Ethan for the Night
The heat still lingered in the air of this dusty American state.
Exhausted from a business trip that had dragged on too long, the man slid into the backseat of a taxi, eager only to return to his hotel. He gave the driver the destination and sank deep into the upholstery. That was when his stomach rumbled—a low, demanding growl.
Only then did he realize he hadn’t eaten. He placed a hand on his abdomen, his mind drifting to thoughts of dinner. He didn’t know what he wanted, only that it had to be good. Something real.
Impulsively, he leaned forward. “You know any good places to eat around here?”
“I know just the place,” the driver said, grinning into the rearview mirror.
Without asking for details, the man nodded. “Take me there.”
Leaving the city noise behind, the taxi hummed down a long, straight highway cutting through the vast, arid landscape. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the world in sepia before fading into the deep blues of twilight. Lulled by the rhythm of the road, the man felt a rare sense of peace wash over him.
“We’re here.”
The driver’s voice snapped him back to reality. In the middle of what he thought was nowhere, a large, Western-style building stood quietly against the darkening sky. It looked like a set piece from an old movie—timeless, weathered, and inviting.
In the glow of dusk, the place felt familiar, as if he had stepped into a different dimension where the worries of daily life couldn’t reach him.
“Famous for their BBQ and local craft beer,” the driver said with a confident, friendly smile. “Popular with the locals.”
As the man paid the fare and stepped out, the driver leaned over.
“I’ll be cruising around this area. Give me a ring when you’re done, and I’ll swing by. Take your time.”
He handed the man a business card. The man glanced at it—Sam—and nodded.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Catch you later.”
The taxi drove off, and the man raised a hand in farewell before turning toward the restaurant.
There were fewer than ten cars in the lot. It was still early for a place this size; the dinner rush hadn’t started yet. Inside, the tables were mostly empty.
The furniture was old but well-cared-for, bathed in warm, gentle lighting. It had the cozy, lived-in atmosphere of a place beloved by its community.
A waitress told him to sit wherever he liked. He chose a stool at the far end of the counter.
The bartender, a man with the heavy presence of someone who had seen it all, walked over with a bright smile.
“First time here? You in town for business?”
“That’s right.” “finding this place on your first trip... that’s some serious luck. We’re a bit of a hidden gem.”
“The taxi driver recommended it.”
“Let me guess. Sam?”
Remembering the name on the card, the man nodded.
“If you rode with Sam, then fate brought you here. He’s a regular, too.”
The bartender laughed, a deep, resonant sound that made the man relax instantly. The tension in his shoulders melted away.
Everyone here seemed to have an easy smile.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have your famous local beer.”
The bartender winked as if to say, Good choice. His thick fingers grabbed a glass, and he pulled one of the taps behind the counter. Liquid gold and creamy white foam filled the glass. It looked perfect. The man’s throat was parched.
Just as the glass was placed in front of him, a heavy-set, middle-aged man appeared out of nowhere.
“Make it two. I’ll have the same.”
“Jim? You? Drinking beer?”
The bartender looked genuinely surprised but didn’t hesitate to fill another glass.
“Yeah... seeing this guest order one made me thirsty.”
The man, Jim, flashed an exaggerated grin, as if blaming the stranger.
The bartender set the glass down silently and moved away to tend to other customers.
Jim turned to the man.
“You’re alone, right? Mind if I sit?”
He pointed a thick finger at the adjacent stool.
“Not at all. Please.”
There was no reason to refuse.
“Appreciate it. I’m Jim.”
The man introduced himself, and they clinked glasses—a silent greeting.
As the man took his first long draught of beer, Jim watched him intently.
“You drink just like him. Reminds me of Ethan.”
“Ethan?”
“Yeah, a friend from high school. You look just like him.”
“Is that so? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The man smiled, deciding to play along. He was dining alone anyway; having someone to talk to wasn’t a bad thing.
Sam had recommended the place, the bartender had welcomed him, and now a regular named Jim was comparing him to an old friend. The chain of connections felt pleasant, almost magical.
