The Glass is Full

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"You've learned a lot to be such a young age," the bartender, Tim, tells me at barely four on a Sunday afternoon. It's very rare that I have a cocktail this early, but pain is a consistent sideeffect of self-exploration. When you go looking for the answers to hard questions, the answers are usually harder to take than the empty gaps you're trying to fill.

I had spent last five years trying to corner a certain demon, and just then, earlier that morning, I felt as if I'd finally boxed it in. Being young and dumb, I always believed that the only way that demon's story could end was via a stake to the heart. But I was wrong. It's never that easy. As those of you who have hung around here for awhile, you know I have a tendency to exist in extremes. There are some things about yourself, about your loved ones, and most importantly about the world at large that you just have to live with.

So after a trip to the Brownstoners fleas market, where I came up on a copy of the 12-inch for Georgio's "Tina Cherry," a semi-hit in the 80s by one of the worst Prince clones since Micky Free from Shalimar (along with Johnny Kemp's "Just Got Paid" and the Huey Lewis and the News Sports album), Rich and I were two of the three customers in Frank's Lounge on a gray breezy mid-afternoon.

If there's one thing to be found within the wainscotted walls of Frank's it's conversation. Unlike today's watering holes there's nothing slick about the place. While not quite a dive the joint demeanor has always been very early 70s. And the men there, whether behind the bar or having had one too many, almost always seem to have peaked during that era. While I was more than prepared for a few quiet moments with my glass of Mount Gay and club soda chaser, I was instead pulled headfirst into a conversation with Tim, the Sunday bartender, a man in his late 60s who has seen the world from South Carolina to the Bronx to many places in between. He, Rich and I chopped it up about photography, about Fort Greene and the stadium, about the Knick's bad luck and about retirement.

Tim works the bar on the slowest day or the week. I imagine him as the kind of guy who just likes to stretch his legs every once in a while, to step out of the crib and be able to interact with men and women from his own time as well as those young enough to be his own children. I can see myself doing the same in my later years, getting myself a little bar and grill with an eclectic enough menu and riding it out.

I always enjoyed the company of folks older than me. Every since the days when I would roll with my father to visit his friends, I always had an interest in the way grownups did things. They had their own language, their own style. They took their time with everything in a way that was almost the antithesis of the kinetic energy that always felt as if it were about to explode from my pores. And there was always something they had to say that made sense.

After a night framed by a sausagefest house party, complete with a lesbian love triangle, a conversation with a 24 year old who talked just like a 24 year-old, sushi served en masse without chopsticks and some of the driest calamari I've ever had in my life, I had sworn that I was never going out again. I had sworn that I was through with people. I had for the millionth time cursed myself for having eyes that saw things just a little bit differently. But as I listened to Tim's words of praise about my own sense of understanding, as I listened to him toss out story after story of his, knowing that the well would never go empty, I was reminded of just how early it is in the game and how much of a blessing it is to make it until old age as opposed to going out in some outlaw sense of glory before things even get started.

Maybe I have figured out more than most this early on. Perhaps I truly am ahead of the curve. It's no different than this thing that's been happening lately when I'll think of a random movie and then end up seeing it in the strangest of places laster on that very day. Leaving the diner Saturday night my favorite episode of Cowboy Bebop just happened to be playing on the bar TV as I walked out. Yesterday I wondered randomly about what had happened to the kid who played Little Chris in Friday only to unexpectedly end up watching the film at Seda's (shoutout to you baby for kicking ass in that martial arts tournament out in Jersey).

Right about now I'm feeling like I'm closer than ever to the point when they'll play the horns when I touch down, as all the signs are pointing to the realization of a dream come true flash before me in my day-to-day, as Tim gives me two shots and four chasers for six bucks and Rich (and later Kris) enjoyed Tim's company as much as I did, I feel proud of myself staying the course longer than many whom I admire, further than my parents, further than the friends who always seemed more gifted and talented than I was, for all the blessings the folks on the other side throw my way whenever my finger nails get even close to the edge. I have chosen to face my fears instead of fleeing from them. Most folks just keep running.

While sitting on Seda's couch watching the closing sequence of the Thomas Crown Affair, Seda and I both marveled at how in real life most people lack the heart and the courage to say that they made a mistake when a something is still fixable. So few people ever hop into that cab to the airport to stop someone from getting on a flight because they don't want them to go unless they can be on the same plane.

They'd rather let it all die like plants in some neglected window sill. When it comes to my feelings I tend to be fearless. If you can't roll with that I'm not a dude you should be around.

I woke up early this morning knowing that there are less than 48 hours before I have something due. But I'm keeping a cool head, knowing that it'll get done like the dishes, knowing that someday sooner than not my five little girls will see my name on something they've watched, even if they don't remember it, knowing that so many of the things I want are coming. And I can't wait for them to get here. Out.