Storyteller Refuge

Al and I go back to my days at MSNBC. I first sought him out after stumbling on some of his sharp-witted quotes in a newspaper, the specifics of which have faded with time. As a retired defense attorney with a career steeped in "been there, done that," he became a rich source of insight for the legal angles in my stories. Over the years, our professional exchanges blossomed into a genuine friendship.

One of Al's most remarkable traits is his gift for storytelling. He's unparalleled in weaving tales that draw you in, rich with humor and wisdom. Only my departed father and his brothers could rival his knack for spinning a yarn—but that's a tale for another day.

 

When I arrived, Al was out, but he'd left a key waiting for me. I eased myself out of Josie, giving her a reassuring pat and promising her a couple of days' rest. She didn't complain. Inside, I shook off the dust of the road, plugged in my ever thirsty electronics, and settled into the quiet comfort of his home.

It wasn't long before Al returned, and soon enough, stories began to flow. Noticing the weariness etched on my face, he grinned and said, "Looks like you could use a drink."

 

With that, he swung open two large cabinet doors in the kitchen, revealing a trove of spirits. "Help yourself to whatever suits you," he offered. Before I could decide, he pulled out an unassuming bottle of 20-year-old Irish whiskey. "Picked this up on my last trip to Ireland," he said, pointing to the label marked "Chinese Edition"—a limited run of just 3,000 bottles.

 

Curiosity piqued, I asked, "How did you come by a Chinese edition of Irish whiskey?"

"Well, that's a story," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

 

 

Al recounted how he'd sought shelter from the rain in a quaint Irish pub. The warmth inside was a welcome contrast to the dreary weather, and soon he found himself immersed in conversation. Drinking and storytelling went hand in hand that day. The bartender, charmed by Al's tales, remarked, "Are you sure you're not Irish? Because you tell stories like an Irishman!"

 

The bartender then suggested Al visit a local whiskey distributor, giving him a personal referral. Following the tip, Al met with the distributor, who revealed that he had a special stock—the "Chinese Edition" whiskey that, for reasons undisclosed, hadn't made its way to China.

 

"Because you come recommended," the distributor told Al, "I'll sell you one bottle. I guarantee you'll have the only one in the entire United States."

 

As Al finished his tale, he poured us each a glass. The whiskey glowed amber in the soft light, its aroma rich and inviting. We raised our glasses, and as the smooth liquid warmed me from the inside out, I knew I'd tasted something truly exceptional. It might just be the finest whiskey I've ever had the pleasure to sample.

That evening, time seemed to slow down. Surrounded by the comfort of an old friend's home, the miles and trials of the road faded away. Stories flowed, each one weaving into the next, punctuated by sips of rare whiskey. In those moments, I was reminded of the simple joys—a good tale, a fine drink, and the enduring bonds of friendship.

 

As the night deepened, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. For the roads that led here, for Josie carrying me, despite her quirks, and for friends like Al who open their doors and hearts without hesitation. It's these experiences that enriched my journey, turning miles into memories and strangers into companions, if even for a day.