Danny's Tavern

A honking horn wakes you. Another morning. No sooner do you open your eyes you know that again you’ve got the blues and a damn sharp pain in your thigh. Damn old age. Jenny, your black Lab, jumps up on the bed and licks your face. You feel so empty, so baffled almost desperate like you’re trapped inside some black vacuum which shrinks and crushes you. So alone, that you could weep especially when you hear a special song, recall a sweet moment, visualize a warm face, smell a soft fragrance – a something from long ago youth which triggers your memory. Oh, to be 21 again on a sunny beach. No wonder Ponce de Leon frantically searched for the fountain of youth. Forget overpopulation, you want to live no matter how aged you are. As Gunny told you years ago there’s always a something – a haunting memory, a sweet image – to prompt you to want to stay. And the dog is so happy to be with you. “What’s your beef, Bill? So you’re old, so what? Every year is seven for me! Look at all the white hairs on my stomach. And I never had pups of my own, because you got me spayed. You’re not much but you’re all I have.” “Shut up Jenny,” I’m worried, don’t you understand?” “Bill, have you forgotten when you wrote you knocked off characters left and right, without even a thought. Dinty the dim, talk about lonely! Now be quiet, look at my wagging tail, be happy.” I put the dog outside. Yes, you’ve got the yearn for a constant companion and with each passing day you feel less able to deal with your problems. And worse yet, the old standups – reading and writing – which pulled you out of the black moods are now ineffective. Maybe you can only go the well so many times. You can’t read. Nothing interests you. The library’s a drag. Your eyes lack concentration. No hobbies to occupy your mind. No more pretty young girls with short dresses where you can sneak a peek – no interest. You go to the tavern in late afternoon and drink away until evening and relive the past, cursing the bad times and smiling at the victories. If luck rewards you, sleep comes easy. Morning continues to viscous circle. And the more you drink, the deeper into the whirlpool you sink. What an empty way to live. Even as write now, your hands move, the ink goes on the paper but your hearts not in it. The sun glares through the kitchen window and that lack of energy depresses you all the more. Like it’s a day you should be accomplishing, creating, living. But you’re an old timer and you’re tired and you’re brooding and hurting from something within you. Sure the long term test results remain to be evaluated and didn’t the doctor, the Egyptian fellow – Dr. Arab - tell you not to worry. He sees little to be concerned with. But do you believe him? Would he tell you straight-out? Let’s face it, you don’t trust half those in the hospital. Who’s the best judge? You know there is something wrong inside. A lump, pain, weight loss, no appetite, always nervous, bouts with diarrhea. You don’t want to write anymore. Can’t concentrate. Jesus, for a guy whose written a million words about feelings and fears and premonitions, you’re finding it impossible to describe your deepest emotions. Here I am lonely and afraid in a world I never made – Danny O’Neill – James T. Farrell. God! You’ve got to break out of this depression. If only there was a button that you could force the pain and loneliness to disappear. Let’s go to Danny’s.