Page 1 of Sacred Vow

I park my little Ford Tempo a block from the bar, between two black Escalades. It looks even more beat-up between the two luxury cars, but I don’t care. It’s mine.

And it’s the last gift my brother, Craig, gave me.

I draw in a slow breath as I step onto the sidewalk and spot the sign just outside the bar.

Windy City Tavern

The wooden sign swings from a pole just above the entrance. It’s warped and faded from years of sunshine beating down on it.

I stop short of the door and look around. One way and then the other. Three flat houses in a neat row across the street. The local pharmacy on the corner hasn’t changed since I was a kid; Mr. Mackey must still own it. A cheer goes up in the distance from the park only a few streets away. It’s baseball season.

An ache hits me. I played shortstop for a season when I was in sixth grade at that park.

Craig would come to my games on the weekends. Mom worked most Saturdays, so when she worked, he’d bring me here to Windy City Tavern. He’d get me a burger.

“Hey, you going in, or you just gonna stare at the door the whole day?” A man steps around me, pulling the door open.

“Going in,” I say when he keeps holding it for me. I thank him and head inside. It’s exactly how I remember, even the cigar stench, though Chicago has outlawed smoking in public buildings.

The man who opened the door for me brushes past and walks straight to the back of the bar, down a short hallway past the restrooms and into one of the offices.

Craig would go back there sometimes. I’d be sitting with my burger and pop, and he’d be back there for almost an hour.

“Can I get you something?” the woman behind the bar asks.

“Uh, sure. Can I get a whiskey sour?” I step up to the bar and settle on the stool.

“Sure thing.” She goes to work on making the drink, while I turn slightly to take in the bar. There’s a pool table in the corner, dartboards on the walls, and a mixture of high-top tables and booths spread throughout. But most people are at the bar, murmured conversations between men on the stools, sipping on beers while watching the Cubs game on the TV screens.

Everything around me is familiar. I’ve been here. I remember being here. I played pool on that table. Craig taught me how to throw darts on those boards. But the memories I want to come back are still light years away.

“Here you go.” The bartender slides my drink to me on a napkin. I hand her a few bills and tell her to keep the change.

The front door opens, and the afternoon light pours in. A few men walk past me, talking amongst themselves and head back through the same hallway.

“Hey, Jacek.” One man at the corner of the bar sticks his hand out to shake one of the newcomers’ hands. He stops, they chat quickly, a hushed conversation that ends with an eruption of laughter.

I reach for my glass while keeping an eye on them. I can’t hear them, but there’s something familiar about the man at the bar.

Instead of grabbing my drink, I end up knocking it over.

“Shit!” I jump off my stool as the liquid quickly rolls toward me. I grab all the napkins I can find and try to clean it up.

“It’s all right. No problem.” The bartender’s back with a towel helping me mop it all up. “You want another?” she asks.

I hand her the wet napkins I have balled in my hands.

“Yeah, sure.” I pick up the stool I knocked over when I leapt off and sink back on it. When I look up again, I realize I have an audience. The men at the corner of the bar are watching me and leaning toward each other talking.

I try to ignore their stares, and when the bartender brings me my new drink, I turn away a little. I’m here to search for memories locked away in my head somewhere, not get the attention of the locals.

Sipping my drink, I try again to make connections between old memories and those that I’ve lost. Nothing is happening other than me missing my brother even more. And this neighborhood. I grew up here.

I haven’t been back in seven years, since Craig passed away and Mom took me down to Lincoln, Nebraska. She said it was safer for us there, and being all of fifteen, I didn’t have a choice.

Things are different now. And I want my life back.

I want the blank spot in my memory filled in.

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