His hand held a firm grip around the glass of Scotch. it was like the glass was a part of him and if he let it go he'd lose a piece of himself. He took one long gulp and finished off the glass.
"Keep them coming, Joe."he spoke across the bar. The surly bartender poured some more of the brown liquid into his glass. He tilted it towards Joe and took a sip. As it hit his mouth ,His lips curled and he swallowed. The glass was still clutched to his hand.
Charlie Trout had spent every Birthday at this bar since he was thirteen years old. And this year was no exception.Charlie sat on the same exact stool, Drank the same exact brand of Scotch and ordered from the exact same bartender year after year. One would think that Charlie Trout's Birthday party would be full of friends ,beautiful women and located at an exclusive Manhattan Club. But that was not the case. Charlie's Birthday was always just a party of one. Or two , If you count Joe the bartender.
Charlie's Birthday didn't just signify is aging . It also represented the anniversary of his mother's death. She died while giving birth to him all those years ago and Charlie's been living with with that grief ever sense. Charlies father. media tycoon Bernie Trout, had never once wanted to celebrate his son's Birthday. There were no elaborate birthday parties for Charlie. There weren't even any Birthday cakes. Nor any wrapped gifts. A Lego set or a Toy Fire Truck were never waiting on the foot of Charlie's bed when he awoke on on his birthday morning. All he got was deposit into a savings account.
This Caused Charlie to believe his father held him responsible for his mothers death. If it weren't for Charlie, Bernie's beloved wife would still be alive. It was Charlie who killed her, Bernie must have thought. And that was why Bernie could never truly love Charlie.
