Memories

man walks into a bar. perplexity ensues.

From the moment he entered the restaurant, he knew he had passed through here before, though, perhaps, without retaining a memory of the place. The panes of glass on the door displayed a design which had embedded itself in his mind for years, but he failed to recall exactly why. The significance of its garish flower print pattern had no obvious meaning to him, but the fact that the image evoked waves of emotions for no apparent reason could only signify that it was not a new environment. He had, in fact, been here before, many years ago, but struggled to place the details.

He walked in with a feeling of hesitation, which defied the manner in which he had walked up to the building as he anticipated the meeting that was to take place-- a rendezvous with his past. A glance around revealed a dimly lit interior, with large hanging lights protruding from the ceiling, like jellyfish hanging from the roof of an empty cavern, flooding the area with flickering pale light. The room contained several large oak tables covered in blood-red cloth, and a bar featuring a brightly back-lit display of bottles that could make an alcoholic's dreams a reality. The counters had a familiar shape about them, with their curves jutting out at perfect leaning level, with burgundy leather-bound bar-stools tucked underneath, for any passerby to pull out and join the party. Something about the layout beckoned to him, but his subconscious told him that more lurked beyond the setting's immediate exterior.

The hue of the stools' leather looked more bleak than it should be, as if it had been weathered by years of use, with cracks beginning to appear across their surface, telling stories of those that had passed through in the locale's lifetime. The wood of the bar's countertops revealed signs of wear that nothing but age could have painted, with dark lines and stains scattered across in meaningful fashion. Memories flooded his mind, but remained just beyond the surface, inviting him to dip deeper into the restaurant's cavernous ambiance.

“What is this place?”

Despite the building's grand-opening earlier in the month, the setting held back a history that he knew was hiding just beneath the newly refurbished exterior-- the modern paintings that lined the walls , the fancy tablecloths and flamboyant décor did little to mask the fact that the ghosts of the establishment's previous life lingered long past their welcome had run out. He made a round across the room, and began to feel as if he had entered someone's home, which had recently had its walls painted over with cheap latex paint to hide the evidence of something horrible that had transpired. The light from the lanterns continued to waver ominously, as he turned his head around, looking for a sign of anything familiar. A look around the bar's back wall stopped his eye on a single photograph that hung above an impressive display of whiskey, stuck on with a single piece of scotch tape next to a mirror.

The picture contained two small children, standing on the edge of a boat ramp, smiling at the camera �" a girl with blonde streaks and blue eyes that seemed to stare right into his mind, as if reaching out to him to bring back a past that temporarily escaped him. Next to her was a boy with dark features, with a smirk on his face, as if he knew something that the girl didn't. Recognition flashed through the man's mind, as his gaze swerved to catch a glimpse of the mirror hanging by the picture, showing the same boy, twenty five years older, staring right back with a look of bewilderment.

The sound of movement behind him startled him, and his eye contact with the mirror was instantly broken, as a woman's voice interrupted his reverie.

“I knew you'd find it.”

He turned around, only to see the girl from the picture looking back at him, with those piercing blue eyes locked on to his. He was helpless, at the whim her gaze, and the past came flooding back like a tidal wave.

“Welcome back, Steven.”