[ WP ] All wounds , no matter how minor , leave permanent scars . One day you meet someone with no scars .

It smells like cigarettes. It always does in here. Nobody has smoked in here for years, but it's not an odor that time can easily erase. Something about the smel and dim lighting is soothing; refreshing, even. 
 
 The only feature of the otherwise non-descript watering hole that is McNally's Irish pub, is the lack of features. Along the glossy downtown strip, it's a shadow, creeping across the face of glamour. No neon lights, no Happy Hour specials posted on the door. Just a relic from a former era when a bar was a bar. A place where relics, like myself, can come and drink to remember a time where things were simple and life was slower. No Facespace or Instatweet. Just a cold scotch and colder memories. Familiar faces with stories that are told through a series of nods and grunts. 
 
 After a particularly Mondayish Thursday, I could think of no place I'd rather be than my stool at the end of the bar with 4 fingers of Powers Irish Whiskey and a pint of Budweiser. Grand dad used to call it a Polish High ball. I call it the usual. 
 
 I open the door and get greeting by the sweet smell of familiarity. Tip my hat to Morgan behind the bar as I take my usual seat. By the time I've got my hat off and I'm settled in my seat, Morgan has the usual ready to do. I take a moment to remember my grand dad before I drain my whiskey. 
 
 `` Na zdrowie to you, Old Man.'' I say to myself. Unconsciouly, really. Every first round is for my Grand Dad. 
 
 Before I can sit back and enjoy the quiet ramblings of Morgan's latest rounds of complaints about his neighbors ( The club next to his bar is, apparently, the beginning of the end ), I see her. 
 
 Her. By the very gender of the word, it's cause for confusion at McNally's. Not that it's a chauvinists establishment or anything, but it generally does n't attract ladies like a cocktail lounge or craft brewery might. Hell, Morgan only knows how to pour whisky and the two beer options are Budweiser or Not Budweiser. 
 
 By the time I realize she's not an illusion, I realize something else: she's crying. Silently. Not making a fuss about it, not crying out for attention. The tears just stream down her face. She looked like the saddest person I've ever seen. 
 
 Despite every inch of my body protesting, I do the unthinkable. 
 
 `` Uh..miss?'' 
 
 She turns. She's pretty. Plain, but pretty. Even crying. She just looks so damn sad. 
 
 `` Yes?'' 
 
 She has an accent. Eastern Europe? 
 
 `` Uh..I do n't mean to bother..'' 
 
 Am I really that bad at this? 
 
 ``....yes?'' Not unpolitely, but cautious. 
 
 `` It's just that... well you're there... you just....I just want to make sure you're ok is all.'' Good Lord I should have kept my mouth shut. 
 
 She smiles. I think. I did n't wear my glasses. 
 
 `` Oh. Well that's kind of you.'' Her accent again. Reminds me of my Grand Dad's. Polish? 
 
 `` I suppose I have had better days.'' She says. Seems private. I like that. 
 
 `` Have n't we all?'' I offer. Well, I did my good deed for the day. This lady is ok and I'm free to pretend to be caring about Morgan's next door night club troubles ( Music, loud enough to hear all the way in here after midnight. Madness ). 
 
 `` Sir?'' 
 
 Shit. 
 
 `` Uh, yeah?'' 
 
 `` Who did you toast to?'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` Na zdrowie. It's a polish toast. I do n't mean to pry, but I thought I heard you say it?'' 
 
 `` Oh... yea. Yea I suppose I did.'' I guess that accent was Polish. 
 
 `` Who did you toast to?'' She seems geniunely curious. Oh what the hell. 
 
 `` My grand dad. He came from Poland. Years an' years ago. When he was a young man.'' 
 
 `` You were close with him?'' 
 
 `` Well, yea. He taught me most things I know.'' 
 
 She's quiet for a beat. Like she's wrestling an idea. I look to Morgan for an interuption. He's too bothered by the younger crowd peering in his windows ( Do n't even have the decency to dress right... ). Crap. Looks like I'm on my own for this one. 
 
 `` He is gone now?'' She asks softly. Sadly, even. 
 
 `` Yea. He passed some years ago.'' 
 
 `` That must have been difficult.'' 
 
 `` Well, yea.'' What is she getting at here? 
 
 ``....I lost someone.'' Ah. 
 
 `` My condolences. That why you're crying?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` Who did you lose?'' 
 
 She takes a deep breath. 
 
 `` My sister.'' 
 
 `` That's tough.'' 
 
 That's when the dam broke. 
 
 `` Tough? Tough?! It's impossible! She was n't sick or old! She was n't in an accident! She just died! Dropped dead in her office at work!'' 
 
 She starts sobbing again. Morgan looks like he's just realizing for the first time that there's a woman in his bar. She stops crying long enough to look up and ask me a question. 
 
 `` How? How do I do this? How do you deal with your grand dad? Please tell me. Please. I came here to get drunk and forget. Is that it? Is that how? Is that what you do?'' 
 
 So that's it. She's never been hurt like this before. 
 
 `` No,'' I tell her as I hold up 2 fingers to Morgan who, desperate to be busy and away from this situation, readies 2 glasses of whisky and 2 pints of Budweiser. `` That's not what I do.'' 
 
 `` Well what then?'' She asks. It's desperate. She's looking for anything to help her forget. 
 
 Morgan brings us 4 glasses; 2 with Powers, 2 Buds. She looks confused. She looks at the drinks as I set hers in front of her and take mine. 
 
 `` What was your sister's name?'' 
 
 ``... Kasia.'' She says it almost defensively. 
 
 `` And your name?'' 
 
 `` Karolina.'' 
 
 I slide her the whiskey. 
 
 Lifting my glass, I say `` Na zdrowie, Kasia.'' and drain it. With some hesitation, so does she. She's pretty clearly new to shots and whiskey. After a few coughs and sputters, I slide her the beer. She sips it tentatively. 
 
 `` This is how we forget?'' 
 
 `` No, Karolina, this is how we remember.'' 
 
 She looks confused. I sip my beer and get comfortable. 
 
 `` Tell me about your sister.'' 
 
 She hesitates, then smiles, and I know that it's going to be a long night, but it'll be worth it because she'll be ok and she'll learn how to deal with her first real life scar. 
 
 Just like Grand Dad tought me. 

