His Father’s Wine Bar

It’s Friday evening, and the weight of the week falls on his shoulders, as he sits in the same old chair, and reflects on the recent events that have taken place in his home, or at least he thinks they have. Could it be? Perhaps he is too tired, and the exhaustion has caught up with him, and he has started to see things where they are not, or instead, he has started to forget moving things around? Could it be age? Is that what awaits all of us, forgetfulness and eventually oblivion?

Friday of the week before he wasn’t as tired, but he still realized something had changed. Someone has moved the wine bottles, he thought, but only briefly, and went on with his weekend not really thinking about it. After all, it was just a detail, a superfluous change in the order of the living room, not worth thinking too much about. He probably had done it, and forgot about it.

But, not this time. He was certain he hadn’t moved any wine bottles in the bamboo bar he had in his living room. It was a handsome bamboo bar, with turned finials, a pair of drawers, and mahogany wine rack. It was the last piece he kept when they sold the house after his father’s death. He wasn’t sure why he decided to keep that specific piece, maybe because it had been in his father’s studio and some of his best memories as a child were playing in that studio with his father, or maybe he wasn’t that sentimental, and he just needed a place to put his wine. Even in our sad times, we tend to doubt our feelings.

Still, this didn’t solve the strange rearranging of the bottles, in the last two weeks someone had moved them in the bar’s wine rack, and he lived alone, and knew well no one else had gone into his house, so he couldn’t explain who had done it. The first time they moved the bottles away, the second time they took one of them, and the last time two new bottles he had never seen before appeared.

It’s Friday evening now, and he feels tired. His eyes are heavy, his shoulders are tense, and he realizes he is old. He wonders if his father is trying to play a joke on him, or if it is his memory who’s playing the joke. He is slightly afraid, but he could also be excited, as a kid who has found a new puzzle, he is not sure. Even in our sad times, we tend to doubt our feelings.