb Thal image courtesy of unsplash.com |
"Well, at least it's spring outside," Dan observed.
They were standing in the street outside their favorite bar, which either was or was not on fire at the moment. The smoke detector had chased them out a moment before, though there didn't appear to be any other apparent cause for alarm.
"So what does our old man's neighbor say to him next?" said Ben.
"You're tenacious," said Dan.
"One of my few good qualities," said Ben.
"I can't tell my story without beer," said Dan.
"We could go buy some," said Ben.
"I'm broke," said Dan.
"Maybe they'll let us back in," said Ben.
Neither one of them commented on the fact that beers were available to them in this bar whether they were broke or not; it was an arrangement with the management, but not one they acknowledged aloud, because of how it had originally arisen.
They squinted through the tinted glass.
"Think there's really a fire?" asked Dan.
"I don't see or smell smoke," said Ben.
They squinted through the glass some more.
"While we're waiting," said Ben, "we should think of something to pass the time."
"Like what?" said Dan.
"You could tell me what the old man's neighbor says next," said Ben.
Dan half-laughed and shook his head.
"In this my hour of thirst," he said, "all you want is to satisfy your curiosity at my expense."
"What are friends for?" argued Ben.
"Our old man is pretending," Dan said, crossing his arms and still looking through his blurry reflection at the tinted glass, "that his neighbor isn't sitting at his bedside, because he is tired and wants to rest, and because it is repugnant to him to entertain a stranger with conversation while dying alone in a hospital."
"Well put," said Ben. "What's next?"
"I'm getting to that," said Dan. "I thought we agreed no more questions."
"I didn't agree to that," said Ben.
"Well I did," said Dan, "and it's my story, so pipe down."
Just then, a young lady in paint-stained jeans walked up.
"Hey slugs," she said, punching Dan in the upper arm. "What's news?"
"Hi Alfred," both young men said.
"I didn't see you inside," Ben said.
"I wasn't," said Alfred, "I just got here."
She glanced around; most of the crowd from inside, when the doors hadn't reopened in the first five minutes, had dispersed. A few tired-looking local businessmen were chatting up the bartender in front of the other window, otherwise Ben and Dan were the only ones still outside.
"Why are you two outside?" she asked. "Is there a fire or something?"
"Funny you should say so," said Ben, standing on tiptoe to look over their heads and up the street. From somewhere they could now hear sirens.
"I think maybe," he said, "if we want to wait the alarm out, we should at least cross the street."
They crossed, and crowded around a bench in the village square park facing the bar, and soon a huge red firetruck came screaming up. Men in baggy darkened coats and helmets hopped off and jogged around to the back of the building and in the front.
"I still don't see smoke," said Dan. "Or smell it."
"I wonder what's wrong," said Alfred.
"They've probably just got to reset the alarm," said Ben.
Before even Dan could rejoin this comment, a thin white cloudy shape, very pale against the brick front of the building in the flat afternoon sunlight, eased out of the front door.
"Smoke," Dan and Alfred said at once.
"Oh no," said Ben.
Soon there was a lot of smoke, and the firemen were very busy.
"Do you think it's bad?" asked Alfred.
"Bad enough," said Dan. "There was a small fire in my aunt's house once. Only the stove and the wall above it were burned, but almost everything in the place was smoke damaged. She had to buy all new furniture. I remember because the replacement couch she got was the kind that buzzed."
"Colorful," said Ben.
"Anyway," said Dan, "if there's that much smoke, it's probably bad."
"But they have insurance for this kind of thing, right?" asked Alfred.
"Probably," said Ben.
They continued watching, saying little, as the firemen jogged back and forth. A hose was connected to a hydrant on the curb and run inside. Two police cars pulled up, and uniformed officers got out. Two crossed the street and stood near the building on the sidewalk, one of whom was speaking to one of the firemen and the other speaking into his radio. The other two stood in the park and told the three young people not to get any closer to the building.
The smoke got grey, then black, and Ben noticed that as the firemen came out the front door what looked like great clouds of brown dust were booming out with them. Dan asked where the bartender had gone; both she and the businessmen had crossed the street when the three young persons had, but now apart from the two officers and the strange onlookers, mostly students of the local university, there was no one at the park that any of them recognized.
Soon the smoke was gone, and the activity dropped to an apparent zero. The firemen finally came back out of the building, which appeared unchanged from outside, and spoke with the police officers.
