The Main Drag
He took a last long pull of his cheap beer and put down three dollars on the bar. It was time to go. He had an early start tomorrow. He stumbled off the awkward bar stool towards the door, all the while hearing his fellow regulars calling after him to stay, to have just one more. Not tonight. He had better things to do. As he exited the bar, the harsh cold greeted him like a wall. He stood there for a minute or two, watching his visible breath dance below in the glow of the stuttering neon sign with the barâs name on it: âThe Watering Hole.â Such a stupid name, he thought. So tired and hackneyed. Just like this town. This town where heâd been born, grown up, and which, come tomorrow, would be in his rearview mirror.
He proceeded in a brisk walk down the townâs main drag. It was deserted this time of night. He heard the distant barking of a dog. It seemed as though everybody had a dog here, and most none of them properly knew how to take care of them. As such, these dogs grew from sweet innocent puppies into vicious unsocialized beasts who would run at and attack a passerby at the earliest opportunity. He wasnât mad at the dogs though, they didnât know any better. They were a product of the shitty environment they were raised in. It was their owners he took issue with. Their owners, who put copious amounts into the collection plate at church for all to see, who ran the town grocery store and bakery, and who policed the town. Then they came home and kicked their dogs if they barked for lack of food chained up in the back yard. Many of the people in this town treated their kids the same way.
He though, had been lucky. His parents had treated him fairly well, and he had the sense that they had always been trying their best, even if he hadnât always agreed with their methods. He hated this, that luck had so much to do with it. He had seen the effects of not being so lucky on many of his friends. They would come to school with purple and yellow bruises on their arms, and with stained and dirty clothes. Their teachers often tried to help, to intervene, to get social services involved, but to no avail. And why? Because one of the worst offenders was the town police chief. He had once beat his wife and two sons unconscious in a fit of rage because his favorite football team lost. When the county social services representative came to investigate, his wife refused to testify and the other townsfolk had also remained tight-lipped. Only his own father had gone out of his way to let the social services worker know the extent of the injuries and what had really happened. The social services worker had said she couldnât do anything since the police chiefâs wife had refused to tell her anything and had denied there ever being an incident.
His father had paid dearly for that. The very next week after talking to the social services worker, he had been âcoincidentallyâ fired from his job as a shift manager at the bolt and gasket factory outside of town. Nobody in town invited them over after that. This had really hurt his mom. He remembered vague discussions of moving, but his mom had wanted to stay. This is where she had lived her whole life, she had said, and she wasnât about to let the police chief push them out. Things eventually got a bit better, his dad found a new job, and they were able to form a few new friendships with newcomers to the town, whom they bonded with over wine and stories of the townâs secrets.
He though, was not staying. He had graduated high school and stuck around for a few years, gaining some training and an okay job at the same company as his dad. Heâd even met a nice girl, and they had toyed with the idea, at her behest, of setting down roots and starting a family. Until one day a couple months ago, when he had come home a bit earlier than usual to find her in bed with the police chiefâs son. He had spared some grand speech or some fiery tirade. He had simply turned around, walked out, and never went back. She had been the only reason he had even entertained the idea of sticking around this place.
He was now at the other end of the main drag, and the frigid night air had numbed his ears and made his lungs ache. He turned around and looked down the street, lined with a few shops, the post office, and the police station.
He wouldnât miss it here.