Just the Beginning

This story might sound familiar to country music fans. It was inspired by Kenny Chesney's The Good Stuff. I don't claim to own the rights to the characters, I was just playing around with the story.  I've always loved this song, and I've provided the official video below for those not familiar with it. 

     "When are you going you get off my case?" he pleaded with her.
     "You just don't understand what I'm trying to tell you!" Heather insisted while holding back her tears. She knew Steven was thinking she was a nag, but she just wanted him to understand how she felt. It wasn't about being a controlling wife, or not letting him have a social life outside their marriage. It was about the way he made her feel when he stayed out late tonight. The third Friday this month.
     "I know, I can't possibly understand you 'cause I'm just some dumb-ass, right?
     "It makes me sad you'd rather be out with them than spend time with me," she tried to explain. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. It's just... it hurts my feelings." And she burst into tears. He threw his hands in the air with disgust and they shared a look of frustration. Their eyes locked ever so briefly but forcefully, and for an instant they were both at a loss for words.
     "I need to cool off before I say something stupid." He fumbled to get his keys off the hook by the door, grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, and he was off slamming the door behind him. Heather just stood there, caught between anger and hurt. She was overwhelmed with despair and just sank to the floor and wept. All her fears poured out of her in tears, each tiny drop like words of a sappy love song, coming together in a puddle to tell their story.
     It was their first fight. Every married couple eventually has one. Of course there had been disagreements and arguments over what color to paint the bathroom, or whose family to visit during the holidays. But this was different. It was their first big fight, and it wasn't about decorating or their families. It was about them and their relationship. That's why it hurt so much. She couldn't understand why he wanted to go drinking with his buddies every weekend when he had her. At the end of a workweek she couldn't wait to get home and unwind, but with him. She thought about what he said, "Oh, so now that we're married I'm supposed to drop all my friends and never go out with the guys?" He was so defensive. That's not what she meant at all. In Heather's eyes it had nothing to do with his friends. She wanted him to have a life outside their home, but she was trying to balance how much. She was hurt because she wanted to be with him and he was choosing to be elsewhere. He was just receiving her message as a nagging request from "the old ball and chain."
     She sat in the living room and cried, playing out all the things she wanted to try and explain to Steven when he came home. After a half hour or so, he hadn't returned so she decided to take a shower and change into her pajamas. She hoped he would be back by the time she got out. She knew she wouldn't sleep with him gone, and she worried about where he had gone and whether he really should be out driving. She cried some more.

