The Storyteller (Part One) The Dream of Benwar

My luck had seemed to hit the bricks lately and I was just driving around mindlessly hoping the scenery would change the feeling that had settled into my soul. After an hour of dodging traffic though I spotted the sign for Allen's Pub and pulled into the parking lot.

I'm not a drinker, not even socially, but the thought of getting drunk seemed appealing at that moment. As I stepped through the door I paused to scan the room. The bar tender was about my age with more hair than I have left, but it was mostly gray. A couple sitting at the bar was quietly talking while enjoying their drinks.

The girl working the floor was wearing skin tight black pants and a low cut top which accented her assets a little too well. There was one old gentleman sitting at the corner table partially hidden in the shadows staring back at me. I felt no malice in his stare. He seemed content to study me briefly before returning his attention to his almost empty glass.

I move on over to the bar and took up residence on a stool directly in front of the tender. His name, Bill, was embroidered over the left breast pocket of his shirt.

"What'll it be friend?" Bill asked, leaning slightly on the bar.

I searched my memories of a time when I used to go out with the guys during those training seminars, trying to think of the name of one of those drinks they were always pushing on me, hoping to get me drunk. Bill waited patiently for my answer. Maybe he could tell from the look in my eyes or the expression on my face but he said nothing more.

He grinned as I focused on his face once again and asked for a long island iced tea. "It's been a while hasn't it?" he asked as he pulled a glass from under the bar and started mixing the drink.

"Yes it has." I replied, glancing over my shoulder as the old man in the corner coughed. He smiled at me and raised his empty glass in my direction.

"That's old Ben." Bill informed me, setting the drink on a napkin in front of me. "He's probably hoping you'll buy him a drink." he added with a chuckle.

"What's his story?" I asked, lifting my glass to take a sip of the blended rums and tea.

"No one really knows." Bill replied. "He walked into the bar about 3 years ago, settled into that seat you see him in now and he's been a regular occupant several nights a week ever since."

He paused for a moment, wiping a glass before setting it back down, his gaze fixed on a spot on the bar. "But if it's a story you want... " he started, still transfixed on that spot on the bar, "Old Ben can certainly spin one for you."

With that he looked up at me, picked the glass he'd just cleaned back up from the bar and started mixing another drink. "Why don't you take this over to Ben and see where it leads." he said with a smile.

Now, I couldn't think of any reason why I would want to do that. But then, I really couldn't think of one not too either. So I lifted both glasses from the bar and slid off my stool.

Before I could turn away Bill leaned over the bar and spoke under his breath. "Friend... one thing you should know about old Ben." he said looking me straight in the eye. "He has an uncanny way of pulling a story out of his hat that directly relates to your situation." That being said he waved me on and returned to washing another glass.

The thought of possibly hearing a story that would make me think more about my current situation did not appeal to me, and I almost sat back down. But when I turned and looked across the room at Ben he motioned for me to come on over as he slid his empty glass across to the opposite side of the table.

'I can always get up and leave.' I thought as I forced myself to walk away from the bar.