At the Piano Bar

Max twirled his glass in a gloved hand. He didn't know what he had expected, to be honest, but he shouldn't have been disappointed. It was stupid. Of course the pianist wouldn't know it. When the floor was opened for requests, most would ask for a ballad, a jazzy tune, or maybe even a classic love song. Something to color the mood while couples looked at each other over their glass. Most wouldn't ask for the theme song of Lester's Possum Farm.

He didn't know if such a song could even be translated for the piano. It was too folksy, from what he remembered. A lot of banjo, maybe a harmonica. It was a little fuzzy. Unfortunately the awkward exchange with the pianist was still all too clear.

Gulping down the last of his drink, Max signaled the bartender. A fresh glass slid over to him and was promptly ingested in one fluid motion. Grimacing, Max asked for another. If the bartender judged him he didn't show it, simply reached for the bottle again.

It had come all at once, the memories of that summer years ago; when his father had stolen him away for a father-son fishing trip. Max had made the first half of that trip a nightmare for his dad. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. While Max had behaved like a brat the whole way, Goofy had spent the beginning of the trip excited as ever. And even when Goofy realized how miserable Max was after the possum fiasco, he never stopped trying to turn it around and bond with his son.

That's right...

That's all Goofy had wanted: To bond with his son.

And Max had fought him at every turn all because of a stupid, juvenile crush that wouldn't even survive his next year in high school. What was her name again? Anne-something? He scoffed. He couldn't even remember her name.

But he did remember the way his father pronounced "sassafras" -- "sassyfras" -- as he hung upside-down with possums. And the sound of his yodeling as he happily clapped along to the theme song...
Max's hand gripped the refilled glass and cleared his throat to mask the sniffle that slipped. That summer had ended well for them both, thankfully. The PowerLine concert still held the spot for his favorite memory with his dad. But they never did make it to Lake Destiny...

He didn't know why he was so focused on that detail. Their relationship had improved leaps and bounds over the years (despite the hiccup when they went to college together) as Max learned how to focus less on the sometimes embarrassing antics his father would perform and more on the compassionate motivation underneath. For his part, Goofy learned how to give Max the appropriate amount of space (and when, that was important) and how to be affectionate without being smothering.

Max coughed to cover another sniffle. That wasn't fair. Sylvia never found Goofy smothering, in fact she relished in his affections and behavior. But of course she did, Max thought with a chuckle. She's as goofy as he is.

Was.

His hand clenched the glass again, his throat suddenly sandpaper. A familiar sensation burned at the backs of his eyes. Throwing his head back, he gulped down his drink, but the liquor did nothing to push down what was coming. The thought echoed in his mind louder and louder and Max shut his eyes tight in attempt to will the memory away before it could replay the events from last week. It was no use though. As much as he drank, he couldn't drink enough to forget.

Forget the carnival.

Forget the look on Sylvia's face when she came back from the snack stand, the tray of caramel apples falling from her hands.

Forget the way she sobbed and rocked him, trying to soothe the screams he hadn't realized were coming from him.

Forget the sight of his father's body lying so still on the ground--

Something shattered against the shelves across from him. 

"'EY!" someone roared from his right. It was only as the bartender stomped over that Max noticed his now empty hand in the air and put the pieces together. "That's going on your tab, buddy," the bartender growled. "Now settle up and get out!"

A delicate hand rests on his shoulder before Max could speak. "I'll take care of that." The voice was as soft as the touch, with notes of exhaustion trickling beneath the affection.

Max turned towards the sound, his hazy mind knowing he should recognize it, but not quite making the connection until he saw Sylvia's face. Immediately he wished he hadn't. Her normally sparkling eyes were hollow and cloudy, the dark rings underneath still noticeable despite the dim lighting, and her nose was scarlet and rubbed bare at the sides. She was still in her black dress suit from that morning, but had undone her bun so her hair rested on her shoulders. The once-shiny red locks had dulled over the years and now bore the musky color of oxidized metal. The same color as the rust on the safety harnesses on the ride that--

An image flashed in his mind and Max tore his gaze away, grinding his teeth to push back the sound that threatened to escape him. Whether it was a cry or a growl, he wasn't sure.

The bartender looked at Sylvia's face, then to their matching black attire, and sighed. The animosity was gone from his voice as he recited the total to Sylvia and she reached for her purse.

Max knew he shouldn't allow her to do this. Shouldn't accept any monetary gesture. Not now. Especially not now. But when she pulled her left hand from his shoulder all sense of propriety left him as his eyes caught the glint of her wedding rings beside her mood ring.

Goofy had once told Max about his first date with Sylvia and how their mood rings had shone with a brilliant light when their hands touched.

"Maxxy, right then, I just knew..."

The tears flowed freely then. Max stared with unseeing eyes as Sylvia placed her wallet back into her purse, the transaction completed. His focus was brought back with a start when he felt fingers wiping the tears from his cheeks. His eyes met Sylvia's. A sad frown marred her features.

