An Ice Cold Drink of Water

"An ice cold drink of water!" That's what Ron shouted to us as he walked out of the noontime sunlight and into the shadows of the bar. Jennifer, the daytime bartender, and I were the only two there, deep in discussion about the turmoils of relationships before our first customer came in--that customer being Ron. Ron Lavergn is a fifty-two-year-old divorcee, tall, gangly, and full of charm, never forgetting to tip his cowboy hat as he hands the nearest lady his signature carnation carefully constructed from a bar napkin. He is the epitome of a gentleman, always pulling out chairs, opening doors, and politely bowing after each dance. All of the ladies love Ron.

Before Jennifer could scoop ice into the foam cup she picked up to fill with water for him, he held out his hand to stop her. "I need an ice cold drink of water," he said with a smirk, "but I want a beer."

We three chuckled in unison as she popped the cap off of his Budweiser and set it on the bar before him. After taking a long swig from his bottle, Ron released a huge sigh, pulled the closest stool to me even closer, and finally sunk into the seat.

"Long morning?" I asked, assuming that his day so far couldn't have been too demanding since it was only noon, and he wasn't offshore.

"Long night," Ron replied. "I'm still drunk, and my goddamn ex-wife won't have sex with me!"

Jennifer and I threw each other a couple of curious glances as Ron lowered his head onto the bar's edge. With my hand I rubbed small, sympathetic circles on his back, and when he looked up at me pitifully, I flashed him a soft smile that faked concern. He sighed a second time as he lowered his furrowed brow onto the bar again.

"Okay, Ron. I'll bite," I started through a stifled giggle. "Why the hell do you want to have sex with your ex-wife?"

"Because we love each other," he stated matter-of-factly. He then sat up straight and turned to face me in order to continue the conversation. Before I could comment, he began again. "Have you ever been so close to someone that you knew what the other person was thinking or feeling by just looking into their eyes?"

I nodded to signify that I understood and had experienced such a thing, but my mind began backtracking over past relationships, searching through memories for instances to use as examples. Nothing stuck out to me.

Ron continued, "My wife and I used to go out or be at parties, in places full of people, and we could be on opposite sides of the room, but we'd catch each other's eyes, and in that short instance, we knew exactly what the other was thinking. It's a connection that you don't have with just anybody."

Jennifer pressed her elbows into the bar directly across from Ron and rested her chin on her folded hands, staring intently, waiting for him to finish his thought. I sat silently beside him, also waiting, but no longer maintaining the soft smile I held before.

"When you have a connection like that with someone," he almost whispered, "every touch, every kiss is electrified. The passion is so intense. That kind of passion is like an ice cold drink of water. When you're parched, and your throat is dry as hell from working out in the hot sun all day, every part of your body is crying out for that revitalizing glass of water, and that thirst, that dehydration forces you to kick that glass back and gulp at it like you're never gonna taste water again. It's an amazing thing, that ice cold water, when you need it so bad. You remember that damn drink of water for a long time."

My false concern melted into a sincere understanding, and the only thing I could do was look away from him and focus my attention on the bar's inventory list I had set in front of me only moments before Ron had stepped into the bar, silencing my venting session to which Jennifer was so graciously attending when just she and I were seated in the darkness. With an understanding of her own, Jennifer winked at me, and presented that same grin I had given to Ron earlier.

"There are other women, you know," Ron said with more animation. "Y'all have seen me here with my lady friends."

I nodded again to let him know I was still paying attention even though I was no longer looking at him.

"And each one of those ladies can say that I treat them well. They each have one hundred percent of my attention when I'm with them, and I like each one. I really do." He lowered his voice a little and continued, "but not one of them has a connection with me like my wife does, and damn her for not having sex with me. The two of us, when we have sex, we're great. We're on fire. That passion is there, that connection is there, and after all this time in this hot sun, I just needed that drink to tide me over, you know?"

This time I was too distracted by the stinging behind my eyes to nod in agreement. Noticing my momentary inability to communicate, Jennifer seized the oportunity to practice one of the attentive bartender skills I'd suggested to her during her training and placed her hand on Ron's arm and sympathetically tilted her head to show that at least she was still interested in listening to him wax poetic about the unmatchable relationship he shared with his ex-wife.

"Get me another beer, please, Hon," he said in response to her concern, lifting the bottle to examine its emptiness. As she walked over to the cooler in order to fulfill his request, I hurridly grabbed my keys and my inventory list and stood up beside him. Always being the genlteman, Ron rose from his own stool and bowed deeply before me. I smiled weakly and touched his shoulder to suggest to him that hugging me was acceptable, and he conceded.

"I hope your wife gives in," I said half-jokingly.

"Me, too," he agreed, leaning down to kiss my hand.

"I'm off," I shouted to Jennifer who was setting Ron's next beer on a fresh napkin for him since his first napkin was now laying on the bar, newly transformed into the fluffy flower we always find when he's been around. "Call me if you need anything."

"Alright," Jennifer replied. "And you can call me," she shouted as I turned towards the exit, "if you need anything."

I raised a short wave behind my head to let her know that I heard her, but I didn't say anything. The stinging behind my eyes had traveled to my throat, tightening the muscles there, strangling any words that may have tried to escape. I stepped outside into the brightness of the day, cupping my hand above my face to shield my adjusting eyes from the glare reflecting off of the windshields of the three vehicles in the parking lot. I climbed into my car, immediately rolling down all four windows to release the blanket of heat that had collected there throughout the hot and muggy Louisiana morning. Before sliding the key into the ignition, I sat back against the driver's seat, beads of sweat already collecting on my forehead. For several minutes I sat there in the choking sun, staring at the entrance to the bar until fragile streams of perspiration broke, trickling down my nose and the sides of my face--a much-needed distraction from a plaguing feeling that had crept into my chest. I was thirsty.