Short Story

“Take me somewhere nice.”

After a long week of work cooped up in his office, these are the only words that Roger can seem to muster up as his body flops into the taxicab like a huge bag of dirt. The taxi driver might be offended, but is otherwise too focused on the Friday night traffic whizzing all around him to give it a second thought; after all, in 20 years making a living behind the wheel the man has never made the leap from customer to friend. A million empty conversations to pass the 5-minute drives, the driver doesn’t quite recall exactly when it was that he abandoned chit-chat altogether. No one listens to me anyway, he thinks to himself.

The streets of Oslo are cold this time of year, but Roger is even colder in his directions. Nine dollars and fifty cents later, Roger lifts his meaty frame through the comically small door of the Volkswagen and can’t tell if it is his legs rubbing on the leather seats or a disgruntled grumble from the driver with no tip that he hears upon his exit. Either way, he has arrived to his destination, which he confirms on the crumpled scrap of paper he jotted the address upon earlier in the afternoon while planning his Friday night escape. New to town, Roger has taken to the bar scene as a means to “get out there, explore the town, and meet new people,” which is what he tells himself to do, but at his age he can’t help but feel the slight nip of depression as memories of a younger, more jovial version of himself seem just out of reach. A Roger that was on the scene, a Roger that enjoyed the crowd, a Roger that he can almost put his finger on now.

The idea of coming to the bar to actually drink, rather than meet friends is new to Roger, but a habit slowly becoming routine since making his new surroundings of Norway “home.” At first he convinced himself that he did not want the company - that he was glad to be away from the hustle & bustle of people who were looking to be out only to be seen. But what becomes of Roger when he succeeds in convincing himself of these misconceptions?

Half way into his whiskey, Roger not only finds that he wished he had ordered a gin, but also that Barfly is quite different from what he had in mind upon first reading its praises in local reviews. The calm, laid-back atmosphere he had hoped for was roused by young locals recently done with the work-week, enjoying libations and chattering away in a tongue that was as strange to Roger as the reason he had chosen to come here in the first place. Why couldn’t I have gone to Galleriet like I usually do… Roger wondered to himself as he swirled the melting cubes of ice around the bottom of his otherwise empty glass.

Roger motioned to the bartender by tipping his glass and made sure to make the next one a gin. As the bartender poured, Roger remembered why he didn’t much like Galleriet anyway.

“No service,” he mumbled out loud to himself.

“I beg your pardon,” shot back the bartender – surprised and alarmed as if he had just been charged with a crime.

“I’m sorry, nothing. I guess I was just thinking aloud…” Roger clarified meekly as he brought his new drink to his lips.

Although Roger had no desire to go to the Galleriet for a drink, he wondered how things might be there at this hour. So close to his own apartment, he always did love the easy access from his doorstep, especially in the dead of winter when the cold air could sting so badly it left you breathless. The Galleriet was a cozy bar; the first one Roger had been to in this strange, new land and because of that it made him feel comfortable. However, Roger loathed the service – or rather, the lack thereof – that the main bartender at Galleriet provided. Admittedly, Roger was aware of his tendency to blend into the background and to quietly sip away at his drink without so much a fuss over the horrible music, the shortage of napkins, or even that acrid stench emanating from the men’s bathroom, but the bartender, Daryl’s, indifference to Roger was impossible to ignore.

Unsatisfied with his gin, Roger reached for the drink list neatly folded to his right when he noticed a man making his way to the bar stool beside him. Although he did mind, Roger politely acquiesced when the man made a motion for the stool and lifted his eyebrows as if to say, “Do ya mind, buddy?”

Loose around his unbuttoned collar, the man’s necktie seemed to fling about each time he took a drink, which was twice as often as Roger and before Roger could begin to hypothesize on what brought this man to the bar, he found himself at the receiving end of the man’s best Taxi Driver chatter.

Roger could not have cared less, but with months of recent practice since moving to his new home, he has perfected the 2-minute byte on his life and feigned an interest so believable that it has begun to take over the core of his existence. In between fake pleasantries Roger cannot help but realize that he has met hundreds of people this way, but that he knows not a single one of them.

From their what-is-your-name-and-what-do-you-do conversation, Roger learns that Gabriel is from Oslo, and as such, has plenty of insight for Roger as a newbie, like what drink to try next as Roger nervously fidgets with the drink menu, visibly obvious in his indecision. The new, local libation has Roger longing for another whiskey, which now sounds awfully good, and Gabriel pries further into Roger’s life asking if he is on holiday, as clearly he is not Norwegian. Roger explains his situation to Gabriel, but it is clear by the blank look on his disinterested face that Gabriel has only asked out of courtesy and is only waiting for his chance to speak again.

“I am on vacation. I have been visiting an old friend,” says Gabriel in a slur.

A bit perplexed - as he had understood that Gabriel has lived in Oslo his entire life - Roger begins to engage more in the conversation, asking about his vacation and who this friend might be. However, instead of something reasonable, Gabriel tells Roger that he has been visiting himself. Disappointed for having let himself believe that he might actually have a real conversation, Roger accepts that Gabriel is just a drunk and politely withdraws from further banter.

Too drunk to notice, or perhaps unaffected by having an audience or not, Gabriel continues to tell Roger about his old friend, his old self. Gabriel used to know himself. Gabriel knew what he liked, what he wanted, and what his dreams were. Gabriel knew what scared him, what his objectives were for the day, month, and year. Gabriel had been all around the world, seen beautiful buildings, ruins, and beaches. Gabriel had met interesting people that gave him countless nights of fun, meaningful conversation, and lasting friendships. But somewhere along the way Gabriel forgot about his old friend – or so he says to Roger and to all of the others not listening to him at the bar – his old self.

Gabriel asks rhetorically if Roger has ever been honest with himself, knowing that he has lost his audience, but unyielding in vocalizing his message. And even though Roger won’t show it, he is listening now more than ever and responds to himself in the quiescence of his own mind.

Driving the point home to the handful of bar patrons that were never listening to Gabriel in the first place, “Have you ever truly, truly been honest with yourself?”

And just as the thought leaves Gabriel’s mouth, his oration is interrupted by a phone call and just as quickly as he sat down, Gabriel is on his way out the door. A friendly pat on the back to Roger and Gabriel excuses himself, making sure to let Roger know it has been a great pleasure meeting him. Too ashamed to unfix his eyes from his own drink, Roger fails to acknowledge Gabriel. Gabriel pays the bar tab, casually saying that the doctor has called and said his wife has just given birth to a beautiful, healthy boy – clearly trying to mask his jubilant excitement. To remain calm. To not let anyone know what excitement really lies inside.

“I hope he is just like me,” Gabriel exclaims as he exits.

I do too, Roger thinks alone to himself.  I do too.