Drawings

Fiction

Carina sat in the corner by the always broken pinball machine, sketching.

The chair she sat in wasn’t supposed to be there, between the Diner machine and the wall, but who would complain since the damn game never worked.

She never drank more than three but tipped three bucks each round, always.

Will wiped down the mixer gun, looked at Kevin, silent as always, glancing at his Keno numbers on the obnoxious blue fireworks screen.

Will wondered when the lottery commission would change the imagery. He felt like they were screen savers for his brain, and he hated them.

Carina’s drink was empty.

Will poured her a second-she always had a second-and broke his rule by walking around the bar to deliver it himself.

Tequila, soda, two lime wedges.

He had never bothered to look at her art, she had never mentioned it, though she could be talkative about social issues and music.

More than likely she had never had a gallery show, because she had never promoted it in The Mug, and artists and bands always promoted their shit in The Mug. 

They had a whole flyer and zine table dedicated to it.

“Here ya go,” Will said, setting the drink down on the wide armrest of the chair, a faux Adirondack he had trash picked.

Carina flipped the sketchbook closed, looked up, spun her colored pencil in her fingers.

“I’ve never seen you do that. Never.”

“Do what? “ Will asked, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Come in front of the bar to serve a drink.”

“I never have.”

Carina picked up the drink with her left hand.  She had asked for two limes the first time she ordered from Will and had always gotten two limes ever since.

“Why did you now?” Carina asked.

Will heard curiosity, not defensiveness or cynicism.

“I wanted to peek at your art.”

“It’s not art,” Carina said.

Will smiled, this weird lower lip bend that looked more like a grimace to most of the population.

“I wish the people in this neighborhood who claimed to be artists were as modest. I’ll bet it’s great.”

“It is great,” Carina said, “so I’m told. But it’s not art. Not in the sense that I think you’re thinking.’

“What is it?”

“Nosy much?” Carina said. It was the most edge Will had heard in her voice since she described how grossly overrated Radiohead was.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

Will turned and walked back toward the bar, certain he would never break his rule again.

It hadn’t crossed his mind that the artwork might be erotic or acutely personal. Now that thought was in his mind so deep it carved a crater.

He had never been particularly attracted to Carina, but…

“It’s just work, Will.”

He could have turned. He did not, but he knew he flinched because it was the first time she had ever spoken his name.

When he got back behind the bar he had no choice but to look in her direction.

“Didn’t realize it was work-related. Sorry.”

Kevin slid a new Keno sheet to the edge of the bar and tapped the old ticket twice. That meant he had a winner and the winning ticket would pay for the new one. Kevin hadn’t told Will that, Will just figured it out after time.

Kevin ordered his drink out loud -High Life- though Will knew that by now, and said Thanks when he left.

He would agree with a bar discussion with a yep, answer fine to a “how ya doing Kev?” and say Merry Christmas to people.

Kevin ran Kevin’s ticket into the pumpkin orange lottery machine. 

$77 winner.

Then he ran the new bet slip, dollar a draw, twenty draws for twenty bucks, and handed the bet slip, ticket, and $57 to Kevin.

“Congratulations, Kev.”

“Thanks,” Kevin said and slid a five-dollar Keno tip toward Will.

Will grabbed it and nodded his thanks.

He threw the five in his jar and turned to look at Carina, drawing away with a very content smile on her face.

Melissa, three nights a week, would bring her laptop and work on advertising stuff.

Sketching with a smile didn’t seem like work.

“I don’t even know what you do for a living, Carina.”

Carina closed the sketchbook, leaned back in the chair, ran her fingers along the metal edge corner of the pinball machine.

She looked at Will but didn’t speak. 

Will waited. They were the only two guests in the bar. The first pool league loudmouths would be here in a half-hour or less.

“I’m just thinking, it must be tough to have a job where you gotta bring your job out to the bar with you. It ain’t like I leave work and pour 15 different drinks when I get home.”

“This is only part of my job,” Carina said. “And I like my job.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

Carina hesitated again.

Will was beginning to be sorry he asked.

“I work at Veteran’s Hospital.”

“What, are you like designing that new wing they’re building over toward Warren?’

Carina shook her head and a small smile returned.

“I’m a counselor.”

Will felt both admiration, and embarrassment for comparing her job to bartending.

“That’s a great gig. I’d be proud of it.”

“There are success stories, for sure, but it’s about the patients, not me.”

A nasty honk/rumble emanated from the bar.

Back doorbell, activating a warning system rigged to the service bar. The fifty-year-old contraption sounded like a goose flying into aluminum siding.

Will looked at the rear security cam. Plastic beer cup delivery, four hours late. 

Will hit the toggle switch to let the delivery in.

