Airport Bar

Paul never understood the attraction of airport bars. They seemed out of place, like they’d been plucked off a street corner and plopped down into the airport unbeknownst to the patrons, who continued to drink as though as though they were still sitting in their neighborhood bar. But today, with one beer down and a half-empty one in front of him, he looked around the bar and understood. Two women across from him are dressed in colorful matching t-shirts, with umbrella drinks in front of them, headed to a cruise they probably can’t afford but would later recall with great fondness. A guy a few seats down is wearing a logoed corporate polo shirt pulled down over his rotund midsection. He hates his job that requires constant travel. He knows it’s killing him but has kids and a house and can’t see a way out. A young couple with a plethora of tattoos on their arms and neck has just finished two shots of amber-colored something. They’ve built their relationship around a shared interest in a sports team and will remember this trip as the beginning of the end of their fling. Airport bars, he realized, now in the warmth of his second beer, were a waypoint on the road to transformation. Hope, desperation, love, grief - they were all welcome at Terminal 2.

He had been estranged from his daughter. Whether it was because they were too alike, or too different, or because he had made mistakes, he couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t really care about the why, he just wanted to move past it. He hated the nature-nurture debate. It reduced complexity to two unpalatable options. Nature implied there was some fundamental genetic miswiring that robbed a child of a happy life, and if you had just known that to start with, maybe you wouldn’t have had kids in the first place. Nurture meant you’d fucked up along the way and would at some point face the “it’s your fault I’m so screwed up” music. He preferred door number three: cosmic rays, climate change, microplastics, Jupiter in the 12th house, shit happens. What mattered now was that he was going to make amends. He wished it were under different circumstances, but he was getting on a plane to visit his daughter.

The afternoon sun dropped below the window, casting the bar into stark afternoon light. Paul squinted in the unfriendly glare. The seat next to him was shaded by a grey cement pillar that blocked the sunlight, beckoning him to move to it. Two seats over sat an older woman, in her sixties Paul guessed. She wearing a blue dress pulled in at the waist with a dark leather belt. Her gray hair was in a ponytail that hung at her back, a silver and turquoise barrette that looked Native American was pinned to it. A freshly poured martini sat on a coaster in front of her.

“Mind if I sit here?” Paul asked.

“No at all,” she replied, gesturing to the empty chair.

He grabbed his knapsack, slid his beer over, and settled into the seat.

“Thanks,” Paul replied, then finished off what was left of his beer in a long, single swallow, and set it down on the bar with an audible thud. Paul looked at the bartender who acknowledged his unspoken request.

“Paul,” he said, extending his hand.

“Bonnie,” her hand met his, grasping it with surprising strength.

“Where are you headed?”

“Here,” she replied.

“I didn’t realize coming to airport bars after a flight was a thing,” Paul said.

“I’ve got some history with things falling out of the sky. Bookending my flight with strong drinks calms my nerves,” she replied, taking a long sip of her martini.

“What brings you here?” Paul asked.

“I’m going to funeral,” she said.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“No apology necessary. People die, not everyone has someone to grieve them,” she said.

The bartender delivered Paul’s beer, turned to woman and asked, “Another for you miss?”

“I’m okay, but put his beer on my tab.”

“You don’t have to do that, but thank you,” Paul said. He paused briefly, then added, “Have we met before? I’ve got a good memory for faces and I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out - it’s a small world and I travel a lot for my job” she said. “Where are you headed?”

“Denver,” Paul replied.

“I just came from Denver,” Bonnie said. “Beautiful city. Archeological.”

“That’s an interesting way to describe it,” Paul said.

“It stands naked on the plain, scratching out its niche in a harsh and unforgiving climate. I see beauty in its struggle against inevitable decay.” Bonnie took a sip of her martini and paused for a few seconds, her glass suspended on the way back to the bar as she seemed lost in thought. Then she continued, “Anyway, what’s waiting for you in Denver?”

“I’m going to visit my daughter,” Paul said.

“Forget what I said about Denver being in decay,” Bonnie said.

Paul laughed. “I get it, I couldn’t live there either. It’s for people with more sinew than I’ve got. What about you, any kids?”

“No, kids. I was adopted by what you’d call a non-traditional family. We spent a lot of time on the move and I grew up learning to find family on the road. Settling down was never in the cards for me.”

“You probably made the right decision.” Paul’s realized the beer was loosening his tongue, “Let me rephrase that. Kids will bring out the best and worst in you. Unless you’re willing to take a hard look in the mirror from time to time, you’re better off without them.”

“That sounds like regret,” Bonnie said.

“Currently on the fence about that,” Paul said.

“Well, you’re here. What changed?” said Bonnie.

“She delivered twins a few weeks ago and one of them of died a few weeks afterwards. I should have been there for her when they were born, and I regret that.” The bartender brought over another beer which Paul intercepted and took a big swallow from before setting it on the bar. Paul struggled to fight back tears.

“Your daughter has a beautiful child and in time she will come to terms with the loss of the other,” said Bonnie rested her hand on Paul’s arm. He found the physical gesture to be unexpectedly comforting. And there was that tinge of recognition again.

Paul realized he’d lost track of time. He looked at his phone and could see his flight was boarding. He quickly turned to the bartender to ask for his check. When he turned back to say goodbye to Bonnie, she was gone. Only the empty martini glass remained.

Paul couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he’d seen Bonnie somewhere before. He opened his phone and flipped through the photos until he found the one he was looking for. It was a picture his daughter had sent him just after the birth of her twins. She was sitting up in a hospital bed holding one of the twins. Standing next to her was a nurse holding the other twin. Paul zoomed in until he could clearly see her face. Bonnie was wearing a blue nurses uniform, her gray hair pulled back into a ponytail.