Saturday Night

[0001] SS No. 1, V1
DoC: November 1, 2022

Foreword: I wrote this one way back last year for a short story competition. Sadly didn't win, but I decided to just put it up here cause why not. Also, I've barely done any editing or proofreading before posting this, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Saturday Night

❆

For Lucas, he has long grown accustomed to gruelling days of never-ending repetition. Whenever he isn’t working for bare scraps in his office job, he'll be wasting away his time locked up in his 300-a-month cell. This has been his life ever since finishing college, and to him, it isn't despair, it's just acceptance. Today, he gets off work like usual and boards the communal line, but when he drops off at his stop, he somehow ends up at an old railway station, surrounded by a vast sea of grass extending beyond the horizon. Away from the shadowing meadows resides a small town, brimming golden by the looming sunset. There is something almost hypnotic about it. Lucas journeys through the tall grasses as the starless night begins to take shape.

When he reaches the town, the streets are barren. Lucas can hear the silence of the quaint houses and gothic-esque buildings murmuring in his ears. He roams the pebble roads, squeezing down a crummy alleyway, and coming out onto an enclosed space. He stops by a door of a dilapidated building that reminds him of his apartment building, and he comes inside. The interior resembles a pub and smells of damp wood. A lofty bartender standing behind the counter and a customer donning a tuxedo are the only occupants; the two swiftly turn to the door.

‘Why, if it isn’t Lucas.’

‘One of your friends again, James?’

‘An old buddy from high school.’

The bartender eyes Lucas and nods cordially.

‘Don’t just stand there. Come sit. We ought to catch up.’

Lucas hesitantly sits beside James.

‘Do you fancy some whiskey, Lucas? You do, don’t you? Alejandro, could you get us some whiskey please?’

In fact, Lucas does not fancy whiskey; but he is compelled to maintain restraint. Alejandro inspects the cabinets, brings two glasses, and pours their drink. James takes one and sets it in front of Lucas. He sips his.

‘I was worried, you know? Couldn’t get a hold of you after high school. I thought you offed yourself or something.’ He laughs. ‘But it seems my concerns were unnecessary. Glad to see you’re doing well.’

‘Thanks. You too.’

‘You’re probably living the good life now I bet. So what big tech corp are we talking about here?’

‘I'd rather not tell.’

‘Respectable.’ James poorly conceals a smirk. ‘As for me, I busted my ass off in college and now look where I am. Turns out hard work does get you somewhere. Right, Lucas? Those cynics from high school who thought I couldn’t do it—proved them wrong. I’ll show them all on Monday.’

James downs his drink while Lucas keeps silent.

‘You wouldn’t understand. I swear, it must be really nice being so talented.’

Lucas gets to his feet.

‘Sorry, gotta go.’

He scurries to the door.

‘What? At least tell me if you're coming to the reunion on Monday! Hey!’

The words are kept in his mouth, and none escape his lips.

‘What’s his deal? Not even a sip?’ James sighs, ‘Whatever. I’ll pay the tab.’

Lucas comes out onto an open park enveloped in supple fog under a dark evening sky. Off in the distance are small stores, confectioneries, bakeries, and pastry shops littered around, and excessively long lines of people and children. Their hearty laughs and boisterous voices betray their still silhouettes, like statues waiting to be eroded. But Lucas couldn't spare his thoughts pondering over perplexities in their customs. He hurries along the streets and draws up at an Italian restaurant for dinner. He sits at a two-person table and orders.

‘It’s really you, Lucas.’

Lucas’s eyes perch up to meet that of a young woman. Her short hair, warm like the autumn leaves, pleasantly adorns her charming, delicate face.

‘Lena?’

‘It’s been ages.’

She sits opposite Lucas and scans him top to bottom. ‘I must say, the mature look doesn’t suit you.’

‘Thanks?’

‘I miss how you looked when we were kids.’

‘Too bad then. I see you’ve hardly changed at all.’

Lena titters. It’s always her little habits that stick with Lucas the most. He averts his gaze and sees a shine on her fingers. He’s long suppressed himself, out of respect for her—or so goes his excuse.

‘You're married?’

Lena is surprised by his question.

‘Engaged.’

‘When's the wedding?’

