Milo Fox Biography

[Tate 408]

 

In a darkened pub in rural Iceland, an old and haggard man sits down alone. The bartender approaches him and as they make eye contact they exchange a head nod between them. (All spoken words in Icelandic) "What'll it be?" The bartender asks him.

 

"Anything heavy," the old man says, "I don't plan on eating today."

 

The bartender gives him an understanding nod before he turns and pours what appears to be black sludge like beer into a tall glass, "This will fill you up," the bartender tells him as he places the glass in front of the old man.

 

"Thank you," the old man says as he drinks long from the glass before he places it down and belches a deep and obnoxious burp. 

 

"Everything all right these days?" The bartender asks, doing his duty as the server and spending time with the only patron here. 

 

"All right?" The old man asks with a sarcastic tone, "Is life ever all right?"

 

"Sure it is," the bartender begins to say.

 

"Don't be so quick to say what is and what isn't, boy," the old man is not so much rude in his tone as he is cautionary, "Every confident man holds a foolish boy inside. This life is not meant for confidence, it's a sin you know?" The bartender remains silent as he listens to the man, and the old man takes it as a cue for him to continue, "I can tell you a story, one that will make your confidence disappear. It will take away and never give it back, but you wouldn't want that, would you?"

 

The bartender shakes his head, "No," and then smiles, "But I'm not sure such a story exists."

 

A slow smile creeps along the sides of the old man's face, "Well," he looks the bartender dead in the eye, "Let me oblige you if you are so sure."

 

 

 

"My story is of another confident and foolish boy, Milo Fox, a young lad from Iceland, who at just 21 years old left his homeland to travel south. People 'round here call him a prodigy, and no doubt, he had natural talent for the game, you know? He played with offensive instincts that'll leave you breathless, and that was for a defenseman. But, he had his flaws too. Wasn't much of a leader, and he was as skinny as a twig. Could've use some beefing up, if you ask me, especially before he took on the great unknown. 

 

But Milo, he was always been fascinated by the lore of our land. You should know it, Iceland's got tales as old as time, stories of gods and monsters, all wrapped up in the icy winds that blow across our home. Milo, he ate that stuff up like candy. Spent all of his free time outside of hockey reading about old sagas and listening to the whispers of the northern lights. And that - that's where there's a darker side to Milo's story. When he was just a wee boy, barely old enough to lace up his skates, he had a close call. Nearly died, he did. Something to do with the ice, they say. No one knows the full story, but it left its mark on him, that's for sure. Ever since then, he's had this... connection to the cold, like it's a part of him. 

 

But despite his near death experience, Milo never lost his love for the game. He spent hours out on the frozen ponds, practicing his shots until his fingers were numb. And let me tell you, it paid off for him as the kid had a shot like a cannon, and he wasn't afraid to use it. But, like I said, Milo's had his weaknesses too. He was too much of a loner, always kept to himself. Didn't have much to say, unless you got him talking about hockey or the old tales of Iceland. Despite his flaws, though, Milo had potential. With a bit of guidance and some time in the weight room, he could've been a force to reckon with. And who knows, maybe one day he could have fulfilled his dream of playing in the VHL. But that never happened, he let his ego get the best of him - he thought he knew what was right, and he didn't want to listen, and look where it got him."

 

 

 

The bartender replaces the old man's now empty glass with a freshly poured black brew, "So, where did it get him?"

 

"What?" the old man asks as his glass eyes look back toward the bartender, "Where did it get who?"

 

"The kid from your story," the bartender says, "Milo."

 

"Oh," the old man looks down and away, "Here," he tells the bartender mildly, "Right here."

 

"What do you mean?" the bartender asks him.

 

The old man looks up at him again, and somberly tells him, "Because I'm Milo," the old man looks away again, "I'm Milo Fox."

 

 

 

The bartender replaces the old and frail Milo Fox's drink for a third time, and it is with this drink that Milo has begun to sway - but he finds the glass and he touches it once again to his cracked and course lips. "What if you could change the past?" the bartender suddenly asks him. 

 

"You can't," Milo practically spits out the words, "You can't change the past, that's why they call it the past," Milo is drunk, "It's gone, boy."

 

"I am as much of a boy as you are," the bartender says as he leans into toward Milo, "Now answer my question, what would you change?"

 

Milo turns his head abruptly to face the bartender, "Everything," he says with honesty, "I'd change everything."

 

"How could you be sure?" the bartender smiles, "I thought confidence was a sin."

 

Milo smiles before he finishes his third glass, "Good point."

 

"What if I told you that you could have a second chance?" the bartender places a fourth glass down.

 

"What's the catch," Milo goes to reach for the glass and as he does the bartender places his hand on Milo's forearm, stopping him.

 

"No catch, so long as you're sure you'd change everything."

 

They held eye contact for what felt like a minute before Milo finally says, "I'm sure."

 

"Finish that glass, and when you wake up tomorrow, you'll be twenty one years old again," the bartender tells him with such confidence that at first Milo believes him. 

 

Milo laughs out loud before he grabs the glass and downs in one long gulp. He smacks the glass down on the bar before he stands up from his seat, "Well my boy, this was a good chat," Milo is dizzy and nearly falls over.

 

"I told you already," the bartender begins to say, and as Milo starts to drift into sleep he can hear the bartender tell him, "I'm about as old as you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(1152 words)