Page 12 of Sweet T
“Few.”
“Doesn’t matter. Everyone that does from now on will see this flag and know. If they don’t like it, fuck ‘em. They can leave. The tide is finally shifting toward acceptance in our great country and we need to keep pressing forward. Gerald and I raised that flag every June for going on two decades. Early on, people would give us ugly looks, sometimes drive by and yell, maybe throw trash in our yard, the usual bullshit. But it’s gotten less and less, as the years have passed. I’m old now and Gerald’s dead, but I’d love for this flag to live on with you and your generation. It belongs on that wall. And I’ll still get to see it and remember every day.”
Tucker smiled, his eyes a little misty. “You’re right. Thank you, Sebastian.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what’s for dinner?”
* * *
The weather didn’t slow folks from getting their Friday night party on. The jukebox offered an eclectic mix of tunes spanning decades. However, tonight was monopolized by nineties music thanks to tavern regular, Cal Turner, sitting at the bar with a roll of dollar bills. Dart tournaments were on Mondays, but Sam Barker and his brother, Dex, had enough folks interested to conduct an impromptu version of one. Chuck and Brody, partners, and fellow business owners on the square were there, throwing with over a half-dozen other familiar faces. Folks from all over, shedding raincoats and galoshes for a little pick-me-up, an easy hands-free dinner, or both.
Tucker loved it. Mondays were his highest earning night, but Fridays were a close second. Had been since he’d opened. Adding the dartboards to the mix a few years back further cemented the deal. He and Shelly alternated waiting on tables, the bar, and assisting Ben with any food orders or cleanup. They were a team, efficient and fast. Tucker was grateful for them both, trying his best to suppress any worries of losing either of them.
You Get What You Give, by New Radicals, began playing on the jukebox. Tucker looked to Cal, who was sitting a few seats down at the bar, and gave him a thumbs up.
Cal smiled, raising his bottle.
Because the bar was packed, conversations were limited to snippets between themselves and customers. Table service at this capacity meant only taking food orders to people. Drink refills meant a customer’s return-trip to the bar. No big deal for regulars, but occasionally a newbie was confused by the full-house protocol.
Tucker handed Cal a fresh beer and turned to see Sam waiting at the end of the bar for a refill. He reached into the still-open cooler, grabbed a Bud Light, and took it to him. Sam gestured above Tucker with his eyes and a grin. “I like your recent addition,” he said, referring to the rainbow flag now hanging.
“Thanks. Sebastian gave it to me earlier.”
“Congratulations on a historic day.”
“Do you think it’ll piss people off? Straight customers? I can’t afford to lose any business.”
“It doesn’t piss me off,” Sam said. “People need to get over themselves. The dart throwers aren’t going anywhere. I can guarantee that. Who gives a shit what tickles people’s fancy? I bet there’s stranger shit going on in the bedrooms of some of these folks sitting here right now.”
Tucker laughed. “You’re right. Thanks, Sam.”
“Any time.”
* * *
The evening went by fast for the tavern crew, as busy nights often did. Cal kept the jukebox filled until he paid his tab and was gone. MMMBop played, and then Unbelievable, then Wannabe, Freedom ‘90, Lovefool, Don’t Speak, Whatta Man, and on and on, until the music stopped and the only customers left were Chuck and Brody, who now sat at the bar.
“Did you guys clean house again?” Shelly asked.
Chuck grinned. “Yeah. It was mostly Brody, though. My game was off.”
“He’s being modest,” Brody said. “Have a drink on us. All of you.”
Tucker bent to get them all a beer.
“Not me,” said Ben, emerging from the kitchen. “I need to get home. Everything’s done, T. All the dishes except for whatever y’all are using.”
“Same here,” said Shelly. “I have an exam to study for. I’ll give you a ride, Ben. It’s still pouring out there.”
“Y’all be careful,” Tucker said, popping the top of a beer for himself. “We pooling tomorrow, Shel?”
“If it’s not raining,” Shelly answered.
“Are y’all still divvying pool time up with your old man?” Chuck asked.
Tucker nodded. “Yeah. He and Pedro have nights. Me and Shelly have days.”
“Makes sense,” said Brody. “Considering y’all work nights and they work days.”