Your Truth is Out There (Find Your Truth Book 1)

Henry glanced up at the clock behind the bar, saw that it was almost 2:30 in the afternoon, and realizing it was much too early in the day for his third shot of whiskey, proceeded to take the full glass in front of him and knock it back.

“Another one, please,” he said to the bartender, “in fact, after what I’ve just been through, you should probably just leave the bottle.”

“Look my friend,” said the bartender, “I don’t want to get into your business, but I can’t leave the bottle unless you pay up front.”

“No problem,” said Henry, pulling out his wallet. He took out his one and only credit card, hoping through the buzz in his head that he had enough credit left to pay for the bottle, and slapped it down on the bar. “There ya go, put it on that.”

“You sure about this, buddy?” said the bartender, giving Henry a once-over. “You’re not one of my regulars, and you don’t look like the kind of guy who polishes off a bottle of Jack in the middle of the afternoon.”

Henry nodded. “Take it,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” said the bartender taking the card and turning back to the register. “It’s your money … and liver.”

Henry looked at the clock again, and then chastised himself after seeing that it was now exactly 2:37. Why the hell should he care what time it was? It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. It wasn’t like he still had a job or anything.

“What’s your name?” he said to the bartender when the man turned back around with his credit card, the approval slip, and the nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Craig,” said the man, who didn’t seem much older than Henry’s twenty-nine years. He took the slip back after Henry signed it, and looked at the generous tip Henry had left him. “Thanks for that, Mr. Backus.”

“Mr. Backus … hmmm … almost makes me sound important when you say it like that. Call me Henry, please.”

“Sure thing,” said Craig absently, as he put the ticket into the cash register and went to check on another customer at the other end of the bar.

“Almost sounded important,” said Henry quietly to himself as he poured another drink, “almost.”

Henry downed the shot, then looked around the darkened room through eyes that, even though hazed by alcohol, were still perceptive enough to quickly understand the place. It was a bar, sure, that was easy enough to see. There were booths lining the far wall and tables in the middle of the room, all empty at this time of day. Then of course, there was the bar itself where he sat, along with the establishment’s only other customer, the one Craig was tending to now. Yes, this was a bar, but it was more than that; it was a kind of resting place, a place where the wounded of spirit came to find a small modicum of respite from the pain that tortured them.

His counterpart at the end of the bar, for example, was clearly a regular. Henry could tell that easily enough by the way he and Craig interacted. The man was quite comfortable with his surroundings, much more so than Henry. He clearly knew his way around the place, too, reaching behind the bar and grabbing a stack of cocktail napkins and stuffing them in his pocket while Craig had his back turned, then going for a can of peanuts the next time the bartender wasn’t watching. Aside from his kleptomania, it was clear this man had an affliction of some sort, a disease upon his soul. Otherwise why would he be in here and not out amongst the living? As Henry began to wonder what his situation could be, the man turned toward Henry and made eye contact with him. It was brief, but it may as well have been an eternity, for in that moment, in those eyes, Henry saw a darkness, a level of broken despair he never thought possible, even knowing how deep his own pain went. Henry turned back to his bottle, poured another shot and downed it, deciding that the rest of the world was none of his damn business.

“You know, I’m not one to tell someone how they should drink their bottle,” said Craig, as he returned to Henry’s side of the bar carrying a glass filled with ice, “but shooting the whole thing is a pretty tough way to go. I might suggest taking it a little slower and trying some on the rocks. You might even think about mixing it with something.”

Henry looked up at the bartender as the man set the glass down in front of him.

“Thanks, that’s probably a good idea,” he said, doing his level-best not to slur his words. He poured the whiskey over the ice, watching the two forces of golden liquid alcohol and frozen solid ice interact with one another. The liquid melting the solid, doing its best to tear it down, while the solid, not giving in without a fight, quietly diluted the liquid, leaving it less potent than it once was. He wanted to believe there was a lesson to be learned there, inside that glass, some parallel he could equate to his own life, but if there was, he couldn’t find it. He picked up the glass and took a drink, but just a sip this time.

“So, what brings you into my corner of the world dressed in business casual in the middle of the work day?” asked Craig, breaking Henry’s downwardly spiraling train of thought.

Henry looked up at the bartender, his eyes definitely hazier than they were a few minutes before. He was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to answer this time without slurring.

“It’s okay,” said Craig, “you don’t have to tell me, I just thought you might need someone to talk to. It’s kinda what I do.” He started to turn around, back toward the other end of the bar.