“So what do you draw for counseling patients? Like flowers and sunsets and relaxing shit?”

Carina inhaled, looked to Will very much like she was going to snap a blue-colored pencil in two.

Will knew he said something stupid, but didn’t know what. His guess was a legitimate one, even to the point of believing he was correct. He chewed on ice from his water cup.

“I draw visualizations for people with traumatic injury. It can be anything, but not sunsets or… “

Carina sipped her tequila, shook out her hair a little.

“Sometimes it’s at the beginning of the process. Showing someone where their limb is missing and how the prosthetic will be designed. Other times it’s to illustrate why a prosthetic can’t be utilized. Those…”

Carina finished her drink.

“...are not my favorite, but it’s better than an X-Ray, which can trigger things.”

Will pointed at her empty glass. 

“Yes,” Carina said, “one more, please.”

She began to stand and Will made a gesture. Sit. I’ll bring it over.

“Sometimes they are visualizations of the person returning to doing what they loved before the injury; golf, waterskiing, whatever. Showing someone else doing those things with a prosthetic doesn’t have the same impact as drawing them doing it, helping them believe they’ll be back out there one day.”

“You should get a medal or something,” Will said, silently cussing that there were no more wedged limes in the bin.

He grabbed a knife and the small beige plastic cutting board. 

“No, I don’t need medals,” Carina said. “It’s rewarding enough. Frustrating a lot. The hardest ones are the people who come back with all their limbs, all their physical mobility, but their anxiety and experienced trauma paralyzes them from doing things they once enjoyed.”

Will walked around the bar with a tequila soda, two lime wedges, freshly cut.

He saw a shadow out of his right eye.

Kevin was walking toward the corner, toward Carina.

Will slowed.

Kevin hunched his shoulders to raise the trenchcoat drooping in the middle of his back.

The glow of the lottery screen was crimson, a dragon breathing out the winning numbers in flame, one by one.

“Hi,” Kevin said to Carina. “Would you like to play Keno with me?”

Carina smiled, but the head shake was overtaking the smile.

“Oh, I don’t gamble, but thank-”

Will stopped so abruptly a lime sloshed over the top of the tequila glass.

He glared at Carina.

Carina caught Will’s look immediately. 

“Umm, I really don’t know how it works,” Carina said. “Can you teach me?”

Kevin nodded.

“Yep.” 

***

Carina sat in the corner by the always broken pinball machine, sketching.

The chair she sat in wasn’t supposed to be there, between the Diner machine and the wall, but who would complain since the damn game never worked.

She never drank more than three but tipped three bucks each round, always.

Will wiped down the mixer gun, looked at Kevin, silent as always, glancing at his Keno numbers on the obnoxious blue fireworks screen.

Will wondered when the lottery commission would change the imagery. He felt like they were screen savers for his brain, and he hated them.

Carina’s drink was empty.

Will poured her a second-she always had a second-and broke his rule by walking around the bar to deliver it himself.

Tequila, soda, two lime wedges.

He had never bothered to look at her art, she had never mentioned it, though she could be talkative about social issues and music.

More than likely she had never had a gallery show, because she had never promoted it in The Mug, and artists and bands always promoted their shit in The Mug. 

They had a whole flyer and zine table dedicated to it.

“Here ya go,” Will said, setting the drink down on the wide armrest of the chair, a faux Adirondack he had trash picked.

Carina flipped the sketchbook closed, looked up, spun her colored pencil in her fingers.

“I’ve never seen you do that. Never.”

“Do what? “ Will asked, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Come in front of the bar to serve a drink.”

“I never have.”

Carina picked up the drink with her left hand.  She had asked for two limes the first time she ordered from Will and had always gotten two limes ever since.

“Why did you now?” Carina asked.

Will heard curiosity, not defensiveness or cynicism.

“I wanted to peek at your art.”

“It’s not art,” Carina said.

Will smiled, this weird lower lip bend that looked more like a grimace to most of the population.

“I wish the people in this neighborhood who claimed to be artists were as modest. I’ll bet it’s great.”

“It is great,” Carina said, “so I’m told. But it’s not art. Not in the sense that I think you’re thinking.’

“What is it?”

“Nosy much?” Carina said. It was the most edge Will had heard in her voice since she described how grossly overrated Radiohead was.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

Will turned and walked back toward the bar, certain he would never break his rule again.

It hadn’t crossed his mind that the artwork might be erotic or acutely personal. Now that thought was in his mind so deep it carved a crater.

He had never been particularly attracted to Carina, but…

“It’s just work, Will.”

He could have turned. He did not, but he knew he flinched because it was the first time she had ever spoken his name.

When he got back behind the bar he had no choice but to look in her direction.

