Happy Hour
A Short Story By Lo Brewer
Cold Beer © PXHere
I’m not really sure what made me take Tre up on his invitation to happy hour. It probably had something to do with the fact that in the time I’d spent seated in my cubicle outside his office, three months to be exact, I’d developed an atomic level crush.
But though I couldn’t wait to spend time with him, albeit shared with other coworkers, I was dreading setting foot inside the beer garden around the corner from our office. I’d never been much of a drinker and I absolutely, positively, never drank beer. I hate the taste. But more than that, I hate the smell.
We walked into Biergarten and sat in a reserved area that’s kept for Tre. He and the gang go there almost every day after work and despite the specials, put a lot of mileage on his corporate card.
I managed to wedge myself between Tre and Angie, or office’s receptionist. I’d seen her flirting with Tre on multiple occasions and it infuriated me. I may never have my way with him. But I’m not above cockblocking her ass.
After only a few minutes I started to get that familiar feeling. I pushed my way past Angie and excused myself. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Ever since I was a kid, any time I smelled beer I was transported back to that Friday night when my favorite uncle became, a man I loved and looked up to, became a man I pitied.
My mother had dropped me off that night at his house like she had many Friday’s before. I spent many weekends with her brother’s family. I had a sister, 7 years my senior, who wouldn’t give me the time of day. So I loved weekends away from her disfavor, where I could play with cousins my own age.
Not only did I have kids to play with, their house was like a small-scale amusement park. They had a designated game room with the latest toys and video games. In the backyard there was a pool, a trampoline and the Cadillac of swing sets. My aunt loved to cook and specialized in homemade pizza and baked goods. And my uncle was the definition of fun uncle. He would do anything for a laugh even if it meant being a one man Abbott and Castello act. If I had a penny for every time his Vaudeville set ended with him falling flat on his face, I’d be a millionaire.
When I was at their house, rules went out the door. There were no chores. I stayed up until my eyelids betrayed me. I watched movies that my parents would have never allowed. And I owe this all to the motto that the Reynolds family lived and died by: “Every hour is Happy Hour!” which was carved into a wooden plaque that hung over the television in their living room.
My 9-year-old self walked into the Reynolds house ready for a weekend long adventure. But once inside I found the mood to be a bit off. There wasn’t any food cooked and my aunt and uncle were seemingly nowhere to be found. My cousin Max had been the one to let me in. He threw my Rainbow Bright duffle in his room and summoned for me to go down into the basement with him. Once down there he explained to me what was going on.
“So Mom accidentally burned the pizza. It was smoking and everything. Dad went to take it out of the oven but forgot mitts. So he burned his hand and he yelled at her. She got really upset and went in their bedroom. He went into his den. And they’ve both been shut away for like an hour.”
“He yelled at her?” I asked. It seemed like odd behavior for a man that I’d only seen with a smile on his face.
“Yea, he does that sometimes. But only when she does something silly like mess up dinner,” he said. “Look, it’s no biggie. When they get like this we just stay outta sight for a bit, Dad goes and has some grownup soda, then everything goes back to normal.” We’d been referring to beer as grown up soda ever since Max accidently drank three of my Uncle’s Budweisers. Uncle Harry had to then differentiate between ‘Kid Soda’ (Coca-Cola, 7-Up and the like) and ‘Grownup Soda’ (Bud, Corona, Heineken, or whatever happened to be on sale that week).
“Where’s Marlene?” I asked, wondering where my other cousin was.
“Oh she’s in her room sulking.”
“Is she mad about your parents fighting?”
“Naw, she’s just mad about the pizza. You know it’s her favorite. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I just got the new Streetfighter and Marlene won’t play with me. I mean, she’s shitty competition anyway, so I’m not really that upset. But at least you’ll give me a run for my money before I beat you.”
“Whatever!” I said. Then I grabbed a pineapple kid’s soda out of the mini fridge next to the couch and geared up to play. Max and I were and hour into some intense game play when we heard the basement door open.
“Is my favorite niece down there?” my uncle called.
“Sure am!” I said.
I ran up the stairs having thrown my controller on the couch beside Max. When I reached the top of the stairs I jumped up on Uncle Harry, knocking him into the wall behind him. He stopped just short of falling on the ground.
“Someone is getting too big for all of that jumping,” he said with a huff.
“Nope, you just need to do more pushups, so you can catch me.”
