MiniNaNoWriMo: ficlet 11
In Boston, in rains like nobody’s business. Everything is cold and grey and wet, and Dean’s repetitive joking about “chowda” is nowhere near as funny the millionth time as it was the first. It seems like it’s miles back to the car in the rain, so when he spots the sign for a pub, he promptly turns while Dean happily follows.
They have to go down a set of stairs to get inside, and he’s glad there’s no snow. It’d be a bitch if these steps were icy. He can live with a little water if it means he doesn’t risk breaking his neck.
The pub itself is nicer than he’d expect, with its hardwood floors and a dark-stained bar in the center. There outer walls are exposed brick, while the inner walls are decorated with sports memorabilia and old photographs and trinkets relating to local history.
The few windows have diamond glass patterns and tiffany lamps hang over the booths. It’s early afternoon in late Autumn, so he’s not surprised to find the place is mostly empty. He bets this place gets packed with the after work crowd, and is probably very popular in the summer, when people flock to Beacon Hill in droves.
It vaguely reminds him of a pub near the apartment he and Jessica shared in California; dark but clean, cheap but not sleazy, the perfect hangout. He wonders for a moment if his friends still meet there on Wednesday nights for cheap wings and Trivial Pursuit.
Dean bumps his arm as he passes, bringing Sam out of this thoughts. He shrugs off his wet coat and pulls up a stool at the bar, next to his brother.
A slim blonde takes their order. She smiles at Sam as she asks, “What can I get you two gentlemen today?”
He orders a glass of Sam Adams. When the woman turns to Dean, she is treated to the grin he reserves for female bar staff. When she reacts by wrinkling her nose in distaste, Sam doesn’t even bother to stifle his laugh, even after Dean elbows him in the side. Hard.
There are two middle-aged men sitting together at one end of the bar, chatting with the bartender while she gets their drinks. Dean is unusually quiet and Sam decides not to interrupt, choosing instead to idly eavesdrop on the other patrons, who are having an unusually in depth discussion of the weather and U.S. postal delivery.
The server brings over their drinks and then leaves to wait on some people sitting at tables and in booths. Sam opens his bag and pulls out a copy of the paper. He’d been going over it earlier that day, looking for their next case. A few articles had grabbed his attention but he hadn’t had the chance to discuss them with Dean yet.
He flips to the page where he’d read about some unexplained break-ins, the houses robbed, the tenants attacked, but all the windows and doors were locked. He hoped to connect it to a similar case he’d heard about in Oregon.
The door swings open and a man wearing a beige trench coat rushes in, complaining loudly about the precipitation. He hangs up his jacket and takes a seat at the empty end of the bar, a few seats down from the boys. The waitress places a glass of beer in front of him, before he’s had the chance to order. Clearly this man is a regular. He nods his greetings to the two men at the opposite counter. More regulars, Sam assumes.
The man takes a sip and smacks his lips. “After my day, this is just what I needed,” he announces. “Between tantrums, ducking thrown objects, dealing with refusals to share and high-pitched shrieking, I’m exhausted.”
“The trials of fatherhood getting you down?” one of the other regulars, a grey haired man with a moustache, asks.
“Goodness no, Frederick is an angel,” he says. “I was talking about the married couples I had to counsel today. It’s like dealing with cranky two-year-olds.”
“It can’t be that bad,” the woman says dismissively. “If they’re in therapy, surely that must mean that they wish to work it out?”
“I’m afraid not Diane. By the time most couples seek therapy, it is already too late.”
“Then why bother? The expense of seeing a psychiatrist itself should provide some motivation to get something out of it, certainly?”
“No,” comments the other regular. “Some men see it as a relief. Any minute spent in therapy where she talks about nagging you, is another minute she’s not nagging you to talk.”
“More difficulties with Vera?” the psychiatrist asked.
“Yeah, she says I don’t show enough interest her.”
“Did she give you any examples of why she might feel that way?”
“I don’t know,” the man shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. “I wasn’t really listening.”
Dean chuckles at the man’s explanation. “See Sammy, that’s why I don’t need a wife. I’ve got you!”
“Ha. Ha,” Sam replies. He pushes the paper towards his brother, pointing to the circled headline. “I was thinking maybe would could go Vermont next.”
“We got something worth checking out?”
“Maybe,” he answers. “Looks kind of like what we saw in Eugene a while back.”
“Vermont eh?” the psychiatrist says, cutting in. “The turning leaves are quite the sight to see this time of year. I really do recommend it.”
“We’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Sam acknowledges.
“Are you boys travelling through New England?”
“Yeah,” Sam tells him. “My brother and I are on a roadtrip, cross-country, actually.”
“Ah yes, to be young and on the open road; it’s symbolic of life’s journey,” the doctor says. “Two brothers, seeing the world from their car, chasing adventure, taking advantage of the last chance live without rules or limitations, to sow one’s wild oats. I think it’s a splendid idea.”
“Did you every go on a cross-country trip with your brother? Live your own version of Kerouac’s tale?” Diane asks.
The doctor’s eyes widen at the suggestion. “With Niles’ motion sickness?” he scoffs. “Heaven’s no!”
Character from a TV Show: the boys had the pleasure of drinking with Frasier, Norm, Cliff and Diane, as played by George Wendt, Shelley Long, Kelsey Grammar and John Ratzenberger on the much loved comedy Cheers.
Word Count: 1020