He sat alone at a table in the patio bar, looking out over the Gulf turning gold beyond the palms. A small glass of rum sat patiently next to his hand. Somewhere a guitar was being played badly but beautifully, as if the player had forgotten the song but not the feeling.
He thought of his friend, the one who always promised they’d come here together. They would sit beneath the palms, drink something cold, watch the sun sink into the impossibly clear water.
But life had other plans
The sun lowered, burning the horizon orange, then red. Couple at other tables oohed and awed. He raised his glass toward the empty chair beside him.
‘I hope you can see this, kiddo,’ he said.
The empty chair said nothing.
He smiled sadly and drained his drink, enjoying the sting. But the sweet rum left a bitter taste and he felt tears form hidden by his shades. The sun disappeared into the horizon and night took to falling. He sat for a long time, the city waking to the night’s festivities. The sounds of people laughing, music playing, car horns honking. The city celebrating life.
The waiters saw the man in the white linen suit and Panama hat sitting alone and crying and left him alone. They had seen it before. Not every celebration was for the living.
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