Ninth – (day 9)

by

David G Shrock

Standing at the bar, Larry York listened to classic rock playing over the jukebox. The song took him back to high school, his first kiss with Nadia. He could almost taste her lips. He pushed his empty beer bottle around on the moist surface. Flicking his finger sent the bottle sliding into his left hand. He watched condensation smears reform into a trail of drops. Sadie Hawkins. The same song had been playing at the Sadie Hawkins dance when Nadia had kissed him. Strange how a memories travel through time within music.

Larry pushed the empty bottle away. “One more.”

“Nine is unlucky.” Taking the bottle, Nancy swiped a cloth across the counter clearing condensation circles and peanut crumbs.

“What’s that?” Larry shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about me driving. I walked.”

“All the way from Pine Grove?”

“Doctor’s orders. Have to walk for my heart.” He tapped his chest. “Besides, I only had four.”

“That’s what I’ll have left. Nine.” Dropping the bottle behind the counter, Nancy set her hands on the bar. “How about something from the tap?”

“What’s so unlucky about nine? It’s a solid number.”

“Back in the old days. They hanged some young women. Black magic. Summoning spirits. That sort of thing. Anyway, the ninth got away before they could string her up. Men chased her on the ridge. They caught up with the gal, but they slipped in the snow. Fell to their death.”

“So?” (Read More)

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