"Oh, Max," she sighed, and he felt more than heard the sorrow in her voice. She reached into her purse again and pulled out a travel-sized tissue packet. There was only one left and he was crying pretty profusely, but she tried to clean him up all the same. "Come on, let's get you home."

He didn't know whose home she meant, but stood anyway. He couldn't deny her anything -- not anymore. Keeping her hands on his arm to steady him, Sylvia gently led Max towards the exit and out of the piano bar. For a time the only sounds between them were the clicks of her heels as they headed for the parking lot.

"He was always okay." Max's voice is raw with suppressed emotion and hours of drinking, and seems to catch her by surprise. He hadn't planned to say anything, but now he had to explain. "He was always getting thrown by things or crashing into stuff, but he... he was always okay... after..." His lip quivered and he shut his eyes tight, but more tears still slip down. Sylvia's hand immediately goes to his hair.

"I know, Max. I know..." She continues to stroke his hair soothingly as he presses his mouth into a firm line. "Goofy--" Her voice breaks and there's the sound of a breath before she continues. "Sometimes things happen that we just can't explain."

It's said with a surprising lack of bitterness, Max thought, because no one could explain how a popular ride had gone without routine check-ups for so long. How a man who had never had more than a sprained ankle, despite being prone to extreme stunts, had met his end on a children's ride while others walked away shaken, but otherwise unscathed. It was becoming quite the controversy, actually, with several news channels discussing the carnival's public endangerment. But the more they discussed it, the less interested Max became in the company's answers. Nothing they said excused their negligence. And nothing the public learned would change what happened, would retrieve what he lost...

A quiet beep pulled him back to his surroundings as Sylvia's green beetle blinked its lights. With her left arm still linked through his, Sylvia opened the passenger door with her right and helped him climb inside. Max tried not to look at her rings.

The inside of the car was clean, as usual, save for the small plastic bag on the floor by his feet. Its translucence betrayed the contents inside: It was filled with used tissues. Dimly, he remembered the bar and the single tissue Sylvia had to offer. Dragging his knowing gaze away from the bag, Max caught sight of the car's cigarette lighter. Immediately, his thoughts went back to that summer. Back to an image of a can of soup balanced atop a car cigarette lighter on the dashboard.

"Well, it's nice to know this thing's good for somethin'."

The driver's side door closed with a quiet thunk. Max turned toward Sylvia to find the keys in the ignition but her eyes on him, an expression he couldn't read on her face. She studied him, her hands in her lap, as if waiting for a sign he was ready to go.

Max swallowed. He didn't know what to say, how to explain the thoughts that consumed him. And before his mind could catch up, his mouth moved. "We never went to Lake Destiny. Dad wanted to fish. He-He liked to fish..." Again her hand found his hair. Over the years she'd come to show affection for him in soothing ways like this. It was almost maternal. Somehow that made it harder to breathe, and the rest came out with a gasp, quiet and strained. "I-I should have let him take me--"

The words had barely left him when Sylvia's arms wrapped around his shoulders and crashed him to her in a tight embrace.

"He knew you loved him." Her voice was firm now; the sorrow replaced with a certainty that told him she understood. "He never doubted that."

He collapsed against her, fisting her jacket and pressing his face into her shoulder as sobs racked his body. She continued her ministrations on his hair and back, whispering in his ear in attempts to comfort him, but he soon felt his shoulder grow wet.

She was crying, too.






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Obligatory disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney, the only thing I own is this story idea. This was written for entertainment purposes and I do not plan to (nor will I) receive any compensation for it.

This was a two-month-long beast. There are things I still wish I could have done better, KNOW would have been done better years ago, but I'm still proud of this. It's done. And it's mine. And after the years I've had and the struggles with writing, it feels incredible to finally finish something cohesive again.

The idea came from a prompt in one of my christmas gifts. The prompt was "A strange request at a piano bar" and I had to include the following in the story: carnival, sprained, mask, oxidation, awkward, apple, juvenile, controversy, twirl, sassafras.

Fun facts:
-- The reason I immediately decided the story was going to involve Max and Goofy was because Goofy was the only source in my LIFE that I heard use the term "sassafras." The plot developed from there.
-- I was pulling my hair out for over a week trying to find a way to use "oxidized" without it sounding like a vocab drop. I had a bunch of flash backs of similar school assignments where I had to use certain terms and it was always so painfully obvious when something was dropped in just so that it was there. I am praying desperately that I used it well enough that it fit naturally into the narrative. Let me know.
-- The only way I finally calmed and figured out how to use all ten terms in a way that would make sense was to allow myself to use different forms (tenses) of the words. There were no instructions in the book of writing prompts (only the phrase "include the following in your story") so I allowed myself to cheat a little.

I really hope you enjoyed this, those few of you that haven't completely abandoned this place even though it's been barren for years. Please leave me your thoughts, feedback, or suggestions below. If you don't have a blogger account (you automatically do if you have a gmail) I DO allow anonymous comments.

See you next time.