how ghosts are born (and become companions)

i have been inspired by recent events to once again take up the pen. that proverbial one that lives in my room and seems to not be able to leave me alone. my hope is that the few of you stuck in office cubicles with nothing better to do are still checking on my tidbits here, mostly because you have nothing better to do. but that's alright. i'm still honored. and i know i promised a great story last time, over a month ago i suppose, but my long absence has inspired in me a great sense of the romantic which made me reluctant to return. i imagined all of you out there, the thousands of dedicated readers and vicarious livers, who diligently checked my humble post here with hopes of reading the promised "most amazing" story and being amazed. and over time (one month is a long time for the atention span of kids such as us) you all checked less and less frequently (with above noted exceptions) until one day you gave up. and soon after you may have even forgotten that you had done so. but, you never heard that last, great story. and it haunts you. as it will forever. and you've each, in your minds, decided on how this legendary story goes. and it is great. for all of you. and some day you'll be talking to your great grandchildren and they'll ask for a story and you'll each say something such as,

"i knew a story teller once. i came to him for hope and happines. and one day he promised me the most amazing story, one i would never forget; one that i would dream about and tell to all my children and grandchildren. but that story never came. i kept coming back, expecting it, longing for it. but he was gone. and his stories with him. but that story has haunted me. and so to appease that spectre i created my own story. and it is dear to me. so listen and love. it's kept me company all these years so hope it can do the same for you."

something like that. i don't really expect much. so i'm not sure if i hope you're all coming back, expecting that story, or if i hope you've all forgotten me but not that story. ok, in reality i'm sure none of you really care at all. regardless, i'm back to share. and after all the hype i've just invented i apologize in advance of when it doesn't live up.

i was with a family in a little spanish town and they were fond of going to bed early. i am not. nor have i ever been. so one night i decided to go for a walk. we were in this great little hotel that was situated near a city square. the type only open to pedestrian traffic. it was amazing. it was raining and so i was looking for a place to get out of the wet. well, i walked past this english pub that was totally empty save the bartender and his country music. yes. now, when i say country music i don't mean the crap they play on the radio these days. pop wearing a cowboy hat or ignorant, "let's deride anything we don't understand and call it patriotism," jingles. this was the good stuff. the old stff with substance and a disticnt style and culture. so i went inside. the tables all had candles on them and the whole place had a lonely, inviting feel to it; a warm light in the darkness. i went up to the bar and attempted to ask how the bartender was in spanish and he looked at me and said, "huh?" so i tried english and he replied with, "do you want something?" in perfect british english. so i asked for a guiness but he didn't have any. so i took what he did and sat at the bar. so we start talking. he's from the uk. he spent the 60's and 70's in amsterdam (he's seen some shit). i told him i always thought it would be amazing to live in the english countryside in a little cottage in a villiage with nothing but a pub. and he told me he always thought it would be amazing to live in the south (our south, i.e. kentucky) where he could have a huge white house with an equally huge porch where he could sit at night and play music with his family; banjos, guitars, wahsboards and jugs. the works. funny thing, i'm from kentucky. he says he never would have guessed (he even asked me how long i'd lived in the uk because my american accent was very slight. probably the best compliment i've ever received. at least by a british bartender.) then we start talking about music. and the night slips by. as does the beer. (the owner has a free pass to everything in stock mind you) but we're content. talking about life and passions and love and all the most bohemian things you can think of. at some point so really trendy europeans come in and he starts talking trash about them to me. a couple comes in a throws darts and he tells me about how he hates having candles out because drunk people like to play with fire. and his wife is crippled and he's barely scraping by with his pub and the water leaks and the electricity is out but he loves his pub and he loves his life and it all runs together in my head. but i laugh. and so does he. and we don't even know each other's name. it was a rare moment when for a brief second, out of the lonely dark, perfect strangers become best friends.

and then i left. i had been there for over three hours talking to this guy and had spent more than intended. i just couldn't tear myself away. but it was too perfect to with more drink. so we shook hands and i plunged back out into the night. and to bed. that was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. it makes me think of all the warm places i've ever been and all the amazing people i've known. and it made me miss my friends. and home. and all the warm places out there waiting to be discovered and all the amazing people waiting to be known. so this story has become my place of refuge. my warm, bright spot in the darkness. and it didn't invlove mountains or desert or wilderness or danger; just a person. and you know, that's what life is about. that's what needs to be held on to and cherished and told to great grandchildren from rocking chairs (and big front porches on summer nights.) what companions people can make. and should. i'll certainly let them haunt me.