one year ago today

I was working a rare Monday night shift, which I wouldn't normally do as it meant coming straight from teaching to Grizzle's. But the place was a graveyard, employee-speaking: it was the night of the Twins opener or some shit, and everyone decent associated with the place was headed up to the Cities with bellies full of beer and cigarettes and steak. I had been begged to pick up the shift, lest the only other guy with half a brain not going to the opener get stuck working until close with four tiny girls who, as Cliff would say, couldn't blow their noses if they had dynamite for brains.

So I went to work, and it was boring and dead, and then at 6:30 the phone rang, and someone told me it was the B for me.

What, I said, mildly annoyed.

Um, he said. Um, I just got an e-mail and a message from New Rivers. And I won.

Won? I said. You entered a contest?

Yeah, he said. I won a contest. My book's being published.

HOLY SHIT, I said, causing table 71 to look up with some alarm.

HOLY SHIT, I said again. I laughed.

And then I made him promise to come in with Darren and drink beer all night long, until I got off, which they did.

And then we went to Darren's and drank more beer and there was much merriment and paper towel dances and convincing Darren to let me hang out the windows and smoke "just a couple cigarettes."

And Darren looked like Tim O'Brien in his cap, and the beer was cold and there was much hugging, and it occurred to me then that no matter what the rest of the year or the next would bring, no matter how rocky stuff got, things would probably be okay, at least in the long run.