“The One and Only” Ch.3

Gradually returning his focus to the present and away from the confines of the memory, Dionysus frowned and took another long draw of water, shaking his hands free of liquid as he wearily stood to his feet. Grabbing the pan he made his way back to his camp, packing it up quickly in what had become more habit than duty. His tent and bag secured, he slung the lot onto his back and made his way away from the parking lot he had left the girl the night before. The sound of cars irritated him. All they did was remind him of the passage of time.

And that was the last thing he wanted to think of.

He stopped suddenly, scratching his beard and then rubbing the back of his neck as he remembered what day it was. He had intended long ago to give up the tradition, no matter what it meant. It didn't matter anymore. Not to anyone. Not to him. But that is the thing with memory.

You take the good with the bad, and sometimes we are stuck in a pattern of action whether we want to or not. But Dionysus felt no such opinion. He didn't care. But somewhere inside he new he had to go. Not out of obligation. But out of habit. And so he turned around and headed in the opposite direction he had been going. Toward the road. And toward the nearest drinking hole. It surprised him little to realize another year had passed. A moment in his reckoning. But he never let the day escape him. Because he couldn't miss it. Not for anything.

Because he owed it to them.

It was noon by the time he made his way down the road to the small bar positioned in the middle of nowhere. The type meant for locals and no one else. Because there was no one else. And so he made his way inside, the smell of cleaning solution hitting him instantly. He reckoned someone must have taken things too far the night before. The room was sparsely occupied, the old, grizzled bartender rubbing a glass, most likely to pass the time more than to keep it looking clean. His beard was thick and gray, his hair balding heavily on top. At first he didn't notice the new addition, squinting his eyes upon noticing just to make sure he wasn't mistaking the stranger for someone he knew.

“What's your pleasure," he asked in a friendly sort of way. At least as friendly as he could. He was out of practice.

“Twelve shots of Tsipouro brandy.”

The bartender looked at him with confusion. “I'm sorry. We don't carry...”

“Look on the shelf in the maintenance closet next to the bottle of bleach. The previous owner stored it there after his wife told him to stop drinking so damn much. He snuck himself a swig every once in a while. His wife didn't mind because he paid for it out of his own cut.”

The bartender was dumbfounded, but after a moment he went to the back and retrieved the bottle. Then he laid out twelve shot glasses in front of him and filled them up.

“You sure you can handle that mister?”

Dionysus looked at him coldly as he placed a hundred dollar bill down in the front of the drinks. The bartender took the hint and collected his money as Dionysus sat and thought. Then, breathing in deeply, he reached forward and grabbed the first shot.

“Hermes,” he murmured. Then he knocked it back, immediately grabbing another.

“Artemis,” he murmured, then drank that one too.

“Hestia,” he said in succession.

And so it went until he reached the eleventh.

“Zeus,” he said. And with a grimace he let the liquor burn down his throat.

He lingered only a moment, letting the alcohol sit for a moment. Then he stood up, leaving the twelfth drink where it had been placed, making his way to the door. His head swam a little, but cleared once he opened the door and stepped out into the cool air. Since the morning the temperature had dropped despite the time of day, and Dionysus felt himself shivering despite himself. Some local kids were talking, a young girl among them.

“I don't know where he is. I mean we drank a little last night. But I remember getting in the car and heading home early. He probably tried something stupid.”

“Probably tried to cop a feel and you knocked him out.”

“Atta girl,” another said, despite lacking evidence.

The girl blushed.

Dionysus ignore them and headed out and down the road. He new he didn't have long before the alcohol hit. After that it was unlikely he would have the coordination to set up the tent.

Inside the bar by the front window, their hat pulled low, stood a surprisingly tall figure, watching as he make his way down the road. Once Dionysus was out of sight, he went up to the bar and grabbed the last of the shots.

“Dionysus,” he said coldly, then tipped the shot down his throat.