Over excellent beer and a platter of barbecue, Jim talked. And talked. Every few minutes, he would point out a similarity.
“That laugh... that’s exactly how Ethan laughed.”
“Those glasses... Ethan wore a pair just like that.”
“Even your haircut.”
It was probably the alcohol, or maybe just a joke he was committing to.
“Are you sure you aren’t actually Ethan?”
Jim asked, his eyes holding a glimmer of genuine hope.
“I’m afraid not. Do I really look that much like him?”
The man was clearly younger than Jim. Logically, he couldn’t be a high school classmate. Yet, Jim’s eyes seemed to beg for it to be true.
“We had a falling out, Ethan and I,”
Jim said, his gaze drifting into the distance. The mood shifted.
“Stupid kid stuff. But I never got to apologize. Haven’t seen him since.”
Regret. It was a common story. Jim had been carrying the weight of that unfinished apology for years.
Then a stranger walked in, looking enough like the ghost of his past to break the dam. If coming here was fate, the man decided he didn’t mind being Ethan for the night.
“It’s okay,” the man said softly.
“We were both young back then. If I were Ethan... I wouldn’t be holding a grudge. Not anymore.”
“Is that right...?”
Jim looked at him and smiled. Then he looked away, staring into the empty air with melancholic eyes.
“Come on, Jim. Let’s drink.”
“Yeah. Let’s.”
They clinked glasses again. It was a good night. A comfortable intoxication. The beer was cold, the food was hot, and the company was sincere.
The man glanced at his watch. Time had slipped away. He had an early start tomorrow.
“Leaving already?”
Jim asked, sounding reluctant to let the moment end.
“I have to. Early morning.”
The man pulled out his phone and Sam’s card. Sam answered cheerfully, promising to be there in five minutes.
The man settled the bill and left a generous tip for the bartender. As he stood up, Jim looked like he wanted to say something, but the man extended his hand first.
“I really enjoyed this. Thank you.”
“No... thank you.”
They shook hands firmly, and the man walked out.
The cold night air felt good against his flushed skin. He looked up at the stars, thinking what a perfect evening it had been, when a voice called out from behind.
Jim had followed him out.
“Hey. Sorry for keeping on about you looking like Ethan. I just... I needed to say I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I had a great time. You should reach out to the real Ethan, though. Give him a call.”
Jim’s expression crumbled slightly.
“I would if I could. But Ethan... he died in an accident right after graduation. He’s not exactly around to take a call.”
The man froze.
“So when you walked in tonight... my heart nearly stopped. For a second, I really thought he’d finally come back to see me.”
The man was at a loss for words. Silence stretched between them.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, his voice thick.
“Really, I’m sorry to lay this on you. But thank you. For tonight.”
“No, I...”
“Looks like your taxi’s here. Take care of yourself.”
Jim turned on his heel and walked back toward the warm light of the entrance. The man could do nothing but watch his retreat.
The taxi pulled up. The man opened the door and climbed in. Through the window, he saw Jim standing under the restaurant lights, turning back to wave goodbye.
“So,” Sam said from the driver’s seat.
“You drank with Jim? Let me guess—he made you do a few rounds of tequila shots?”
“No. Beer.”
“Beer?” Sam glanced back, eyes wide.
“You drank beer with Jim? That’s... rare.”
“Why?”
“Jim’s a local, but he’s famous for never touching the local brew. Around here, it’s a tradition—a rite of passage. When you come of age, you come here and drink that beer with your best friend. That’s the rule. Jim was the only guy in town who never did it.”
The man sank back into the seat as the realization hit him.
Jim had been waiting. All this time. Waiting for the moment he could reconcile with his best friend and finally share that first beer.
“I guess... tonight was special, then.”
“Must have been,” Sam mused.
“Anyway, it’s a good place, right? Best beer in the state.”
“Yeah. It was a good place. I’m glad I came.”
The car began to move, pulling away from the diner. The man looked back one last time. Jim was still standing there in front of the shop, looking up at the starry sky, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
The End
