Just another night

‘ So that’s fifteen two, fifteen four and two pair makes eight.’
I slid my peg down the board and fitted it in the hole that marked END. My uncle looked at me and sighed.
‘ OK how about some more wine?’
I couldn’t help but nod with a triumphant grin. I usually don’t beat my uncle at crib, but I suppose I may have been grinning for both the game and the thought of another bottle of Argentinean Trapeche.
‘ How about pool then…when the wine is gone of course.’ I asked suggestively.
‘ I can only hope I’ll play better at that, but I guess a bit of this will do the trick. How about that wine?’ he responded laughing.

We quickly drank the wine and took turns using the bathroom-for our bladders were heavily pressured by the drinking. Richard changed his shirt with a crazy one from Barcelona and pulled over a sweater he always wore out because he said it hid his noticeably protruding belly. His recent trip to France and Spain took its toll. Following that we wrapped ourselves in jackets, scarves, hats and gloves. It being thirty below we had drank hardly enough to battle the Quebec cold. So we left the warm Plateau apartment looking like Everest adventurers in search of a comforting dive to exercise our talents in pool and socializing. Or so we hoped.

The banter hummed through the long patio windows of The Scoop and warmth hugged our chilled faces as we huddled into the place. The Scoop is a good sports bar well positioned on Mount Royal Street and Drolet. It accommodates every need a regular would want in a bar; large pool tables lined one of the room’s wall. A horseshoe shaped bar splits the two rooms and the other room is loaded with tables, chairs, sofas and strategically placed big screens to always have a view of your favorite sports event. In the back are two billardini tables-though usually taken by crazed soccer fans. On the brink of being too dim the large windows that make up the outer wall cooperate well with the lighting situation. And the bartenders are always sweet-talking, sweet looking French Canadian girls.

I dashed to claim a pool table as my uncle ordered two Guinness. A few games and a few pints into the night when we were pleasantly surprised by our cousins Patty and Jamie Donovan. They were in good humor and with what seemed to be the intention to stay for more than one drink.

During the initial hellos a man in his late forties and his wife approached. I soon learned from the greetings that they knew my uncle and cousin Pat. The man had thinning hair, squinty eyes and a red face. He introduced himself as Frank and claimed to have known my uncle from ‘way back.’ The wife was a healthy looking woman of her forties with dark hair and a face buffed with makeup and boredom. After a quick nod I turned back to the pool game at hand, but had lost my uncles attention to the newly arrived. Assuming the game was now hopeless I asked everyone if a doubles game could transpire amidst the determined yet uninteresting gossip. Jamie preferred to chat it up with the bartenders so it helped the way of making the teams. The majority of the game went well, up until my partner, whom was Frank, was about to attempt an incredibly illogical shot that I was sure to cost us the game. I was drunk but not drunk enough to not notice a badly assessed shot in pool. (We take our pool game seriously) It being a partners' game I felt it was in my duty to advise against such a shot. I do believe the reaction I received from Frank was due to the exceeding beers he drank, because no other excuse could be appointed without demeaning his personality.
‘Leave me alone kid, I’m fuckin’ shootin’…not you!’ he snarled.
‘Well it’s stupid what you’re doing. You’ll miss and leave them the eight with a clear sight.’ I snapped back more in reflex than intention.
Feeling my face get hot I stood back and took a long sip of my warm stout to watch the disaster play itself out. He missed and it was an ugly shot. The cue ball rolled to a position with a clear but angled shot at the eight into the corner pocket. Relieved, in a way, that he did miss and didn’t show me otherwise I still said nothing but smirked a smirk that says ‘I told you so!’ and sipped my Guinness. Though I had thought no one would miss such a chance to win my jaw dropped when I witnessed the cue ball creep into the opposite corner a moment after the eight found it’s pocket. A scratch and a loss. At that moment I couldn’t say anything. I thought it only figured that something so ironic would happen. Whilst my uncle and cousin groaned their woes Frank began his boasting.
‘See we won anyways and I don’t need your help…just let me shoot my shit.’
‘Listen, it’s a team game and it’s only right that I tell you whether or not it’s a smart shot or not…so fuck off.’ I said seriously and I think everyone felt the tone in my voice being hard and severe. The offended man took two large steps up to me with his finger at my throat and his face turning crimson. A lot of his yelling and threatening was a blur and more like a hazy dream. I actually felt pretty calm while he screamed at me. Almost bored and annoyed that he was wasting valuable pool playing time. In the middle of him yelling something of the sort ‘You little shit shouldn’t talk to me about how to play pool…blah blah blah blah…’ I peered over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow to my uncle questioning his choice of friends. At that point Frank poked hard at my neck with his smoke yellowed fingers and tickled my anger. But I kept my cool and stayed Zen with this obnoxious man. Quickly after a few more threats of him somehow hurting me and proving himself being bigger and older and thus wiser my uncle and cousins swiftly pulled him out of my face and only the other side of the bar. The wife rolled her eyes and added another layer of blush to her bulletproof face. Letting out a long sigh I felt a little bit more sober than before the scene. Finishing the last sips and motioning for another Jamie came over and patted me on the shoulder.
‘You stole the show there man. Kept you cool, that dude is an asshole.’
‘Yeah well he pissed me off. I think one more game of this here pool and I’ll be off to join my rugby team for a few pints on Prince Arthur.’
My cousin laughed and shook his head.
‘I can’t believe Patty scratched though…damn. Well I need another beer. Gotta love those French chicks.’

