Closing Time by JM Snyder

Closing Time By J.M. Snyder It was a little after ten o’clock in the evening when the last of the bar’s patrons staggered out to their cars. A light dusting of snow fell, silent on the sleeping city streets. Just another Thursday night, cold and blustery—nothing special, bartender Mitchell Nolan thought as he swept the floor. He pushed the broom along with a steady rhythm, brushing up the sawdust and peanut shells scattered across the hardwood floor. Around him the room was empty and dark, the only light from the recessed bulbs above the gleaming length of the bar. They cast long, warm shadows from the chairs stacked on top of the bar. Mitchell had considered closing early, letting everyone take a few extra hours off, but in the end he decided business was going too well and it was only Christmas Eve, not really a holiday. He would’ve forgotten about it completely if one of the college girls he employed to wash dishes hadn’t brought in an armful of long stemmed, ruby red roses and handed them out to her co-workers as presents. She even gave Mitchell one, which he’d stuck in a vase on the bar and vowed not to take home. He’d let it wilt there, just dry up and crumble away, then toss it out. He didn’t need it sitting on his coffee table at home to remind him he didn’t have anyone to give it to later. There was nothing special about the holiday for him, not any more. Dancing the broom along the underside of the barstools, Mitchell swept out gum wrappers and pretzels, and tried not to think back to the last time Christmas had meant something to him. How long had it been now? Three years, maybe, since he’d last seen Jamal. If he closed his eyes he could still see the pain in his ex-lover’s dark eyes, soft and compassionate and sad, and he could hear the words fall from his lips as if Jamal were here in the bar, speaking them all over again. It’s not you…. Didn’t they all say that? It wasn’t him, it was never him. A sigh, a gentle kiss, maybe a clap on the back, and then goodbye. It’s not you…. If it’s not me, Mitchell thought, angrily pushing the broom across the floor, then why am I the one who’s alone? If only someone could answer him that, maybe it would take some of the sting out of the holiday. Dear Santa, how’s that for a Christmas wish? Tell me what I’m doing wrong. Maybe you can tuck it in a box and stick it under the tree? Give me something to open tomorrow morning, that’d be nice. Most days being alone didn’t bother him—or rather, he wouldn’t let it bother him. He didn’t need the hassle of a relationship, he told himself; he was happier alone. Jamal had been the right one at the time but he wasn’t the one. It hadn’t been love with a capital “L”—Mitchell knew that. But was it too bad to want someone to talk to, someone to laugh with, someone more than just a friend? Mitchell didn’t think so, not when he knew he was going to be lonely and all he wanted was someone holding him, strong arms and comforting kisses that would make the time pass when he swore the darkness would stretch on forever. Was that too much to ask? Someone to love him, like the country songs that played on the jukebox in the corner, four for a dollar. He wanted someone like that, a love worth singing about, worth fighting for, worth locking up early and going home for…maybe he’d never find something like that. He’d been looking for so long now it wasn’t worth the effort anymore. He’d given up. After Jamal had left, Mitchell had had enough and there’d been no one else since. He’d stopped looking. So maybe it was him after all, despite whatever Jamal claimed. Maybe it had been him all along.