**

     Steven got in his truck and started the engine. He struggled to find words when he was upset, and he worried he might say something hurtful to Heather that he could never take back. It takes time to get used to being married. He loved her, and he was certain she knew it. Cooling off away from each other seemed like the right move.  He drove a couple of miles at the speed limit with Willie Nelson playing just loud enough to hear. The music was an attempt at distraction, but all he could hear in his head was the argument, and Heather's crying. Driving alone in the dark, he tried to figure out what happened. He wondered if Heather had a point. He had been out the past few weeks, but he really hadn't give any thought to the fact it was three weeks in a row. All Fridays. It wasn't like he planned it. The guys asked him on the way out of the office. "Wanna get a couple of beers?" It wasn't like he was looking to escape or that he didn't want to spend time with Heather.
     Steven was surprised at how few cars were on the road for a Friday night. They're probably all home with their wives, he said out loud and shook his head. About a quarter mile up ahead he noticed a neon sign blinking "Open." It was a quaint -looking neighborhood bar on the corner called Bill's. He'd been wanting to check it out and never did. Now seemed like a good time.
     Quaint was an understatement. The bar was so quiet it was a wonder it was even still open. At the far corner there was an old-time juke box. A woman about his mom's age stood over it in search of the perfect song. She chose Alan Jackson and the familiar strum of Chatahootchie started to play. There was a young couple playing pool on the other side of the bar, and a scruffy old guy practically passed out over what couldn't possibly be his first glass of whiskey. At the end of the bar, seeming half asleep and ready to close up was a gentle-looking man of about sixty. He had white hair and what looked like a sailor's tattoo on the front of his arm. Probably retired Navy, Steven thought. The man nodded and said, "What'll it be?"
     "The good stuff," Steven replied dramatically. He realized how cliche that sounded once it came out. The bartender stood still, didn't even flinch.
     "You can't find that here."  He looked at Steven with a stoic stare and Steven was confused.
     "What do you mean? This is a bar isn't it?"
     "Pull up a stool," the bartender said kindly. "What's on your mind?" Steven was surprised. He knew the old cliche of the bartender as shrink, but he never encountered one in real life. He thought it was only in the movies and on TV.
     "Listen man, just pour me something strong. Make it a double." The bartender turned around and retrieved two tall glasses and set them down on the bar.  He reached down to the under bar fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk. He poured one glass and set the jug down. He reached under the bar again and retrieved a bottle of chocolate syrup and a spoon. Steven looked at the bartender and then looked up at the wall behind the bar. There were framed photos from one end to the other.  He glance back down at the bartender's hands. Aged and strong, he stirred a glass of chocolate milk and pushed it across the bar to Steven. He asked again.
     "What's on your mind?" Steven took a long gulp of chocolate milk and softened.
     "My wife and I had our first big fight. I needed to get some air."
     "Air, now that'll do you some good. The bottle? That won't help any. Just makes things worse." Steven looked up again at the photos. He saw a black and white photo of a beautiful woman. She had to be the wife. He looked at the bartender and nodded toward the photo. "Yup, that's my Bonnie. That photo was taken on our first anniversary."
     "She's a pretty lady."
     "That she was."
     "Oh, I'm sorry."
     "That's ok. It took a long time for me to acknowledge she's gone. Spent five years in the bottle after the cancer took her from me. But I've been sober three years now."
     "How'd you do it? You work in a bar."
     "The one thing stronger than the whiskey is the memories I have of the beautiful life we lived together before G-d called her up. I would rather remember all of that than drown my sorrows in a bottle until I black out. It wasn't easy. It still isn't. But I'm still a father and a grandfather. That's the good stuff."
     "I'm not proud of the way I behaved. Whether I did something wrong or not, she deserves someone who will listen when she's just trying to be honest.  I was a little insensitive. Do you remember your first fight?"
     "Never tried. I remember learning to listen. I remember how much I loved her and still do. And I remember I would do anything to keep her from feeling any kind of pain. In the end, I didn't have that power." Steven listened warmheartedly and intently as the bartender shared stories of his life with Bonnie, their two children, and three grandchildren.  The two men laughed and enjoyed half a gallon of milk before the bartender encouraged Steven to go home. "Now go on outta here. Go home to that beautiful wife of yours and wrap your arms around her tight. Whatever you were fighting about, it doesn't matter." He told Steven when he opened the door to the house, his wife would probably start to cry and say she's sorry. "There's only one response for that, and it's 'So am I.'"
     Steven looked at the bartender with graciousness and resolve. He left a twenty on the bar and the bartender pushed it back. "Put that in your pocket. Go home and look into your bride's eyes, and drink it up. Every last bit of it, drink it up. That's the good stuff."
     "Thank you." Steven knew he'd be back. He just knew he'd have to bring Heather back to meet the kind man he met that night. They waved warmly to each other and Steven left. "Goodnight."

**

     As Steven pulled out of the parking lot, he became anxious to get home to Heather. His parents told him marriage takes work, but you don't realize until you're living it. The love part is easy when you've met the person you want to spend your life with. It's the other stuff. Like trying to understand the other person's perspective. Like considering someone else's needs and wants when you make decisions. He was starting to realize life was going to change. A lot. But he was okay with that. Going out with his buddies wasn't a choice he made over being with Heather, but he realized now it seemed that way to her. Instead of getting defensive and yelling at her, he could have listened and reassured her. He started practicing in his head what he would say to Heather when he got home, and he promised himself he'd cut down on afterwork happy hours. It was a start.

     Steven pulled slowly into the driveway. He thought about gingerly inserting the key into the lock so he could sneak in, assuming Heather was sleeping. Instead, he jingled the key deliberately as he pushed into the lock so he could alert her of his return. And when he opened the door, she was standing in the middle of the room, flushed. She had run from the bedroom when she heard him pull in. She was wearing his blue striped pajama bottoms and a worn out white v-neck undershirt. He was reminded how much he loved her natural beauty. How she looked beautiful in anything. She balled up the used tissue in her hands and sniffed the loose snot in her nose, making it clear she had still been crying. She looked up at him. Her furrowed brow was a futile cover up. The anger had faded away to softness when she saw the remorse in his face. Her puffy eyes stared into his baby blues.

     "I"m sorry, baby," Heather said at the edge of tears. And in that moment Steven thought, this is the good stuff, and he replied,

     "I know baby. Me too."