Tall Tale Tuesday

* Another in a series of Patchwork Quilt Stories, bridging the gap between a pic and a thousand words.


“And that my friend”, I said as I put my empty glass down on the bar a bit more dramatically than was absolutely necessary, “is the story of the Bridget Sea.” My attentive audience of one gestured to Benjamin to refill my glass.

“The Bridget Sea and three boys from Maine who loved and was loved in turn, by a beautiful young red haired girl from South Boston. Three young men who grieved her loss to cancer so intensely, that they would do anything in their power.” Benjamin placed my whiskey neat on front of me and I took a grateful sip. “that they would put aside whatever ill will was left from their rivalry, to fulfill her last wish to be buried at sea. Three fisherman's sons who would take a leaky old wooden cruiser to spread her ashes out beyond the breakwater ”.

Sip.

“A story about fire and rescue and watching her burn to the waterline.”

Sip.

“This” I tapped my chest “is all those young men had left of her, crew shirts embroidered to remember a beautiful young red haired girl from Boston”. I raised my glass “To Bridget Connolly” I looked around and most of the other patrons in the place had raised their glasses to join me. “To  the Bridget Sea. Red is the rose that grows in the summer and red was the color of my first true love's hair”. Gulp and down went my glass on the bar.

“A story I think, well worth the price of a drink” said my audience and with that he gestured to Benjamin one more time, left some money on the bar and went on his way.

As he brought me my drink, the last before closing time and my walk home in the cold winds of a March night in coastal Maine, Benjamin said in the soft Caribbean accent of his island home - “You know Pepper, for a shirt you paid less than five dollars for at St. Michael's Thrift Store, it certainly has kept you in drink with your stories and me pouring from the top shelf”.

Then, after wiping the bar in front of me, he went down to the other end to ring the bell for closing time.

I had to smile. He wasn't wrong.