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Toby was 15 and bored as hell on his class field trip to Houston. He just didn't care all that much about school - he'd already maxed out on his English credits, and he still had a year and a half to go. No sense in anything much, then. The hotel they were staying at was predictably cheap, with low security. Several of the boys seemed determined to sneak out and head to the bars. Toby didn't consider it something worth doing, but then again, there wasn't much else to do. He'd already scribbled on all the note sheets in the room, and the front desk - thinking of some nefarious use for note paper that Toby had never even considered - had declined to give him more. So going out with the boys seemed the best solution.
Predictably, they tried to get into the bars. Most places didn't care all that much, some did, and Toby was smart enough to get lost when the cops showed up at one. His classmates weren't so lucky. Now alone in the city and without any idea of how to get back to his hotel, Toby decided to try sneaking into one more bar to figure out where he was. Apparently, unlike New York, Houston shut down at night and didn't have 24 hour convenience stores. The bar was set off from the main roads and looked quiet. No-one asked Toby for ID when he entered, they all seemed focused on the radio. Toby sat at an empty stool - it wobbled, but he was too nervous as it was to move - and tried to look like he belonged.
"I'll have whatever's on tap," Toby told the bartender, who nodded and filled his glass without response. Toby tried it. It wasn't very good. A woman sitting near him laughed.
"It's Jim's local brew, he doesn't carry anything that's not from his own basement on tap."
Toby blinked and looked over at the woman. She was pretty, for an older woman, but she looked incredibly nervous. Toby thought perhaps it was the bar setting, which looked older than shit, the wallpaper peeing back from the wall, long scratches engraved in badly stained wood, and several burnt-out lights. Which meant, if she was nervous about that, this was definitely a place Toby should not be.
Toby shrugged, "S'not bad."
The woman laughed again, "You look like you're about twelve, sweetie. Which one do you belong to?"
Toby clenched up at the words, innocuous as they were. He frowned at the lady, "I don't belong to any of 'em." He looked around the dingy place and realised they were all a group, he was the only outsider. A few more young people sidled in, and again, no-one asked for their IDs. One of the new boys - for to Toby they were boys as they did not look that much past 18 - commented on how they'd been ordered to take twelve and asked if they could spend it here. An older man shrugged and that was the end of any discussion other than the one he and the woman were having. They were still listening the to radio, which was just three static-y men talking about amps and power circuits with lots of words Toby didn't understand. It seemed like gibberish. There weren't any language patterns to pick up on at all. Toby turned back to the woman, who was watching him. He shrugged, affirming his earlier statement.
"Gotta belong to someone," the woman said, pulling out a cigarette case. She offered one to Toby. He took it and allowed her to light it. She smiled when he was able to smoke the thing without coughing. "Not much more of a baby, are you? I've got one about your age, I think. Up at the academy in Wisconsin."
Toby nodded politely, though he'd no idea what the woman was talking about. He took another sip of the beer and made another face.
"Oh, come on," she said, swiping the glass from him and passing it to the bartender. "Jim, be a doll and get us two drinks please? His is on me."
"He still owes for the first one," the bartender - Jim - growled.
The woman laughed, "Oh, all right. That's on me too." She pouted a little. "Be nice. We could have gone elsewhere."
"And had the media all over you."
"Details. Now, those drinks?"
"Yes ma'am."
While he prepared them, the woman gave Toby a scrutinizing look. "I'd say no older than my son, and he's fifteen. He just turned in February."
Toby bristled, "I'm older."
"Not by much, though, right?" the woman said, though not unkindly. Toby's beet red face gave him away. She smiled, "Don't worry, I won't tell, Jim won't tell, and no-one else in here gives much of a damn. We've got the boys to worry about."
Toby knew - he knew - what she was talking about, but the details of it escaped him. David would know. David had been going on about the mission. But since getting to Houston, Toby hadn't seen a newspaper [God, he missed the newspaper. There was something so intelligent about knowing what was happening in the world every day.] He swallowed and must have looked terribly nervous, for the woman lay an arm on his shoulder.
