I stare blankly at the building before me. Riotous hoots and drunken karaoke spill out from it into the otherwise silent night air as I stand stock-still in the road. I am absolutely certain that this is the place, but there's part of me that's desperately begging to never show my face in a place like that.
But that is not the part of me that loved her. On this one night it must be silent. Savoring my last breath of the crisp and untainted outside air, I hold it as I walk in.
I try to pretend to be casual, to swagger in confidently and take a seat like there's nothing wrong .... I find it impossible, however, as the cacophony I heard from outside blasts into my consciousness full-force. The smell of cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of alcohol assaulting my nostrils doesn't help. Dirty, rowdy, and unrefined strangers (most of them in cowboy hats and boots) are everywhere, some glancing at me curiously as I walk in. It's not at all surprising that I'm attracting attention. From my expertly-styled purple hair to the (admittedly excessive) makeup I'm wearing, it's obvious that I'm not of their kind.
I disregard the stares of everyone around me and take a seat at a barstool, waiting patiently for the bartender to arrive.
As I'm waiting, I become aware of a whistle in my direction, followed by "Hey, princess! How'd a gem like you end up in this box o' rocks?". Charming.
I remember my old friend talking about people like that. I chuckle a bit despite my situation as I remember her brilliant line; "An' if any of them think 'bout cat callin' on ya, I'll think about givin' 'em a fight and showin' them who the real pussy is" . At the time I scolded her for sounding so vulgar, but now I understand her perspective.
I sigh and return to reality. The bartender has slid over to where I'm sitting. "Sorry 'bout them. "He mumbles. Sighing apologetically and edging closer, he whispers to me. "If you don't pay 'em any mind they'll leave ya be. They only do it for the reaction". In comparison to the rest of my company, he's the most proper gentleman I've ever met. "Now, what can I get you, ma'm?"
I'm a lightweight, and avoid drinking at all when possible. My choice when I do is usually a small glass of some sort of fine wine. But I'm here for something else tonight. "I'll have some cider, please," It doesn't feel like something I would say. Indeed, everything about this moment has gotten ridiculously surreal. The atmosphere, my order, the circumstances that led me here to this old saloon... None of it seems real. Or at least it shouldn't be. I manage to finish with "A friend of mine informed me that the cider here is good."
The bartender looks up. "They busy tonight? Folks like you don't often come here alone.... Well, they don't often come here at all, but ya know what I mean."
"Yes, she had intended to take me..." The words that could come after that are ones I cannot speak.
"Shame she couldn't be here." He leaves to get my drink, and I'm alone with my thoughts again for a minute.
I remember discussing the idea of coming here. Back then, I had dismissed the idea as something foolish and uncouth that I would never partake in. But to her it had different meaning. I could see her in my mind's eye so clearly, it was as though she was sitting beside me with a drink. My mind's projection of her picks up her drink and reminisces "The place is so important because... Well, it's where my parents met. Meetin' in a bar don't sound all too romantic, I'm well aware, but to them... It was. The night of their lives, they always said... My daddy told me he'd take me when I was old enough, but he didn't make it. I oughta take you though. Share somethin' special to me". With a wink and a big grin, she adds lightheartedly, "don't go too heavy on them drinks though. I know the cider's good, but I don't wanna drag ya home". As if I would. She knew as well as I that I wasn't one to take many drinks.
I'm interrupted from reminiscing of my own as the bartender returns with my drink. "Here y'are, ma'am." He passes me the cider.
I stare at it for a moment before actually picking up the cup and tentatively taking a sip. It is good, as I was promised, but even so I soon put the cup down again. I can't bring myself to drink it. I can't bring myself to do anything anymore. I lay my head on the table and sob bitterly.
"... Ma'am? Is there a problem?" The bartender stands watching me fall apart. The genuine concern in his expression is what drives me to be able to speak again.
"No... Well, yes, sir, there has been all along. It's why I'm here as a matter of fact."
He looks puzzled for a moment, then understanding crosses his face and it is quickly followed by sympathy. " She ain't busy, is she?"
"No, she isn't..." The tears flow endlessly, as if they had previously been blocked by a dam of my self-defense and now that I had finally broken there was nothing to stop them from flowing as a liberated river. I have to wipe my eyes to see again, using a napkin so I don't cover myself in my makeup.
I feel warmth on my shoulder and realize the bartender is softly patting me on the back. A gesture like that from a total stranger would usually evoke an unpleasant reaction from me, but now I find it strangely comforting.
"I didn't know.... Nobody even knew she was sick until she had but a month to live.... " A few other people in the bar have gathered around and some are providing me with more napkins to dry my tears.
It's hitting me harder than before. I can't hide or pretend it's not real anymore. Every memory is returning, weighing my mind and heart down like lead. Her announcement that she had cancer, and only a month to live . Every day she kept working when she was in pain despite everyone trying to stop her. How one of her great regrets was dying of some stupid illness instead of dying heroically or making it to a good age like her grandmother. Her reaching for me as she closed her eyes for the last time.... And apologizing for putting off telling me and not taking me to the saloon. Everything about her was so tragically beautiful, to the very last minute...
Others have joined in patting me on the back. And then it occurs to me. I finally understand. Before, it had been a wild, rowdy, dirty saloon and nothing more. But now I see it for what lies beneath, what she saw and loved. It's a family. a broken one, but still warm and loving as any other.
And I remember that I came her to honor her memory, not to mourn.
I sit up and finally manage to stop crying. Still shaking as I grab my cup, I gulp down all of my cider without hesitation now. Then I reach into my bag and pull out several large gems. I hand them over to the bartender, who protests that it's far too generous of a payment. But when I insist he keep it, he eventually gives in.
"Alright, but I'm gonna serve ya to the best of my ability. Want anything else, ma'am?"
"It's... Rarity. And I could use a shot of something stronger, I suppose . To drown out the pain."
"Alright. May I suggest some applejack, Madame Rarity?"
I hesitate for only a moment. "That sounds like exactly what I need."
Author's Note
Hope you enjoyed your feels trip