“I lost my job today,” said Henry, suddenly not caring if he slurred or not. Someone had actually asked about him, had actually cared enough to ask why he was where he was, and not in a negative, angry way. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. In fact, he couldn’t remember that ever happening. Not his parents. They barely noticed him, much less cared about where he went or what he did. They were too busy with their own lives to be concerned with his. And certainly not Lucy. No, definitely not her. But Craig actually seemed interested in the answer. He couldn’t let him walk away.

“I didn’t actually lose my job,” he said, correcting himself as Craig turned back to face him, “I pretty much threw it away all by myself.”

“I see,” said Craig, “and how did you do that? More importantly, why? I can’t imagine you just up and decided that you wanted a bottle of Jack more than you wanted your job.”

“No,” said Henry with a snicker, “nothing so simple. I was giving a presentation to my boss, the company’s CEO, about a new ad campaign I was proposing. I’ve spent the last three months working my ass off putting this thing together and before I even got halfway through it, he cuts me off and tells me it’s no good.”

“Sounds pretty harsh,” said Craig.

“You’re telling me. But hey, I remained calm. I stayed professional. I restrained myself and politely, but firmly, I defended the campaign strategy.”

“And?”

“And … he didn’t budge. He said he wanted me to start completely over and he wanted to see six new concepts, and he wanted them in two weeks. Six! In two weeks!”

“Wow, the guy sounds like a total ass. What’d you do?”

“I lost it. I mean, I completely lost it. I called him every name I could think of, and I know quite a few. I threw things, knocked other things over, and basically made a complete fool of myself.”

“I don’t know,” said Craig, “it sounds like you were just standing up for what you believe in, right?”

Henry looked up from his drink. Someone was taking his side. That had never happened before. Never.

“Right,” he said, “that’s right. I put a lot of work into that campaign. The least he could have done is let me finish the presentation, but no, he had to stop me right in the middle, tell me I wasn’t worth a crap right in front of everyone.”

“Yeah, that’s messed up, especially since other people had to have seen the campaign before he did, right? I mean they would have approved it before it got to him, so it’s not all on you … right … Henry?”

Henry didn’t answer, he was too busy taking a long drink from his glass and doing his best to avoid eye contact with the suddenly too-inquisitive bartender.

“You did let someone else review it before you showed it to the head of the entire company, right Henry?” Asked Craig again, as Henry lowered his glass.

“Well,” said Henry, “not exactly. But it wasn’t like I was hiding anything. That’s the way it’s always been, nobody sees my work until I’m ready to show it, and then I show everyone at once. I’ve been there for almost a year now and it’s never been a problem.”

He stopped to take another drink, and as he did so, the words the bartender could have said, but didn’t, hit home, making him realize something he hadn’t before.

“Then again,” he said, looking back at Craig, “I’ve never had a project like this before. It’s always been small, one-page flyers and stuff like that, never anything on this scale. Even so, it never crossed my mind to consult with anyone else.”

“It couldn’t have hurt,” said Craig, “it’s tough to go it alone all the time.”

“That’s all I know how to do,” said Henry softly, staring into his now empty glass, “it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“People change, Henry. It’s never too late.”

Henry didn’t respond, but continued staring at the empty glass. Something as small as asking someone for help might have changed everything. Understanding so simple of a social norm might have been the difference between achieving success within his company and the reality of what happened today.

But even as he said those words in his head, they rang hollow. A second, more insistent, inner voice said:
Who would you have asked for help? Which one of those philistines would you have trusted when it came to matters relating to creativity? The accountants? The lawyers? The engineers? The sales staff? Okay, maybe the sales staff, but even then it might be iffy. Besides,
the voice continued,
is success within the company what you really want? Do you really want to climb the corporate ladder, trading in ever larger pieces of your soul along the way? Is that what you really want, Henry? Henry? Henry?

“Henry? Henry, are you still with me?” It was Craig.

“Oh, sorry,” said Henry, stirring from his inner tug-o-war, “yes, I was just thinking. What is it you were saying?”

“I was asking about the campaign. Tell me about it, let me see if it’s any good or not.”

“Sure,” said Henry, pouring himself another drink, “why not? Are you a fisherman?”

“Yeah, I like to fish every now and then.”

“Ever heard of Telasco rods and reels?”

“Oh yeah, sure, that’s what I use.”

“Well, that’s who I work … used to work for.”