"Well I think they're closed," said Ben. "I'm glad I grabbed my things."
"I wish I'd left this essay inside," said Dan, shaking a thick wad of clipped pages he'd been turning over in silence for some minutes. "The fire would have been the best thing for it."
"Well I need some kind of poison," said Alfred. "You guys feel like a coffee?"
Ben and Dan preferred the bar to the cafe primarily because you got more townies than students in the former, and the reverse in the latter, and they both preferred to maintain a certain professional distance from the bulk of their clientele. Fortunately it was not to a campus coffee shop that Alfred led the guys, but a very small place, with room inside only for the counter itself and small tables and chairs along the opposite wall, two streets back from their bar and stuck between a dance school and a closed pizzeria. It was packed, but the light was dim, and none of the students were familiar.
"I didn't know this place was here," said Dan as they entered.
"You don't know where here is," said Ben.
"Fair enough," said Dan. "Don't leave without me."
They ordered, Alfred bullied some kids away from a table with four chairs at it, and they sat down, Alfred negligently laying one of her outstretched feet on the extra chair as they did so.
"Territoriality," she said in answer to the generous Ben's glare at her feet. "Those kids are in my department. I've got to maintain my dominance or these whippersnappers will overrun me."
"How long have you been going to school here?" said Dan.
"I'm a senior," said Alfred.
"You've been a senior," said Ben, "since I've known you."
"So now we're down on accomplishment?" said Alfred.
"Why don't you finish and go be a painter?" said Ben.
"Because no one will pay me to be a painter," said Alfred. "As long as I'm here, I get to paint."
"In the meantime," said Ben musingly, "maybe you can settle something between Dan and I."
"What's that?" asked Dan, perplexed.
"If a description of a work is adequate for judging a work itself," said Ben.
"This is a question?" said Alfred.
"Oh, right," said Dan, "I forgot how all this started." He frowned. "That wasn't the issue though."
"Close enough," said Ben with a mild shrug.
"We were trying to decide," said Dan, "if getting the description before you view the actual work informs your judgment of it."
"It comes to the same thing," said Ben.
"I don't follow," said Alfred.
"I'm telling Ben a story," said Dan, "before I write it down."
"If you ever finish it," said Ben. "You've been stuck in the middle for about ten years now."
"I was about to continue it," said Dan to Alfred, "when the fire alarm went off."
"I can't remember where we even were," said Ben.
"And then," continued Dan, "after I give him the description, he gives me feedback on the description, and then description after I write it down."
"Objection," said Ben. "I said I'd read a different story, not the same one you described."
"You guys are a real laugh riot," said Alfred dully, staring ahead of her.
"Oh like I'm going to write two stories," said Dan.
"You were going to cheat?" asked Ben.
Dan shrugged.
Their coffee arrived.
"Don't have to get up for drinks here," murmured Dan as he took a sip.
"These drinks keep me awake," said Ben, picking up and shaking a sugar packet.
Alfred was ignoring them, "I need this," she said, gulping what appeared to be scalding light-brown foam with gusto. "I'm so exhausted."
"What's going on?" said Ben. "Year-end project?"
"I wish," said Alfred. "I need to work on that this weekend, I don't know if I'll have time to sleep. I just got out of the hospital."
"Did you need a refill on pretty pills?" asked Dan awkwardly. Ben stared.
"No, stupid," said Alfred without a smile, "I wasn't there for me. My dad's sick."
Just then, a young lady in paint-stained jeans walked up.
"Hey slugs," she said, punching Dan in the upper arm. "What's news?"
"Hi Alfred," both young men said.
"I didn't see you inside," Ben said.
"I wasn't," said Alfred, "I just got here."
She glanced around; most of the crowd from inside, when the doors hadn't reopened in the first five minutes, had dispersed. A few tired-looking local businessmen were chatting up the bartender in front of the other window, otherwise Ben and Dan were the only ones still outside.
"Why are you two outside?" she asked. "Is there a fire or something?"
"Funny you should say so," said Ben, standing on tiptoe to look over their heads and up the street. From somewhere they could now hear sirens.
"I think maybe," he said, "if we want to wait the alarm out, we should at least cross the street."
They crossed, and crowded around a bench in the village square park facing the bar, and soon a huge red firetruck came screaming up. Men in baggy darkened coats and helmets hopped off and jogged around to the back of the building and in the front.
