A Week and Some Change: Lucid and Awake, #1

By Justin Mermelstein

Andrew, a loner, both by choice and by circumstance, is enamored by Tracy, the new bartender at his mother's restaurant. After learning that Tracy has died in a terrible car accident, he is devastated. But upon arriving at the restaurant to console his mother, he discovers that Tracy isn't dead after all – in fact, she is working her shift, and no one else seems to think anything of it. While trying to make sense of the situation, Andrew begins to experience an overwhelming sense of dread: something isn't right. He needs to decide whether to tell Tracy and risk sounding like a lunatic, or ignore what all his senses are telling him and enjoy what appears to be a second chance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justin Mermelstein
• Release date: Dec 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781516332175

Book preview

Other Works:

Glimpse: Volume One

Glimpse: Volume Two

Nowhere in Particular

The Spirit of Magic

The Committed

A Time to Commune

A WEEK AND SOME CHANGE

Copyright © 2013, 2019 Lucid and Awake | A Week and Some Change

All rights reserved.

Written by Justin Mermelstein

Edited by Marissa Van Uden

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

If you’ve stumbled across this book without

purchasing it and you like what you’ve read,

please support the arts and purchase a copy.

Any resemblance to anything real is purely coincidental.

for my brown eyed girl

I have a new philosophy. I'm only going to dread one day at a time.

-Charles M. Schulz

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…?

-Friedrich Nietzsche

One

The first time I met Tracy was when she poured me a pint of beer. She was sassy, sweet, and just the right amount of honest. The name of the place was Angelo’s, and my mother, Annetta, had owned it for nearly thirty years. She’d taken it from a small townie bar in the early eighties and turned it into a bigger townie bar with a restaurant attached. The dining room was its best kept secret, and the food would impress Paul Cicero (though the chef was Latino – maybe that was its best kept secret).

How’s your first week been?

Good, Tracy answered, upbeat and peppy. Everyone’s been really helpful.

The typical new employee answer.

Your mom, especially, she added, turning to wipe down an area of bar flooded with beer overflow. She glanced up at me, and I noticed her striking gray eyes.

That’s good to hear. I lifted my glass to my mouth.

She tells me you come in every Wednesday night, she said.

Mmhmm. The beer was ice cold and delicious. I try to, I said after swallowing. Sometimes work holds me up, but I get here most of the time. Hard to resist this food.

Tell me about it. I’ve already brought my roommate in for dinner. She’d begun wrapping the fruit garnish compartments in plastic, one by one. What do you do?

Sales for an electronics accessories company.

She raised her eyebrows.

I know, thrilling. It’s actually not too bad. I get stuck late at the office a few nights a week if I’m finalizing a deal on the West Coast, but it’s not a bad gig. I took another mouthful of beer. You can wake up now.

She laughed and cupped her hand over a feigned yawn.

Not everyone gets to thrill the public with tumblers and shakers, I said.

You make me sound like a stripper. She opened one of the refrigerators under the bar and placed a jar of maraschino cherries inside.

I shrugged. If the fruit fits.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled.

My mother strolled into the barroom carrying my plate of food. Broccoli rabe, sautéed in garlic and olive oil, over angel hair pasta. Same thing I ate every week. Emptied out fast, she said, putting the food down in front of me. Tracy’s a cutie, isn’t she?

My mother, in a nutshell. Tracy turned the same shade as the maraschino cherries.

She’s been a bartender for a long time, my mom continued.

Were you fifteen when you started? I asked.

Eighteen, actually. She threw a rag at me. I caught it before it fell into my beer. Or what was left of my beer.

So you can handle liquor at eighteen, but you can’t drink it.

Put me through college, she bragged.

What did you study?

I have a degree in biochemistry.

Well, shit. I sprinkled parmesan cheese scantily over my food. That’s great.

It was. When I used it.

What do you do now?

I volunteer.

The last of the dining room patrons vacated, and my mother locked the front door behind them, mumbling the same thing she says every night: I’m retiring tomorrow.

Where do you volunteer?

Tracy untied her empty apron, folded it, and placed it neatly on top of the counter. A couple different places. Wherever I’m needed. Right now I help out at both an animal shelter and a retirement home.

That’s impressive. And you gave up your career for it?

I did. But my bartending pay is only marginally less than what I was making.

I didn’t realize the money wasn’t there for a chemist.

It can be. I’m just a great bartender. She winked.

And you’re modest.

I was starving and polished off most of my dinner in silence, chasing it with the remnants of my beer. How did you end up here? I finally asked.

My mother passed away in the fall, so I moved here from Albany. My friend needed a roommate. She rinsed her hands in the sink.

I’m sorry.

She smiled. I love Pittsburgh. At least, after two months I do. We’ll see in a year.

My mom’s happy to have you, that’s for sure. She’s been talking about you all week. I realized I was rubbing my full stomach and stopped. It’s hard to find quality people.

Well, I try to be as quality as I can be, she said.

I laughed again. She was funny, and without really trying. I have to get going. Maybe I’ll see you next week. I caught myself staring at her. It was nice to meet you.

We shook hands over the empty glass of beer.

Was nice to meet you too, Mister … ?

Andrew. I’m Andrew.

I know, she said, grinning. I’m not the only one your mom talks about, Mr. Andrew.

I unlocked and opened the door, and a warm gush of summer night air curled through