About Today

Abigail stopped the car a few feet away from the head stone. The familiar gravel that was mounted with the last name Murphy across the front was such a sickening sight to her but there she was; one of her many trips that she chose to pursue at least once a month. She shoved her hands in her black zip up sweat shirt and started her ten second walk to where the decaying flowers were placed in such a half-assed fashion.

She crouched down in front of it and placed her hand atop the stone, her ritual that she was so used to by now. It had been three long years since her mother had left her, and she still hasn't cried. She missed her mother, of course - the woman was the most selfless person in the world - but she just couldn't find it in her to shed at least one tear. It was how everything around her mother came back to bite Abigail in the ass after she died.

The fact that she was in Pittsburgh and not Seattle, the fact that her father was a selfish piece of shit that cared about nothing except for money and his moronic monkey that he had at home that was only four years older than her, the fact that she couldn't leave Pittsburgh anytime soon, the list was endless.

Abigail just cleared her throat and stood upright, and took a deep breath. There was really nothing in the world that could make her happy again, and that thought alone was enough to make her want to die. It was sad, it was torture, and it was just plain fucked up.

She placed the keys in the ignition of her old beater and headed for "home" again. She needed a drink and she needed one more than ever. She was halfway up the highway when she remembered that McHale's Bar was only two more miles away near the bridge and it was a little closer than the house. She had at least thirty bucks on her and that was more than enough to last her till pay day.

She put the bent out of shape dark blue car in a parking space near the front and ran her hands through her long, dark blonde hair. For a second, she doubted whether or not she should go in. She should go home and get some rest before work tomorrow. She shook her head at her own thoughts and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. Her keys were immediately shoved in her pocket as she made her way inside the seemingly quiet bar.

For a Wednesday night, she wasn't surprised at the four to five men that sat at the bar as The Four Season streamed quietly from the jukebox across the room next to the dart board. She grabbed a stool off to the side and Declan, the sixty something year old bartender, came over with a mug in one hand and a rag in the other. His white-gray hair was combed neatly, as usual, and his mostly white ensemble always seemed so clean, despite the fact that he was running around all day and takes care of most of the work that flows through the bar on a regular basis.

"How are ya, tonight, Abby?" he greeted with a small smile that was desperately trying to hide his exhaustion.

She gave him a small, exhausted smile back and placed her head in her right hand on the bar.

"I'm alright, Declan. How've ya been since the last time I was here?"

The old man let out a small huff of laughter and started walking sideways to reach for the bottles that he kept in the cooler.

"Ya mean since last night? I've been alright, as well" his Irish accent swam so smoothly from his mouth, but years of drinking and smoking have made it gravely and worn out.

Abigail gave a small chuckle back to the man and placed a five on the bar as he slid a bottle of Budweiser her way. When she took the first refreshing sip from the chilled bottle, Declan handed her the five back. She raised her eyebrows at him and he just shook his head.

"Not tonight, kid. Ya look like ya had a rough day."

Abigail thanked him and with a wink, he left her alone with nothing but the music and the hushed conversation around her. When she took another sip from the bottle, the bell above the bar's doors let out a chime, signaling another presence. Abigail looked at the watch on her wrist and saw that it was just a little past ten.

She looked over at the figure that had walked through the door, and for a second, her eyes stayed. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short. He was young; perhaps around Abigail's age if she had to guess. He was muscular and he was sweating. His black beanie was taken off of his head by his massive hand and shoved into his military-esque jacket. His breathing was heavy and he looked even more tired than her and Declan combined - Jesus, did he run here or something?

The man grabbed the stool all the way at the corner of the bar, pretty far from everywhere else, and about four stools away from Abigail. Declan approached him and the man spoke quietly. Within seconds, he had a Budweiser, as well, chilled and waiting in front of him. Abigail started sipping her own again and looked over at the man whom had another bottle in front of him. It had been less than ten seconds, and he was already starting his second bottle.

What the hell? Abigail thought to herself.

She wasn't an expert, but from experience, the man was either really pissed the hell off, or, like herself, had a rough day. Alas, every day was a rough day for Abigail. Living in a house that was left to her that she didn't even want in the first place; in a town that she wanted to burn to the ground, in a life that she didn't want to live.

At the end of her beer, Declan placed another in front of her, removing the empty glass from its place. She looked over at the young man again, and they locked eyes. He seemed to be reading her, and Abigail couldn't even care because she was doing the same to him. After a few seconds, she looked away and started her second bottle, while the man at the end was starting his fourth.

By twelve forty, Abigail was ready to call it a night. She had work at ten and she was looking forward to getting at least eight hours of shut eye. She pushed her thin body back from the bar and hopped off of the stool. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the stool and adjusted her purse onto her left shoulder. Declan came over to clean up the bottles that he had left to pursue other duties since it was another hour to closing.

"That it for you, love?" he asked, the sound of clanking bottles together over his voice made it hard to hear him.

"Yeah, Declan, I’m good for the night. Thanks again for the drinks" she replied, pushing the stool back to its rightful place.

"No problem, Abby. See ya tomorrow night?"

Abigail shrugged and looked over at the man again, and saw him staring blankly at his bottle.

"Most likely. Got nowhere better to be."

Declan chuckled at the young woman and wished her goodnight. She gave him a small wave and two of the men that she knew from McHale's said goodnight, as well. She walked past the young guy at the end of the bar and he seemed a lot tenser than he did when he was a few feet away from her. She could only sense it because she had lived with it her entire childhood - she knew how to pick up when someone was tense, angry, or upset.

She got into her car and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep until her ninetieth birthday. Nothing was appealing enough to make her get up in the morning. She went to work, she went to the house, ate, and went to McHale's until they nearly closed every other night. She led a pretty dull life, and it wasn't her plan at all.

Living in Seattle with her ex-boyfriend was the plan for a long time, until the whole "break up" event occurred and the whole "Oh, I have to go to Pennsylvania because my mother died" scenario made its way in and everything turned into a quick downward spiral from that moment on. She didn't ask for this and that's what killed her the most. There was literally no way out and that was the thought that kept her awake at night.

Pittsburgh was a shit hole, for sure. Her mother was right about that.