"I still don't see smoke," said Dan. "Or smell it."
"I wonder what's wrong," said Alfred.
"They've probably just got to reset the alarm," said Ben.
Before even Dan could rejoin this comment, a thin white cloudy shape, very pale against the brick front of the building in the flat afternoon sunlight, eased out of the front door.
"Smoke," Dan and Alfred said at once.
"Oh no," said Ben.
Soon there was a lot of smoke, and the firemen were very busy.
"Do you think it's bad?" asked Alfred.
"Bad enough," said Dan. "There was a small fire in my aunt's house once. Only the stove and the wall above it were burned, but almost everything in the place was smoke damaged. She had to buy all new furniture. I remember because the replacement couch she got was the kind that buzzed."
"Colorful," said Ben.
"Anyway," said Dan, "if there's that much smoke, it's probably bad."
"But they have insurance for this kind of thing, right?" asked Alfred.
"Probably," said Ben.
They continued watching, saying little, as the firemen jogged back and forth. A hose was connected to a hydrant on the curb and run inside. Two police cars pulled up, and uniformed officers got out. Two crossed the street and stood near the building on the sidewalk, one of whom was speaking to one of the firemen and the other speaking into his radio. The other two stood in the park and told the three young people not to get any closer to the building.
The smoke got grey, then black, and Ben noticed that as the firemen came out the front door what looked like great clouds of brown dust were booming out with them. Dan asked where the bartender had gone; both she and the businessmen had crossed the street when the three young persons had, but now apart from the two officers and the strange onlookers, mostly students of the local university, there was no one at the park that any of them recognized.
Soon the smoke was gone, and the activity dropped to an apparent zero. The firemen finally came back out of the building, which appeared unchanged from outside, and spoke with the police officers.
"Well I think they're closed," said Ben. "I'm glad I grabbed my things."
"I wish I'd left this essay inside," said Dan, shaking a thick wad of clipped pages he'd been turning over in silence for some minutes. "The fire would have been the best thing for it."
"Well I need some kind of poison," said Alfred. "You guys feel like a coffee?"
Ben and Dan preferred the bar to the cafe primarily because you got more townies than students in the former, and the reverse in the latter, and they both preferred to maintain a certain professional distance from the bulk of their clientele. Fortunately it was not to a campus coffee shop that Alfred led the guys, but a very small place, with room inside only for the counter itself and small tables and chairs along the opposite wall, two streets back from their bar and stuck between a dance school and a closed pizzeria. It was packed, but the light was dim, and none of the students were familiar.
"I didn't know this place was here," said Dan as they entered.
"You don't know where here is," said Ben.
"Fair enough," said Dan. "Don't leave without me."
They ordered, Alfred bullied some kids away from a table with four chairs at it, and they sat down, Alfred negligently laying one of her outstretched feet on the extra chair as they did so.
"Territoriality," she said in answer to the generous Ben's glare at her feet. "Those kids are in my department. I've got to maintain my dominance or these whippersnappers will overrun me."
"How long have you been going to school here?" said Dan.
"I'm a senior," said Alfred.
"You've been a senior," said Ben, "since I've known you."
"So now we're down on accomplishment?" said Alfred.
"Why don't you finish and go be a painter?" said Ben.
"Because no one will pay me to be a painter," said Alfred. "As long as I'm here, I get to paint."
"In the meantime," said Ben musingly, "maybe you can settle something between Dan and I."
"What's that?" asked Dan, perplexed.
"If a description of a work is adequate for judging a work itself," said Ben.
"This is a question?" said Alfred.
"Oh, right," said Dan, "I forgot how all this started." He frowned. "That wasn't the issue though."
"Close enough," said Ben with a mild shrug.
"We were trying to decide," said Dan, "if getting the description before you view the actual work informs your judgment of it."
"It comes to the same thing," said Ben.
"I don't follow," said Alfred.
"I'm telling Ben a story," said Dan, "before I write it down."
"If you ever finish it," said Ben. "You've been stuck in the middle for about ten years now."
"I was about to continue it," said Dan to Alfred, "when the fire alarm went off."
"I can't remember where we even were," said Ben.
"And then," continued Dan, "after I give him the description, he gives me feedback on the description, and then description after I write it down."
"Objection," said Ben. "I said I'd read a different story, not the same one you described."