"Don't worry! Well, worry, I suppose. But don't worry on account of me."
Toby nodded, unsure of anything else to do. "O -okay," he finally managed to choke out. He was saved from her response by the arrival of their drinks. He didn't know what it was, but took a sip. It was strong.
He coughed a little, but held the glass steady, "What is it?"
"That, my dear, is a lemon drop-"
"Marilyn, a lemon drop is a shot."
She waved her hand, "Sorry, Jim. It's a lot of little lemon drops, with as little lemon as possible. Better?"
"Yes," Jim said, but Toby could tell he was still going to sulk about it.
"I like it," Toby said carefully. "I mean, once you get past the fact that it's really bitter."
"Want to know a secret?" the woman - no, Marilyn - asked. Toby realised then just how drunk she was, and it was only then that he began to get uncomfortable. "I like the bitter. Love the bitter. Do you know why? Because life is bitter for us astronauts."
He couldn't help it, he let out a little laugh. "My mother, she says the same thing, only about 'us jews'."
"Oh, that's terribly sweet of her, but her husband isn't careening towards Earth with no oxygen and a slim chance of survival, is he?"
Toby looked down, "No, ma'am. But he was in prison for a while. Just got out four years ago. Now he sells raincoats."
Marilyn seemed to realise that she was talking to just a child and that she had said something perhaps she shouldn't have said. She placed her hand back on his shoulder and squeezed it, "Ah. Yes. I can see why she'd be bitter. Now come on, drink up. You've hardly had anything." Toby glanced at his drink, but Marilyn interrupted before he could take another sip. "So, you're not one of the men's sons, you don't have a father who's an astronaut, what ARE you doing here?"
Toby squirmed and took a long sip before replying. "Well, I'm on a field trip," he started. "And my pa, he was with Murder, Inc and got ten years in jail. My ma doesn't do much but keep the house. My older sisters try to father me. And my younger brother, David, you'd like him. He's into space and all that, and wants to be an astronaut. Sorry he's not here, he'd know exactly what was going on and all."
"An astronaut," Marilyn mused, running her hand through her hair. "Tell him it's utter hell for his family. He may love it, but his family will hate him for it some days. Like this. But what do you want to do, then, if you don't want to fly off into space, and how did you come HERE?"
Ah. How HAD he come to this bar? The alcohol was warm in him and his brain was too happy to attempt serious thought. He gave it a go, though, "I want to write. I'm not sure what. But something. Important. And all the others got caught and I don't know the way back to the hotel."
"Goodness!" Marilyn exclaimed, downing the rest of her drink. "Hurry up and finish then, and we'll get someone to take you back. Can't have you going missing and the press have you here and oh goodness, I don't need this right now."
"Sorry!" Toby said, looking chagrined. He didn't know why she was so upset at the thought of him being there when he'd been there for so long already. He took two long gulps of the bitter vodka drink - only the slightest hint of lemon around the edges - and set his glass on the bar next to hers. She smiled kindly at him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He was led to the group of men and he tried his best to look like something other than the 15-year old kid that he was.
"Before you leave, now," Marilyn said, waving her arms in a flair that Toby found immensely attractive. "Your brother, the one who wants to be an astronaut, what's his name?"
He shouldn't have done it. He knew he shouldn't have. But he did it anyway. "David Ziegler. We live in Brooklyn."
He couldn't really remember the man who drove him back to the hotel, or even most of the details of the night. He remembered trying to tell David about it once he got back home, and having David hit him on the arm, telling him not to make up lies. After the astronauts came home, David hit him again, just for lying. Two days after that, when the phone rang and it was for David, Toby rubbed his still-sore arm as David tried to keep his composure on the phone. When he hung up and started screaming, Toby rubbed his arm harder.
And many moons later, when David was trapped up there and they didn't know how he was going to get down, Toby wished fervently that he had a bar to go to and a lost soul to run into and make the pain easier to bear.