It's nine o'clock on a Saturday night. The regulars are shuffling into their usual seats, while John the bartender prepares the drinks for them. Paul and Davy are chatting at the side, John's cracking a joke with a newcomer while fixing up a Martini for him, the waitresses are fluttering around. The faces move in and out. And across all the time, an old man sits by me, staring into space.
John makes his way over to him. "Here's your Tonic and Gin, mister." The man nods and stares blankly into the drink, into the lime amongst the ice. Perhaps his life has been equally lost. He takes a sip every once in a while, but his face never shows any expression. No sadness. No happiness. He looks at me, staring into my eyes blankly like an empty doll would.
"Is something the matter, sir?" I ask, cordially as possible. He just stares at me.
"Son, are you the pianist around here?"
"Yes, I am. Would you want me to play something you fancy, sir?" His face stays emotionless. Expressionless. He stares.
"Son, can you play me a memory?" A sip of the gin, and a face slightly dimmed.
"What kind of memory?" His eyes stay on the glass in front of him, never once moving to me.
"I don't know son." and we kept silent. He continued to stare at the drink.
"Sir, why Tonic and Gin?" I try to make some conversation, but he continues to stare at the drink, not replying.
Slowly, he looks up at me.
"Son, will you listen to a memory? A bittersweet memory of the youth that I had." I said yes to him, and his face showed the slightest hint of a smile.
"I was once your age, son. A young man with talent, emotion, the power to sway people. Most important of all, though. I had a love. Violet - her name if I recall. A simple girl, and a beautiful girl. A wonderful life I led. She was a beautiful woman I'd have lived my life for, and I sincerely wished to spend my life with her." He took another sip of the drink, then procured a silver ring with a small, exquisite amethyst at its tip.
"This was her favourite drink, Gin and Tonic. A sweet, simple drink. I asked her out one night, ring in hand. I came early and asked John to place the ring inside her cocktail beforehand. Change it to a flute glass too, while I was at it." Another sip of his gin, eyes still looking down.
"She never came." he said with a wistful tone to his voice, and a resigned swirl of his tonic and gin. He then looked at me.
"Do you know why the call this a tonic and gin, son?" I didn't know.
"Because it's made of tonic water and gin?" he swirled the drink in his hand again, staring into it.
"Take a sip, son." And he handed the drink to me. It was bitter, yet slightly sweet.
"It used to be a cure, son. A cure for malaria. Tonic water used to have quanine inside it to kill malaria, but slowly it became more sweet and less medicinal. And now, all it can cure is this heart of mine. This heart that bled to death ages ago." He looked at me again.
"Son, can you play me a memory?"
"What kind of memory, sir?"
"I don't know what kind of memory it is. But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes." I stood up and sat at the piano.
As I played, he continued to stare at the drink. What did he ever see in the drink? My eyes remain fixed while the melody flows, but he never shifts his vision. Slowly, he begins to cry. He says something, but the melody of the piano drowns out his words.
He smiles, even if for just the briefest moment, and cries immeasurably. I wonder what memory he had remembered.
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Based off the song.
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