Making a noise that was to be my agreeing I saw my uncle and Patty coming back and Frank settling down on the other side of his wife mumbling things to her, his face still hot with the beer and adrenaline.
‘Ok no more doubles damn it. But what before this next game I think Jamie and I need to go out for a toke-ashnola.’ My goofy uncle said with a squinted smile on his face. The thing is with my uncle, is that either drunk or sober he likes to create words and/or add an ‘sh’ or ‘n’ in the word. Chuckling at the word use and of the thought of my uncle stoned again I found myself in a better mood. Patty was on his way to being pretty tight.
‘My bro says you’re goin’ to another place after. Man I don’t wanna stick around in this hole with these cronies.’ He said laughing and winking at his brother. ‘Where ya goin?’
‘Well the rugby team says there’s some goings on at the Vol-de-Nuit on Prince Arthur. And usually with the team comes plenty of fun and debauchery…care for some?’ I asked half jokingly.
‘ Sure man I’ll get us a cab.’
And with that he got another beer and tossed me a buck to get the balls racked for the last game of pool. I thought it funny that he should come but at the same time I thought it pretty cool. I like my cousin Patty. He’s in his late thirties but still a young hearted smart guy that’s down to earth and knows what’s going on.

After the game of pool, the last beers and goodbyes we once again bundled up and walked that drunken walk to the cab. Patty told the man where to go and we were off. Peering out of the window of a cab late on a Saturday night can be quite the thing. Down St. Laurent Street we cruised. Patty pointing out every attractive girl the whole way and myself watching the people of the city. It was a swell ride to the bar.

Patty paid and over-tipped and we were about to enter the next bar when a loud scream came from down the street. Naturally we turned and gave in to our human curiosity. There were two groups of the usual Saturday night crowd and one of each group commenced to fight. The scream came from what was probably the girlfriend of one of the guys fighting.
‘That’s funny.’ I commented with a nod.
‘Must be a full moon or somethin’.’ Pat answered.
We quickly lost interest and went on towards our destination. Short street lamps lit the street and there was frost on all the windows of the bars, cafes and restaurants that crowded both sides of the popular street. A sharp wind blew and forced us to jog into the doorway of the bar and we made a fast attempt to take refuge in the soon to be home away from home. The difference in atmosphere and the fullness of the place struck us and we were soon sucked into it. I easily found the crowd I was looking for. My rugby team. There were about a dozen of whom I knew from the team and another dozen girls in their midst laughing and tossing their hair about. Pat was very pleased and I was happy to be waved over by my team captain. After the two dozen handshakes and half the names forgotten I was handed two beers by the team’s hooker, Simon.
‘This is for that beautiful try you got today Andy. Cheers!’
‘Well thank for calling that A outside play. I like bein’ used.’ I said with a wink.
‘I guess we’ll use ya more often then you crazy bastard.’ Simon answered with a slap on my back.
Pat moved in on the girls quick and just as quick was brushed off as an offensive drunk older guy. I felt bad for my harmless cousin just looking for a good conversation with one of the voluptuous girls hovering around the group of athletic guys. They were bitchy and Patty’s good mood was hurt by their arrogance.
‘Oh their just stupid narrow-minded chicks man…people aren’t how they used to be. Let’s get drunker and forget about girls for once.’ I said with confidence.

He gulped more beer down and looked around.
‘Maybe I’ll just go home to my damn wife.’ He said with a desperate chuckle.
‘Naw don’t let them women get ya down man…stay for a few more, then we’ll split.’ I suggested, but the truth of the matter was that I kind of wanted to just socialize with the team and girls more than be familiar company with my exceedingly drunker cousin who really should be at home with the wife.
‘One more then I’m really going to go home. You stay though…they like ya you devil.’
‘Good enough for me ya bum.’ I said in good spirits.

My cousin and I enjoyed a well-mixed whiskey and soda together and I saw him off with a second in my hand awaiting consumption. He stumbled out the door still taking glimpses of the fresh girls that populated the room. Shaking my head I found my way through and back to my sit at my captain’s side.

Plenty of jokes, storytelling and post-game gloating later I found myself awfully befuddled to the point of begging the bartender to call a cab. I’ve always been against cabs but that night I was sure to try and cozily sleep in a tempting snow bank. Most of the vixens had already left and I was just waiting for an excuse to leave without needing to make the necessary round of goodbyes. So I waited for everyone else to leave, save a few members of the team I knew were headed in the same direction. In the end it was Simon, a few of the forwards and their groupies left to exit the overused bar. I thanked the bartender for the call to the cab and overenthusiastically said my goodbyes to the rest of the posse. I found my designated ride amongst the other eager cabs strolling down St. Laurent in search of the dependant late night going outers that fall victim to the routine safe cab ride home. I knew I could wait and take the night bus but was in that lazy-drunk- just want to get to bed mood where money was no longer an issue. By some unsurprising yet mysterious coincidence I happened to get the same cab as earlier and so made the end of the night a tad more enjoyable.

I made it home for a rough quarter to four, paid and over tipped. I was happy with how the day had played out. I looked up the stairs to my warm loft and sighed. What a swell day and night. I thought. Though my head was pounding from a night of drinking, yelling, loud music and second hand smoke and my body pleading for rest after a day of bruising rugby, I felt very good and happy. I made a relieving trip to the bathroom, undressed and almost dramatically flung myself onto my futon. I heard Zeppelin as a soft hum from my radio and thought to myself, mmm perfect. Losing myself in a solo, my eyelids met and I was smoothly swept into a deep sleep-not to awake until the sun would peek through my drapes and, by what I’ve decided as one of Murphy’s Law’s, find it’s way to my face to disturb an attempt at sleeping in wonderfully late.