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Pain was subjective, but it was always an honest emotion.
One that couldn’t be tamed, manipulated or hidden - not if you knew where to look for it. Some held it in their eyes, others in their shoulders, and sometimes, people held it in the way that they drank until the bottle was empty. She saw it nightly; one drink turned into another, sometimes, if someone wanted to hide the taste of liquor, it was sweet like cherries. With their heads hung low, their voices loud, and occasionally eyes red, everyone tried to hide pain in their own way.
In her own experience, pain was hidden beneath whisky or the hum of a tattoo gun. It was hidden because she needed a reminder that she was alive.
Sometimes, pain could be a good thing.
At least, that’s how she preferred to view it.
The clink of a glass set against the wooden countertop brought Scarlett from her thoughts. A woman sat three stools down from where she stood. With her head tipped downwards over her drink, the woman’s hair fell over her eyes and kept her in a guarded position. It wasn’t the first time that Scarlett had seen her. Over the past week, there was an alternating collective of people with her. At first, it had been three men and another woman, but then the third man had disappeared while the two women and the two men that were a couple remained.
Often, they came in together around lunchtime. They kept their backs to the wall, bodies tense in wait, their heads on a swivel that looked as if they were simply admiring their surroundings. Military, she presumed, or perhaps law enforcement. Though, as long as they weren’t rowdy and their money was clean, it wouldn’t matter if they were criminals. It wouldn’t pay her bills if she cared to stick one way or another.
With that in mind, Scarlett picked up the rag she’d been wiping the bar with and tossed it into the wet bucket for washing later. After washing her hands, she collected the bottle of whisky that she had poured from earlier.
“Would you like another?”
The woman gestured with her hand. She smelled of honey and pistachio, the fan behind her blowing the sweetness throughout the room. Scarlett replaced her glass with a fresh one. Whisky neat, the order was easy to remember. That, and Scarlett had a penchant for remembering drinks to faces rather than names. Names were fleeting, there were too many introductions night after night. A glance at the clock reminded her that it was later than usual when the woman came in with her friends.
One by one, each patron would leave.
“Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
Her voice was warm, smooth even.
It reminded Scarlett of a Manhattan, classic yet modern. Despite that warmth, her body screamed closed off. Distant. With a nod of her head, Scarlett excused herself to tend to a few others before she stopped by the kitchen to order a basket of fries. A safe order, she figured, given that she’d already witnessed the woman eat them earlier on in the week. Potatoes were loved by everyone, anyhow, by many different cultures.
She didn’t like people drinking on an empty stomach.
While she waited for them to cook, Scarlett busied herself. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of the woman taking small sips. Little by little, her body relaxed with the touch of liquor. Still, she was guarded. Her head shifted one way, then another. She didn’t flinch when someone dropped something, or if someone coughed. Scarlett envied that alertness. But, as she collected some of their special house cherry fry sauce and set it in front of the woman with the basket, she could see that alertness was caused by that pain she was familiar with.
“In Ancient China, cherries were regarded as a sign of immortality and after world war two, the Japanese sent cherry trees to the United States to symbolize friendship between the two countries.”
When the woman looked up at her, Scarlett saw the way her blue eyes traveled over Scarlett’s features before finding her face. She was used to it, really. The woman’s eyes held some amusement, but she accepted the fries when they were pushed forward without another word.
“Are you trying to tell me that you want to be my friend?”
“I’m telling you that perspective can bring different thoughts to whatever is bothering you.”
Larry glanced over her way when he heard her name, but his attention went away again as he saw that Scarlett was in no trouble. She collected a clean rag, a glass and began to polish it a few feet away from the woman. The woman picked up a fork and began to eat. From the corner of her eye, she watched Scarlett for a few moments, and then looked away.
“What other cherry facts do you know?”
“That if you consume enough of the pits you can poison yourself using cyanide.”
The woman gave her an amused, but concerned look. Scarlett lifted and dropped her shoulder to show that it wasn’t the strangest thing she’d said that night. Turning the glass over in her hand, she watched as the woman returned back to her fries. Silence fell between them. When the phone rang, she excused herself once again to answer it. Behind her, she heard the stool scraping against the wooden floor and thought nothing of it. There was a clank of coins on the counter. Scarlett scribbled on a notebook the takeout order, hearing the kitchen staff groan as if they didn’t have another two hours to their shift.
Once done, she turned to see a wad of cash resting on the counter.
A note on a napkin sat beside it.
They'll mean perspective now.
Picking up the napkin, Scarlett let out a chuckle and began wiping down the spot. One day, she'd ask if she meant it - she could see it.