BEST WEAPONS

Chapter 1- Sundance

Basking in morning glory, I always wonder, how the 'glorious' Sun must feel. Bright rays, the flowers in full bloom, happy children- the Sun has the power to make all meaningful life blossom. If only a human had that power! But, I don't.

So , I get up very morning with a forlorn look on my face reminiscing a yesterday I cannot remember, while contemplating a today I am unable to foresee and/or plan. As my last resort, I just pick up my coffee, take a shower and let the caffeine kick in. But, that wretched morning of July 25, none of that seemed to work.

Yet, it was sunny in all its glory and the weather outside was the exact replica of the ones we read about in those Robert Frost poems; but I just was not ready to get up. Not after the multiple times my alarm rang and Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' made the silence disappear, not after the bell rang and Mrs. Mason pounded my door with her manly fists and almost broke it down with her hoarse voice- some people are just stubborn, I am their queen.

As a result, I woke up with the same old forlorn look, crusty eyes and realised it was 8:30 am-way too late! REPORTING TIME- 9:00 am is the only thing that hovered over my mind. I took a hasty shower, almost broke the last good coffee cup I had left, wore my sunglasses and started my car- only to find out that it won't start. God! I should've known it was going to be a bad day.

Cursing my way down the street, I finally got a taxi by Pier 17 and was seated in my 10x14 cramped office space by 9:14 am.

"Udwin", shouted the menacing voice of my boss, "I need you in my office right now."

So, I did go up to the third floor, down to the office with 'Matthew M. Hoult, Head- Finance' encrypted onto it and pushed the door ajar, taking my seat in front of him as he motioned me to.

I noticed the man's wrinkles, attributing to his ageing, his horn-rimmed glasses, and the peaked nose. I could smell the cologne in the room and it smelled of money that he must have made a shitload of working for the same company for the past 37 years, working his way up the corporate ladder, as my mother had expected me to. But, she forgot, I was not Matthew M. Hoult.

"These are the accounts reports for April and these are the ones you got me for May." , he said.

I did not recognise a question therein as he laid before me some heavy paperwork and in turn, I stayed silent. He reiterated and this time, it did seem like a question. I nodded.

"When are you going to learn, Udwin?"he said, visibly irked. "I am retiring in a week and the new bastard, whoever he might be, is not going to be there to save your ass anymore."

"This cannot happen this time, sir. I double-checked these accounts. All the entries are correct and the Mrs. Magdalene has attested and signed them herself. And we have recorded a profit. That's supposed to make your Board happy, right!", I defended myself, desperately, knowing all too well that if this time they find a fault in my books, I was definitely going to be history.

"Oh, come on! For Christ's sake, you cannot post such a high profit in a couple of months. We are a profit-making enterprise, but only if the IRS does not find out."

"But, there has been a profit", I said and immediately regretted it, only understanding now that I had failed to do window-dressing- an inherent part of every 'reliable' account and a characteristic of every 'reputed' accountant.

I lowered my head, apologised and went out with another mounting workload of redoing the accounts for April and May, whilst managing the one I already had.

Well, I hadn't been fired, at least. As rejoice and stress clouded my head, I regained my seat and my thoughts were almost immediately interrupted by Rachel- my best friend and co-worker.

"You are coming over to the bar tonight, right?"

"I can't. I have a bit of work to do and a lot to redo."

"You did not make wrong accounts again!", she inquired and her enquiry was answered by my solemn expression.

"Don't do this to me again, Jenny. Alex is going to be there too and we'll all finally be together after such long.", she said.

"I wish I could."

"You are. You are coming and I will not hear another word. Redo the accounts later. Hoult is bidding goodbye in a week, anyways."

Now, I have never really had much control over myself. But, when there is Jerry's bar involved, I seem to loose even what I might have had had I wanted to. After all, I did lose my virginity to Jaime Richter there, in a ladies' restroom. The experience was exactly like the surrounding, overwhelming and easily forgettable. Well, that was 7 years back and I was now 25. But the place you have your first time does become etched in your memory, doesn't it? So, I agreed, giving in to the charm that bar always shall exude for me, excluding the restroom, of course.

The rest of the day lurked on in grievous monotony and a haste to get more work done. So, when Rachel called on me to leave with her, I was more than happy to be able to leave this wretched office space.

Jerry's bar is a humble one, humble lighting, humble flooring, humble drinks, a humble jukebox and most importantly, humble bartenders-all under one roof in a humble neighbourhood. I guess, this humble beginning was the reason for its mass appeal. It just seemed relatable. It just seemed like home.

Alex was already seated in a quiet corner, waiting for us and when we did, he kissed Rach, hugged me and after the usual pleasantries, we were ready to get hammered. As the drinks arrived and Rach and Alex, huddled in one corner drank and talked nonsense couples usually talk about; I drifted off thinking how their relationship was so 1970s. They had been together since high school, had never cheated on each other and could always be found bickering like an old, married couple. Hell! Even their respective parents could tolerate each other. It just seemed like the union schoolgirls yearn for, when they haven't yet been exposed to the Big City that steals their innocence.

As we moved onto the next round of drinks, Rachel slyly eyed me and whispered, "3 o'clock, check him out". I shuddered and looked sideways to look the oh-so-familiar Jon Montana in the eye. I immediately reverted my gaze, but it was too late for he was already approaching our quiet corner to disrupt the calm.

I did not want to meet Jon Montana today and certainly not in front of Rachel and Alex, whose romance was the sort only possible in movies, while our brief fling was more like "Hey there, Stranger."

I went to the oh-so-familiar restroom and the oh-so-familiar Jon caught the cue to follow me in there.

Well, I could narrate the conversation we had, but let's just say it ended with him taking me home and we indulged in the obvious. I hate to admit this, but 'the obvious' made me realise how much I had missed him. I did not want to show this, so I got up just as it ended and told him that I was going back home, that I did not want to stay the night.

"You haven't changed at all", he remarked.

"Likewise", I said, a bit coyly than I intended to be.

"You can stay the night, you know."

"Do I ever?"

And I left.

Or so I thought I did. For when I saw Jon Montana being encrypted atop Head-Finance the next week, I almost convinced myself that it would not be him, the one I knew all too well.

But, fake assurance failed me once again and as he glided through the corridor to reach his spacious cabin, he winked at me and I understood what a wretched day (and night) that July 25 was.