‘Monday.’

‘Congratulations. That's great. I'm happy for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Lena smiles uncertainly, ‘If you could come to the wedding, I'd be really happy.’

Silence hangs between them until his food is brought to the table.

‘No worries. You don't have to. You're probably busy.’ Lena gets up. ‘Enjoy your food. I hope we can talk again sometime.’

Lucas gives her a small smile. When she’s gone, he sags forward in relief.

After dinner, snow begins to drizzle. A fierce wind blows when he steps outside. The night has grown darker, the fog thicker, and Lucas can only see the rustling shadows dancing beneath the warm gleam of a miniature, floating sun. When he passes under its light, he sees his shoes dig deep into a mound. He proceeds carefully, letting the bitter snow gradually accumulate until its weight would bury him whole. Each heavy step, he dwindles further down the abyss of his inconsolable laments.

‘I’ve found you at last, Lucas.’

He stops. In front of him stands a faceless figure. Her frail voice strikes him as familiar.

‘Is that you, Aunt Sheila?’

‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘What for?’

‘Your father is worried. He wants to see you again. There.’ A light bulb flickers on inside a random telephone box in the distance. ‘He’s waiting for your call. Perhaps if he hears your voice, things will change. He wishes for you to come on Monday.’

‘Monday?’

‘To your mother’s remembrance.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll be very busy.’

‘Can you not even put off a day for your own mother?’

‘I'm sorry.’

‘Lucas, please. You know you can’t keep this up forever, or have staring into the abyss for so long robbed you of your own will?’

He turns his back to her. After all, what does she know? He asks himself. She doesn’t understand, he convinces himself. She’s just a fraud, a fake, a charlatan—so what weight do her words hold? Nothing.

Lucas walks away defiantly. Her words grow fainter and more muddled as they are swirled away by the storm. He takes cover in a discreet alley, his back firmly against frigid, damp concrete. He’s just about had enough. In the darkness, he makes out the pale outline of a door, and he stumbles inside. He finds himself in the old bar from earlier.

‘Welcome, friend.’

Alejandro gestures to an empty seat; Lucas saunters over.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Just water. Hot water.’

‘Would some red wine entice?’

‘Water.’

Before Lucas can even notice, Alejandro is already gone; he returns with three glasses in hand.

‘Hot water for Mr Lucas.’

He gratefully accepts and empties it in one go.

‘Rough weather we’re having tonight, but snow will melt with time, and a little bit of warmth.’ Alejandro lays a few tools on the counter. ‘I've got a fresh mix in the works. Something a little light. I’d appreciate your thoughts.’

Lucas watches curiously as Alejandro makes the drink. One by one, he adds in the ingredients— ice, wine, and several mixers. He stirs for a while, before letting the mixture spill seamlessly onto a coupe and topping it off with a lemon garnish. Alejandro lets the cocktail sit between him and Lucas.

‘And what do you call this?’

‘Saturday Night Breeze.’

‘Terrible name.’

Alejandro laughs.

‘It’s on the house, so if you’re keen to try,’ Alejandro nudges it closer to Lucas, ‘You’re very welcome to.’

‘I don't know.’

‘If there are matters of importance you must attend, please, make your choice.’

‘There isn't any, really.’

‘I wonder now. I don’t recommend waiting for a shooting star, especially on foggy and cloudy nights like this one. Or to search for pearls in the sand. By the time you find one, or you don’t, the grains would’ve long trickled away.’

A sudden blare comes shouting from far away.

‘What’s that?’

‘It must be the train.’

‘The train?’

The wall opposite the counter comes crashing down, letting the morning light stream down from the rising sky.

‘Well, what’s it going to be, friend?’

Lucas brings the glass to his lips, catching the whiff, before gulping it down. He rises and approaches the dawn.

‘I’ve work on Monday, so I’ll be going back,’ he says at last.

‘I wish you’ll keep in mind the reasons you returned here for.’

The train conveniently stops in front of Lucas, and the door opens to a carriage filled with sweaty men in scruffy business outfits, absorbed in calls or examining their watches. When Lucas steps in, his figure seems to become lost in the crowd, and when he twists his neck to look back one final time, the doors shut tight behind him.

❆