Before reading this, you may want to read the the first two parts to this story. They are combined on one post which you can view here. This is actually part three of the story.
My Mayan-apocalypse-fearing, whiskey-drinking friend Dubs McClusky was back. He sat in my home office with a glass of Scotch in his hand.
I was impressed because he brought the bottle this time. Yes, it was only 12 years old, but for Dubs, I knew I'd never get better from him. I poured a glass for myself as he looked at me suspiciously.
"Hey, Tom, I notice you've got one of those new calendars for 2013 on your desk, one with all the funny cartoons."
"Right, Dubs, it was an early Christmas gift from one of my coworkers. Do you want to see it?"
"I prefer the type with cartoons that don't have words at the bottom," he said a bit fearfully, as if he might have to look at one of the panels and decide whether to laugh or not after reading the caption. Then he took another sip of whiskey and asked, "So, you didn't buy it yourself?"
"No, it was a gift."
"So, you think you're still going to be needing it, I mean, with the end of the world coming up." His eyes were big and expectant and he waited for my answer.
"Well, Dubs, we got some friends together and drank against the end of the world, even if it wasn't with the best Scotch. "Just let me put it this way, I've already gone through the whole calendar and read all 365 cartoons, just in case."
"Noooo!," he said.
"Yeah, there are some really good ones, especialy in June and August."
"So, this is it, you think. Just a few days left."
"Well, Dubs, I can't really say. But it would have been a shame to miss some of those cartoons."
"Well, what does your wife say. I mean, she's never wrong."
"She doesn't want to talk about it," I answered, "but we were in the bookstore the other day, and when I asked her if she wanted a picture calendar, she just rolled her eyes and walked away. She also bought a book about how to manage limited time wisely. She said something about being glad that it's a very short book."
Again, "Noooo!" Then after a full minute, "Tom, it can't end this way. It really can't."
"Yes it can," I insisted stoically. "Sorry, Dubs, nothing I can do."
He frantically poured himself another glass. He didn't notice that I was almost empty.
I heard footsteps in the hallway. They were soft and I knew it was my wife
"Oh, hi, Dubs," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in the standard Spanish greeting.
"Oh, hi, Maria," he responded. Then he was silent for a whole minute as he looked at my wife as if she must be some oracle. "Is it okay if I come over on Friday, just to say goodbye?" he asked.
"Well, of course, you're welcome any time, Dubs. You know where Tom keeps the whiskey if he's not in, dont you?"
"He's got to be in," Dubs insisted. He looked hard at me."You have to be in, too. I have to say goodbye."
"Yes."
"It's the end of the world, Mrs. Bell. You know that!"
"Well, yes."
Dubs dropped his jaw and let it hang.
"But, it's going on be okay, Dubs," she insisted. "The crystal skull told me not to worry. Even with the end of the world, everything's going to be okay."
"Noooo!, he insisted.
"Sorry, Dubs," she said, and sounded like me.
"Tom, your wife is never wrong. I guess it's really the end." He drooped his head.
"Don't worry, Dubs," I insisted, "maybe there's a black hole or a time pardox or a universal reprieve in this somewhere."
"Maybe," he said. He poured the last of the bottle into his glass. "Maybe Irish whiskey is as good as Scotch, but I don't think so.
My wife reached out and took Dub's hand. "It's okay," she said. "I don't think the pain will last over fifteen or twenty hours. Too bad you didn't buy some really good Scotch. All of this could have been averted. Some really good 18-year old would have made the difference. That's what the crystal skull told me."
"Noooo!" Dubs yelled.
Within fifteen minutes Dubs was back with four bottles of some fine 18-year old whiskey.
He popped open a bottle. "Against the end of the world," he screamed. He poured a big glass for me and for my wife.
Maria took a small sip and I inhaled the glass.
"Against the end of the world," I said loudly.
"Against the end of the world!" he toasted.
"That's great," I said. "By the way, do you want to see one of the June cartoons on my calendar. It might be your last chance."
"Huh," he said. Then after a while he insisted, "Why don't we have another toast, or two, or three! And, Maria, please tell the skull that this is very good whiskey!"