“Didn’t realize it was work-related. Sorry.”

Kevin slid a new Keno sheet to the edge of the bar and tapped the old ticket twice. That meant he had a winner and the winning ticket would pay for the new one. Kevin hadn’t told Will that, Will just figured it out after time.

Kevin ordered his drink out loud -High Life- though Will knew that by now, and said Thanks when he left.

He would agree with a bar discussion with a yep, answer fine to a “how ya doing Kev?” and say Merry Christmas to people.

Kevin ran Kevin’s ticket into the pumpkin orange lottery machine. 

$77 winner.

Then he ran the new bet slip, dollar a draw, twenty draws for twenty bucks, and handed the bet slip, ticket, and $57 to Kevin.

“Congratulations, Kev.”

“Thanks,” Kevin said and slid a five-dollar Keno tip toward Will.

Will grabbed it and nodded his thanks.

He threw the five in his jar and turned to look at Carina, drawing away with a very content smile on her face.

Melissa, three nights a week, would bring her laptop and work on advertising stuff.

Sketching with a smile didn’t seem like work.

“I don’t even know what you do for a living, Carina.”

Carina closed the sketchbook, leaned back in the chair, ran her fingers along the metal edge corner of the pinball machine.

She looked at Will but didn’t speak. 

Will waited. They were the only two guests in the bar. The first pool league loudmouths would be here in a half-hour or less.

“I’m just thinking, it must be tough to have a job where you gotta bring your job out to the bar with you. It ain’t like I leave work and pour 15 different drinks when I get home.”

“This is only part of my job,” Carina said. “And I like my job.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

Carina hesitated again.

Will was beginning to be sorry he asked.

“I work at Veteran’s Hospital.”

“What, are you like designing that new wing they’re building over toward Warren?’

Carina shook her head and a small smile returned.

“I’m a counselor.”

Will felt both admiration, and embarrassment for comparing her job to bartending.

“That’s a great gig. I’d be proud of it.”

“There are success stories, for sure, but it’s about the patients, not me.”

A nasty honk/rumble emanated from the bar.

Back doorbell, activating a warning system rigged to the service bar. The fifty-year-old contraption sounded like a goose flying into aluminum siding.

Will looked at the rear security cam. Plastic beer cup delivery, four hours late. 

Will hit the toggle switch to let the delivery in.

“So what do you draw for counseling patients? Like flowers and sunsets and relaxing shit?”

Carina inhaled, looked to Will very much like she was going to snap a blue-colored pencil in two.

Will knew he said something stupid but didn’t know what. His guess was a legitimate one, even to the point of believing he was correct. He chewed on ice from his water cup.

“I draw visualizations for people with traumatic injury. It can be anything, but not sunsets or… “

Carina sipped her tequila, shook out her hair a little.

“Sometimes it’s at the beginning of the process. Showing someone where their limb is missing and how the prosthetic will be designed. Other times it’s to illustrate why a prosthetic can’t be utilized. Those…”

Carina finished her drink.

“...are not my favorite, but it’s better than an X-Ray, which can trigger things.”

Will pointed at her empty glass. 

“Yes,” Carina said, “one more, please.”

She began to stand and Will made a gesture. Sit. I’ll bring it over.

“Sometimes they are visualizations of the person returning to doing what they loved before the injury; golf, waterskiing, whatever. Showing someone else doing those things with a prosthetic doesn’t have the same impact as drawing them doing it, helping them believe they’ll be back out there one day.”

“You should get a medal or something,” Will said, silently cussing that there were no more wedged limes in the bin.

He grabbed a knife and the small beige plastic cutting board. 

“No, I don’t need medals,” Carina said. “It’s rewarding enough. Frustrating a lot. The hardest ones are the people who come back with all their limbs, all their physical mobility, but their anxiety and experienced trauma paralyzes them from doing things they once enjoyed.”

Will walked around the bar with a tequila soda, two lime wedges, freshly cut.

He saw a shadow out of his right eye.

Kevin was walking toward the corner, toward Carina.

Will slowed.

Kevin hunched his shoulders to raise the trenchcoat drooping in the middle of his back.

The glow of the lottery screen was crimson, a dragon breathing out the winning numbers in flame, one by one.

“Hi,” Kevin said to Carina. “Would you like to play Keno with me?”

Carina smiled, but the head shake was overtaking the smile.

“Oh, I don’t gamble, but thank-”

Will stopped so abruptly a lime sloshed over the top of the tequila glass.

He glared at Carina.

Carina caught Will’s look immediately. 

“Umm, I really don’t know how it works,” Carina said. “Can you teach me?”

Kevin nodded.

“Yep.” 

***

Photo courtesy Getty Images