January 8, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Georgia

The waitress placed a tall glass of ice water on the table in front of me and went on her way. I sat, staring at it, waiting for something to happen. I glanced up as he reached into his glass and lifted a single ice cube. He played with it, letting it slide along his chocolate coloured fingers with a surprising amount of control. It didn’t melt – nothing dripped onto the table. After a while, he put it in his mouth.

The band began playing “Sissy Strut” by The Meters. I wiped the sweat from my brow. It was bloody hot in there. The smoke had really begun to dry out my throat. I didn’t touch my water.  He grabbed another ice cube, played with it, and then dropped it back into his glass. I was staring at his cigarette. It had remained unchanged, no ash at the end. He hadn’t inhaled. It was as though the sole purpose of that cigarette was to dispense smoke to add to the room ambience.  Suddenly, he spoke.

“I know who you are and why you’re here”. His voice was rough, deep and confident. “Any questions that I ask you tonight are purely for my own amusement. I already know the answers”. While he spoke his cigarette remained unmoved from his lower lip. “Of course, you will answer them anyway. Understood?” I tried to answer but my throat was too dry. I could only nod. I reached for my glass of water, wrapped my fingers around the cool surface but couldn’t bring myself to lift it.  “So what is it you want?” his lips curled into a twisted smile, “and let’s skip the jokes about golden fiddles”. He stirred his scotch with his finger.

I could have asked for anything now that I was finally meeting him. Money, women, fame, talent but there was only one thing I was willing to ask for. I cleared my throat so I could speak.