“If you say so. Look, get your cousins and grab your coats. We’re going to go get some pizza since your Auntie decided to burn up all the food and is now pouting in the room.”
Aunt Eileen yell something from the bedroom that sounded like “Go fuck yourself Harold!”
Max, Marlene and I piled into the car and waited for Uncle Harry who eventually came outside with what I thought was a bottle of kid soda in his hand.
“Daaad,” Marlene whined from the front seat when he got into the car, “I don’t think you should be drinking that in here.”
“Oh, is that what my 9-year-old daughter thinks? I think you should just sit there and play the role of the navigator, not the beer police.”
Beer? Grownup soda? Was he going to drive us around with grownup soda? He wasn’t just drinking, then driving. He was going to drink while driving. Our D.A.R.E. officer would be so mad at him. He popped open the can and took a swig before pulling out of the driveway. To say I was feeling uneasy was an understatement. My anxiety wasn’t assuaged at all when he backed into the garbage can on his way to the street. Finally, my unease reached a fever pitch when my Aunt, who must have left her bedroom and found that her drunk husband took the children with him for a drive, came running outside to stop him.
I clearly heard her this time.
“Harold, you get your drunk ass back here with those kids!” I don’t know if Uncle Harry heard her. If he did, he did a great job of not showing it.
During the ride we children sat silently. Uncle Harry however, was blasting the oldies station and singing at the top of his lungs. I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time. His behavior used to seem fun and silly to me. But all this time, he was just drunk.
By the time we got to Pizza Hut, I didn’t even want pizza. But I was eager to get out of the car. Uncle Harry pulled into the lot and narrowly missed hitting several cars as he pulled halfway into a spot. We started to get out of the car when he leaned over and threw up. Suddenly the twins went into action. They ran into Pizza Hut leaving me alone with their father. Thankfully, they weren’t gone long when they came back with napkins and water. They were a well-oiled machine, getting him cleaned up. Just as Max was helping Uncle Harry into the backseat for what I assumed was a nap, Aunt Eileen showed up. She told us to get into her car, which we did. Then she opened the back door to Harry’s car and talked to him gently for the first time that day. I don’t know what she said. But when she got into the car she had tears in her eyes.
No one said anything the entire way back to their house. I just looked out the window crying. I was scared and confused. When we got back to the house Marlene immediately went to her room. But Max led me by the hand to the living room and sat me on the couch. He popped “The Goonies” into the VCR and pressed play. Then he pulled our favorite Ninja Turtles blanket out of the storage bench and snuggled next to me under it. I was still crying. But soon the tears dried up and I allowed myself to get lost in the movie.
I didn’t even hear the door open when Uncle Harry came home. He stumbled into the living room and started proselytizing in attempts to get us on his side. He wasn’t so much explaining his behavior, nor apologizing for it as he was looking to blame Aunt Eileen for everything that happened that night.
My tears started again. I didn’t want to cry but I couldn’t help it. Max put his arm around me and whispered, “It’ll be okay. Don’t listen to him. Eventually he’ll get tired eventually.” But I’d already stopped listening to him. I’d blocked him out and all I could do was stare at that plaque on the wall…Every Hour is Happy Hour.
Tre came outside to see what’d happened to me. I’d been gone for at least ten minutes and he seemed genuinely concerned.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just needed some air,” I told him.
“Yea, I could use some too. That Angie…she’s a lot. I feel like I need to beat her off with a stick.”
“A pipe would probably be more apropos.”
“Ha, yea I guess you’re right. What do you say you come back inside and have a drink on me. Apparently they changed the times on Happy Hour and it ends in 15 minutes.”
“I always thought every hour was happy hour,” I said.
“What?”
“Oh nothing. It’s just something my uncle used to say,” I said. “Sure, I’ll come back in on one condition: you treat me to a ginger ale instead of a beer.”
“Cheap date, but what the lady wants, the lady gets,” Tre said.
As we walked back into the beer garden I started to get dizzy again. I paused trying to shut out that awful feeling. Tre grabbed my hand and flashed me a smile, and suddenly I couldn’t smell the beer anymore. The knot in my stomach dissipated. And all it took was Tre smiling at me while holding my hand.
“What’s with you tonight? You’re being such a weirdo.” he said.
“Nothing’s up. I’m good Tre. I’m happy.”
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