You can view my website at: www.tombellart.com.
- - -
My Mayan-apocalypse-fearing, whiskey-drinking friend Dubs McClusky was back. He sat in my home office with a glass of Scotch in his hand.
I was impressed because he brought the bottle this time. Yes, it was only 12 years old, but for Dubs, I knew I'd never get better from him. I poured a glass for myself as he looked at me suspiciously.
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| Mayan Magic on the steps of ther Chichicastenango Cathedral. |
"Right, Dubs, it was an early Christmas gift from one of my coworkers. Do you want to see it?"
"I prefer the type with cartoons that don't have words at the bottom," he said a bit fearfully, as if he might have to look at one of the panels and decide whether to laugh or not after reading the caption. Then he took another sip of whiskey and asked, "So, you didn't buy it yourself?"
"No, it was a gift."
"So, you think you're still going to be needing it, I mean, with the end of the world coming up." His eyes were big and expectant and he waited for my answer.
"Well, Dubs, we got some friends together and drank against the end of the world, even if it wasn't with the best Scotch. "Just let me put it this way, I've already gone through the whole calendar and read all 365 cartoons, just in case."
"Noooo!," he said.
"Yeah, there are some really good ones, especialy in June and August."
"So, this is it, you think. Just a few days left."
"Well, Dubs, I can't really say. But it would have been a shame to miss some of those cartoons."
"Well, what does your wife say. I mean, she's never wrong."
"She doesn't want to talk about it," I answered, "but we were in the bookstore the other day, and when I asked her if she wanted a picture calendar, she just rolled her eyes and walked away. She also bought a book about how to manage limited time wisely. She said something about being glad that it's a very short book."
Again, "Noooo!" Then after a full minute, "Tom, it can't end this way. It really can't."
"Yes it can," I insisted stoically. "Sorry, Dubs, nothing I can do."
He frantically poured himself another glass. He didn't notice that I was almost empty.
I heard footsteps in the hallway. They were soft and I knew it was my wife
"Oh, hi, Dubs," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in the standard Spanish greeting.
"Oh, hi, Maria," he responded. Then he was silent for a whole minute as he looked at my wife as if she must be some oracle. "Is it okay if I come over on Friday, just to say goodbye?" he asked.
"Well, of course, you're welcome any time, Dubs. You know where Tom keeps the whiskey if he's not in, dont you?"
"He's got to be in," Dubs insisted. He looked hard at me."You have to be in, too. I have to say goodbye."
"Yes."
"It's the end of the world, Mrs. Bell. You know that!"
"Well, yes."
Dubs dropped his jaw and let it hang.
"But, it's going on be okay, Dubs," she insisted. "The crystal skull told me not to worry. Even with the end of the world, everything's going to be okay."
"Noooo!, he insisted.
"Sorry, Dubs," she said, and sounded like me.
"Tom, your wife is never wrong. I guess it's really the end." He drooped his head.
"Don't worry, Dubs," I insisted, "maybe there's a black hole or a time pardox or a universal reprieve in this somewhere."
"Maybe," he said. He poured the last of the bottle into his glass. "Maybe Irish whiskey is as good as Scotch, but I don't think so.
My wife reached out and took Dub's hand. "It's okay," she said. "I don't think the pain will last over fifteen or twenty hours. Too bad you didn't buy some really good Scotch. All of this could have been averted. Some really good 18-year old would have made the difference. That's what the crystal skull told me."
"Noooo!" Dubs yelled.
Within fifteen minutes Dubs was back with four bottles of some fine 18-year old whiskey.
He popped open a bottle. "Against the end of the world," he screamed. He poured a big glass for me and for my wife.
Maria took a small sip and I inhaled the glass.
"Against the end of the world," I said loudly.
"Against the end of the world!" he toasted.
"That's great," I said. "By the way, do you want to see one of the June cartoons on my calendar. It might be your last chance."
"Huh," he said. Then after a while he insisted, "Why don't we have another toast, or two, or three! And, Maria, please tell the skull that this is very good whiskey!"
You can view my website at: www.tombellart.com.
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