"You guys are a real laugh riot," said Alfred dully, staring ahead of her.
"Oh like I'm going to write two stories," said Dan.
"You were going to cheat?" asked Ben.
Dan shrugged.
Their coffee arrived.
"Don't have to get up for drinks here," murmured Dan as he took a sip.
"These drinks keep me awake," said Ben, picking up and shaking a sugar packet.
Alfred was ignoring them, "I need this," she said, gulping what appeared to be scalding light-brown foam with gusto. "I'm so exhausted."
"What's going on?" said Ben. "Year-end project?"
"I wish," said Alfred. "I need to work on that this weekend, I don't know if I'll have time to sleep. I just got out of the hospital."
"Did you need a refill on pretty pills?" asked Dan awkwardly. Ben stared.
"No, stupid," said Alfred without a smile, "I wasn't there for me. My dad's sick."
"Oh," said Dan, turning the color of an eggplant.
"Sorry to hear that," said Ben.
"Yeah sorry," said Dan. "Is he going to be okay?"
Alfred looked at her brown foam. "They don't know yet," she said after a moment.
They were all quiet.
"I don't want to think about that for now," said Alfred, turning to Dan. "What was this story you're in the middle of?"
"Ahh," said Dan.
"It's," said Ben.
"Boring," they both said at the same time.
"No surprises there," said Alfred. "What's boring about it?"
"Oh," said Dan, "you don't want to hear about it. It's just so..."
"Boring," said Ben.
"So what," said Alfred, alert with curiosity, "is it about a girl or something?"
"No," said Dan, with too much enthusiasm.
"I can't believe you two," said Alfred with a smirk, "you sit around telling each other dirty stories all day? For 'feedback?'" She made an obscene gesture as she said the last word.
"It really is boring," said Ben.
Alfred made a mm-hmm noise that sounded skeptical. Dan drank his coffee.
"I thought you guys wrote for a living," she said, sitting back against her chair.
"We do," they both said in reply.
"Why are you bothering with telling each other stories," she said, "when you should just be writing them down?"
"My point exactly," said Ben.
"It was a thought," said Dan. "Stories are older than writing, after all."
"There is that," said Ben.
"And visual art is older than both," said Alfred.
Both her companions looked at her without comment.
"So you're trying to figure out if talking through stories is better than writing them down?" she asked.
"Nothing that structured," said Ben with a shrug. "Sure," said Dan, at the same time.
"I'll tell you guys a story," she said.
"Hoist by the petard?" asked Dan.
"Try to beat us at our own game?" asked Ben.
"You want to hear this or not?" she asked.
Both her companions sat forward to listen.
"Sorry to hear that," said Ben.
"Yeah sorry," said Dan. "Is he going to be okay?"
Alfred looked at her brown foam. "They don't know yet," she said after a moment.
They were all quiet.
"I don't want to think about that for now," said Alfred, turning to Dan. "What was this story you're in the middle of?"
"Ahh," said Dan.
"It's," said Ben.
"Boring," they both said at the same time.
"No surprises there," said Alfred. "What's boring about it?"
"Oh," said Dan, "you don't want to hear about it. It's just so..."
"Boring," said Ben.
"So what," said Alfred, alert with curiosity, "is it about a girl or something?"
"No," said Dan, with too much enthusiasm.
"I can't believe you two," said Alfred with a smirk, "you sit around telling each other dirty stories all day? For 'feedback?'" She made an obscene gesture as she said the last word.
"It really is boring," said Ben.
Alfred made a mm-hmm noise that sounded skeptical. Dan drank his coffee.
"I thought you guys wrote for a living," she said, sitting back against her chair.
"We do," they both said in reply.
"Why are you bothering with telling each other stories," she said, "when you should just be writing them down?"
"My point exactly," said Ben.
"It was a thought," said Dan. "Stories are older than writing, after all."
"There is that," said Ben.
"And visual art is older than both," said Alfred.
Both her companions looked at her without comment.
"So you're trying to figure out if talking through stories is better than writing them down?" she asked.
"Nothing that structured," said Ben with a shrug. "Sure," said Dan, at the same time.
"I'll tell you guys a story," she said.
"Hoist by the petard?" asked Dan.
"Try to beat us at our own game?" asked Ben.
"You want to hear this or not?" she asked.
Both her companions sat forward to listen.
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