Pint-Sized Stories

September 25th, 2019
Mighty Mike’s Poolhall & Billiards
Cheap White Wine

“Rack em, Patches,” he said, chalking his cue.

“Sure, Eddie, sure,” said Patches, alternating stripes and solids in the plastic triangle.

“You gonna break em, Eddie?” he asked, sipping his pint of Cool. “Your bursitis okay? Cause I can bust em for ya and still call it yours, ya know; I won’t go soft or nothin either.”

“Jesus, Patches, how old you think I am? I’m two years younger than you, you know?”

“Right,” said Patches, “right. I always forget about that, cause you look like the Buddah’s skinny Grandad.” He took another sip of Cool.

Eddie threatened Patches ribs with the butt end of his cue and faked away. The two old men laughed, slapped each other’s shoulders, laughed some more. Eddie’s laugh turned into a cough and Patches took a step back, concerned but not hovering. The cough deepened, rattled his chest, and Eddie took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He held it to his lips with one hand and waved his friend away with the other.

Patches poured water into a plastic cup from the pitcher at the corner of the bar and carried it over to Eddie.

Eddie caught his breath and straightened up enough to accept the proffered cup. One more deep breath and he was able to take a sip. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth and at the involuntary tears his eyes had made. He took another sip and tried to look at his handkerchief without being noticed.

Patches noticed.

“Hey, hey Eddie,” he said. “You watch the game last night?” He chalked his cue for the forty-leventh time. “You believe that interception? What a play! Hey Eddie?”

Eddie sipped more water from the red solo cup; stood up a little taller.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his mouth one more time, “What a ramble.”

The two men looked at each other for the briefest of moments, then quickly away. Eddie chalked his cue some more.

“That was the TSN Turning point for sure,” said Patches. “I didn’t think that was much of a trade, but fuck me, I’m happy to be wrong, eh?”

“Yep, damn straight,” said Eddie. “Cats just might go all the way this year.”

“Oskie wee wee, Buddy,” Patches said, “Oskie wee wee.”

“Hey, Patches, grab us a round on mine, okay?” Eddie stiffled a cough. “I’ll be right back,” he said, headng for the Men’s.

Patches watched him go and as he walked away, Eddie’s handkerchief fell from his back pocket. He waited until Eddie was out of sight, then he walked over and picked it up. There was blood on it. He looked around the bar and sighed. He used a clean corner of the cloth to wipe tears then dropped it back on the floor, where he had found it. He returned to his pint of Cool.

He leaned on the pool table for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then ordered a round on Eddie’s tab.

“Okay, you Newfie bugger,” said Eddie, dropped hanky back in its pocket, “Back up, my friend, I’m gonna break this rack and your back.”

“I’m from Novafucking Scotia, for the millionth time you old sack of bones,” said Patches, his smile exposing new, white false teeth. “Besides, you couldn’t break wind with a pot fulla beans!”

Eddie took a sip of his fresh pint and broke hard.