No one was really sure when he moved in. The tenant, a balding old man with a bad back and an equally bad attitude, claimed the boy knocked on his door amidst a violent rainstorm. He said he was drenched and held a single suitcase, but on his freckled face was a boyish, crooked grin. And when he was invited inside, the boy, just shy of adulthood, changed all his clothes--a new button-down shirt, grey vest, and dirty khakis that barely reached his ankles--except for his sopping newsboy beret that spit water onto his messy, shoulder-length, light brown hair. That he refused to take off, claiming it was too precious to leave his head.
The tenant, although suspicious by his rather shabby appearance, granted the boy a one-room apartment after he forked over enough pence to cover three month’s rent.
Oliver Davis Jode remembers, though. Jode was a decade away from being half a century old, and running a bar during the Depression was enough to make him feel twice as old as that. By Jode! got its fair share of traffic in the backstreets of Scotland: plenty of wild drunks, scandalous activity, and, after turning three wives into ex-wives, Jode had also been in very-public arguments. His bar had gone downhill after he fell off a ladder while trying to fix the sign outside, subsequently earning him a limp. His money was used up, his love was used up, and Jode was all alone.
Until a boy walked in.
Jode sighed, not in the mood to deal with pesky young customers, especially ones who looked like they couldn’t pay, but before he could open his mouth to order him out, the boy hopped on the bar stool in front of him and began telling the bartender all about himself.
“Aye, Jode!” The boy’s mouth was askew whenever he spoke. “Mah name’s a-be Jared Adams! Ah jus’ flitted from--” Jared stopped himself and Jode’s ears perked up. Jared began again. “Ahm jus’ down the street! I made a new frein! Ye ken a Jojo Green?”
Jode placed his hand about a foot below his head. “This tall? Hair’s as black as a midnight cat, twice as frizz-eh?”
Jared burst out in a gleeful laugh. “‘at’s the one!”
How was that possible? Jojo Green had to be the least sociable fifteen-year-old in Scotland, perhaps the world. Getting him to talk was worse than pulling teeth, and Jode knew from experience. As the bartender continued to dwell on these thoughts, Jared shoved his hand into his khaki’s pockets and produced three pence. The resonance of their plinks as they were dropped onto the glossy wood counter snapped Jode from his thoughts. His blue eyes met Jared’s gleaming hazels, the sound of raindrops outside greeting his ears again.
“Vinegar,” he requested. Jode gulped as his hungry gaze fell to the payment.
“I ‘on’t accept money from youngins.” He brought himself to say, the painful sensation of pulling teeth coming back to him.
Jared crossed his arms.“I ‘on’t accept vinegar until you accept money.”
Jode snatched up the coins.
“How’d ye ken I was Jode?” Jode inquired with narrowed eyes as he poured putrid liquid into a glass. He slid it to the boy who caught it without breaking his stare.
“Ahm sittin’ by ye, isn’t I? Git it? By Jode!” Jared cackled hard enough to provoke a choking sound followed by a heavy gasp.
“Ah migh’ be half-ill-iterate, but I ken me a good pun when ah sees it!” Jared explained and, with a wink, raised the glass to his lips and chugged its contents.
Jode’s jaw gave out. Although he knew it was extremely rude to be emptily gaping at him like a dead fish, he watched in awe as the lanky boy downed every last drop of vinegar, unsure whether to vomit or clap. Jared paused after he reached the end then slammed the glass back onto the counter and let out a relieved sigh. Wiping his upper lip with the back of his sleeve, Jared glanced around at the cheap wooden tables and chairs.
“Where’s your parent’s, lad?” Jode’s voice was at a near-whisper.
“‘Who’s that?” Jared avoided the question and instead pointed at a girl with bouncing orange curls strolling by the window, her pouty red lips curled into warm smile. Jode observed Jared’s eyes flicker from captivated to disappointed as she met up with a blond boy, who promptly embraced her and gave her a passionate kiss.
Jode placed his elbows on the counter and leaned in. “Chelsea Bays. Word is, though, the girl’s a wee bit unsure, if ye get me drift.”
A grin passed between them as Jared turned to confirm the rumor.
Jode took up Jared’s glass as the boy slid off the stool that’s fabric was ripping.
“Ye ne’er answered me.” Jode murmured. “Who be yer family?”
Upon being greeted by silence, the old bartender turned his attention to the door.
“At the moment,” Jared placed a hand on his hip, “ye are.”
With a wink and a tip of the hat, he was gone. The sun reflected a bright light into Jode’s eye. He looked down, searching for the source, glad, yet puzzled, the week-long rain had finally come to an end.
An extra pence was left on the counter.