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Mary's Place is in an inherited building that came to Mary from her father. The first floor is completely taken up by the business; tables and chairs surround the bar that seats about 12. When asked about the theme Mary simply says "books" and leaves it at that, but it really deserves a better description. Books do indeed line the walls on shelves built by a friend who needed the work. There are also prints lining the flat paneling, most of which are photos taken by Mary but some have been donated by regulars like Tom who was quite happy to frame the winter walk snapped in his home town while visiting family over Christmas a couple of years ago. Tom is one of Mary's favorites. He arrives promptly at 6 every other night and sits for an hour or so nursing a beer or two. Sometimes he orders a burger and eats dinner while chatting with Mary. He was one of her first customers and over 5 years they have established a conversational trust. He looks to be about 60, but carries himself well. Gone to fit rather than fat but shows the years through some creases here and there on his face and a spatter of white hairs fanning out over dark brown. He works for a Kinko's after a long career with a private printer. As he says, those are all gone now replaced by large print factories. Over time Mary found out he was divorced and a grandfather of 2. Sometimes it feels as if he is watching over the place and her while he's there. Even though only 10 years separates them, he seems much wiser than most people but allows an exchange of point of view which attracts Mary. She is a listener but likes to interject her own story too. Tom is one she can trust. This January evening is typical as Tom sits with a draft and slowly chews the burger that is one of the house specials. It's a cold night and most of the patrons come in rubbing their hands together looking for warmth both inside and out. Jack, the waiter is taking care of the tables and Mary has the bar to herself, which is as she likes it. Early in the week, business is slow but steady so Jack, Mary and Joanne are the only staff. There are 4 others sitting at the bar and the tables are full enough to keep Jack moving.
Mary has a TV for special events but normally plays music she has chosen herself. Stacks of CD's line the lower shelf of the bar and more times than not requests are yelled out. If she can, she honors the desire and makes the customer feel special. She noticed that Tom is thoughtful this evening; quiet but has a word or two to say when she returns to stand by him between serving. He looks up from his meal and shoots her a smile. "Do you think of your father much Mary?" he asks. She takes a moment to answer. "Odd you should ask, Tom. I had a dream about my dad last night. He never spoke to me, but stood up from where he was sitting and smiled at me. He was dressed in a suit, which is how he always spent Sundays when I was a little girl. Since he ran a restaurant all week and wore chef's garb, he always enjoyed putting on his Hickey Freeman and going out to get the New York Times. It was funny how he always dressed up even if he wasn't going anywhere special. That's how I remember him." "Do you miss him then?" "Always," she answered. "I think about him at least once a day. It's only been 4 years but sometimes it feels like forever, you know?" "Yes," he responded. "I miss my own pop a lot. He's been gone much longer. About 15 years. But I have been feeling him around me lately. Ever feel that?" She is startled by this. She has felt the same thing off and on but hesitated to tell anyone. "Oh, yeah. It happens to me at the oddest moments. I'll suddenly realize that he's there. Around. And I wonder if he's trying to tell me something or if he's just visiting. Most people would think I had been inhaling too much of what I serve if I was to admit this!" Tom nods. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his plate away. "I know the feeling. I was having a bad day yesterday. Rumor has it that my ex is going to remarry. I was feeling bad, you know? Even though we parted after agreeing that we were just not right for each other after the kids left, it still feels as if I am losing. Funny. I don't want her back, but I would marry again if the right one came along. Anyway, I couldn't sleep and I had the TV on mute. Just sitting up watching and all of a sudden I had a gust of my da. Shocked the hell out of me." Mary understood the feeling exactly. "They do take us by surprise, don't they?" she smiled. It was a sad smile. She missed her father. He had been her best friend. He was the only one who could calm her sudden panic once she had divorced and was left with two sons to raise. He loved her boys and stopped by almost every day to visit on his way to or from work. "You know, after my dad retired he couldn't relax. He kept going back to work. I used to beg him to quit each time. It was too stressful for him. Being the executive chef for a hotel is tough stuff and he was in his late 60's when they hired him," Mary went on. "I had a feeling he was drinking like the old days. I was right. When I cleaned out his car, I found a bottle in the back. Rum. So unlike my father to drink rum. It made me sick that he must have been leaving the hotel to take a drink to get through the day." Tom was surprised that she was being so candid. This was a much more personal conversation than they usually had. Mostly they complained about the lack of a good candidate to vote for or the price of housing. But this was a sharing of lost things; of things that were so well loved. "Yet here you are serving alcohol, Mary. And you don't drink!" he said. "Oh, I drink a bit. A glass of wine or Bailey's over ice. Holidays and special dinners out," she said. "It's the smell of the alcohol. The scent. It reminds me of my father. Most people would say that was a bad memory but for me, it's comforting. All those years dad knocked back Canadian Club just to get through a long day in the kitchen and he would give me a kiss and hug when I arrived after school. The faint smell of whiskey would be on his breath. Not offensive. Just there. He was a functioning alcoholic. How sad some would say, but you know he enjoyed his drink. And he used it to prop himself up against some bad memories." She left to serve someone and Tom sat wondering what those memories could be. "World War II," he said when she came back. She nodded. "Lots of stories about that but I know there are things he never told anyone." They were both quiet for a bit. Then Tom looked up and said "My father was a drunk, Mary. A falling down drunk. The neighborhood knew it and the family knew it. But he was a fine man anyway." He looked at her and smiled. "Fine to me." She nodded. "I understand. My dad was the best. Just the best." She was close to tears and he could see that the conversation had upset her. She didn't speak again and he took out his wallet and paid the check. It gave her something to do as she rang it up on the old, brass cash register that her father had saved from his last restaurant. She used it for the bar only and it was a little bit of an homage to him. As she handed him his change she patted his hand. "You never know Tom. Maybe your dad was trying to console you. You have to believe that love never dies. Where the hell does it go? It's real. It's something we still feel." He was grateful for the kind words. Although friendly, Mary kept her distance. She made it very clear to everyone she wasn't available and this night she had given up precious information about herself. "Agreed. We're here to feel it even though they're not here to receive it. Spills over though and what are we to do with that? My da told the Irish stories as if he invented them. That's what I remember about his most drunken moments. And, like you, I don't ever recall it as offensive. He was at his best mid bottle," he said and nodded. She said nothing but looked thoughtful. Maybe she was getting a picture of a man older than him, sweeter than him and much more easily hurt. "Goodnight, Mary. Mind the cold. I'll see ya," he said as he put on his coat. "Stay warm, Tom." As he walked out she thought about what they had said and felt the warmth of friendship, even though it was safely separated by the bar. And she thought about her father and how she had never been able to take away the demons that made him so sad. Jack came up and snapped his fingers in front of her. "Hey! Are you with me or against me? I have a very anxious just turned 21 crowd at table 2 and they want all these strange concoctions. What the hell is a Sloe Gin Fizz?" She smirked as she pulled out a battered drink recipe book. "Oh, Jack. You're the most uninformed waiter, but you're all I have right now. Just leave me the list." He dropped a white sheet of paper on the bar and gave a laugh as he turned back to walk to the small kitchen. As she filled the order she looked in the mirror and saw herself with a small, thoughtful smile. "Oh yeah, dad. I can feel you in every corner of this place."
