by Lauren Bourguignon<\/p>\n
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Mack and Clayton became regulars at my bar, KC\u2019s Saloon, in Ashland Nebraska. This town is so small that if you blink while passing through you may just miss it. For as long as I have owned KC\u2019s, Mack and Clayton have been my most loyal customers. The two men would come to sit in silence and drink their cold bottles of Budweiser every day. Both men hardly spoke except for the occasional mutters of \u201cHow ya doin?\u201d or talk of the weather. You\u2019d think after 15 years of sitting next to the same person they would be better friends by now. Over the years I learned of their woes whenever they became so impaired that their pain leaked out with each swig of the bottle. Mack and Clayton are both plagued with alcoholism and depression. It seems those two things go hand in hand. There are times I feel I should intervene and ban them, but I feel sorry for them. These visits to my bar are the only consistent human interactions in their lives and I fear their situations would worsen if I stopped serving them.<\/p>\n
Mack lost his wife to ovarian cancer years ago. He told me that if he drinks enough, he can see her. He will play \u201cYou Are My Sunshine\u201d on our old yellow jukebox and slow dance with his late wife. It is enough to make an old cowboy cry. Clayton lost his son Jimmy to an overdose 16 years ago. His boy was only 19. This left him alone to grieve as his wife left their family when Jimmy was only four years old. One night the two old men discussed their dead loved ones. I could have sworn they were both so drunk they would never remember the conversation, but the next day the two greeted each other as if they were lifelong friends.<\/p>\n
On their worst days, the other was there, holding space to mourn their pain. Everybody needs somebody. As the two continued to age I became more worried for their health. An eerie yellow hue emerged in Mack\u2019s skin and eyes. His mind began to dissolve. Clayton and I knew it had gotten bad when he couldn\u2019t remember his wife\u2019s name. One night after the two stumbled out the door I heard their trucks start up. One pulled out and then a few moments later the engine of the second truck was killed. Clayton walked back in and sat with a look of desperation. He whispered, \u201cwe need to get Mack help.\u201d His voice began to crack and tremble, \u201cI can\u2019t lose him, he\u2019s all I have left. We gotta stop drinking, both of us.\u201d We made a plan that night to try and get Mack to have a coming to God moment the following day.<\/p>\n
The next day Clayton came in early. He rapidly tapped his foot at the bar as the hours passed. I walked to the door and flicked off the open sign. Just before leaving, Clayton cued up \u201cWaitin\u2019 Around to Die\u201d by Townes Van Zandt on the jukebox. He sat down in Mack\u2019s usual spot and began to weep. In all my years of knowing Clayton, I had never seen him cry with such force. When the song finished, he stood and walked out the door.<\/p>\n
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Lauren Bourguignon is a junior at MSU Denver, majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. She is passionate about bringing oppressed voices to the forefront in media and dreams of directing films that highlight and give space to marginalized individuals.<\/p>\n