The Osmotic Drinker By Jamie Kirkpatrick

By the time Wally arrived, the bar was already crowded. It was a Thursday—Martini Night—and my posse of friends and holiday spirit(s) filled the room to overflowing. Roberto the bartender was slammed, but not so slammed that he didn’t notice Wally walk through the door. He arched an eyebrow in Wally’s direction and Wally nodded once. The game was afoot…

A few minutes later, I watched Roberto shake and pour a vodka martini into a chilled glass he had set on the bar. Roberto’s a pro, and the pour came flush with the brim. Given the jostling crowd in the room, it would be hard if not downright impossible for Wally to retrieve his cocktail without spilling half of it. I was closer; maybe I could help. I started to reach for the glass, but Wally laid a hand on my arm and shook his head. I retreated back into my corner conversation with a friend.

When I looked up again, Wally’s martini glass was still on the bar, untouched, but If I weren’t mistaken, it wasn’t quite so full. Someone must have taken a sip. I looked at Wally, but he was engrossed in a jovial conversation with Iffy and The Skipper. Roberto had moved on to his next concoction. Just at that moment, Boo came into the bar, reddened by the cold, and we fell into a conversation about must-read books: 1929 by Andrew Ross Sorkin and Ian McEwan’s newest novel, What We Can Know, a gender-bending detective story set in a future Britain ravaged by climate change. “Best book I’ve read in ages,” Boo said. I reached for a bar napkin to make a note for myself and happened to notice Wally’s glass was still right where Roberto had left it. But the volume had again been reduced by another sip, a bigger one this time.

Wally had moved on and was now laughing at one of Stevie Mac’s jokes. (Stevie Mac is an inveterate storyteller with an endless supply of jokes which he delivers deadpan like he’s telling you the truth.) Roberto was making The Skipper his third gin and tonic; Iffy was well into his second martini. The room was getting louder and livelier—plenty of good craic, as they say in Ireland. Wally’s martini was still in its spot on the bar, but damn if the tide wasn’t lower still. What was going on?

It was a chilly night, but inside, it was cozy. Was Wally’s martini evaporating? Impossible. What was going on? I looked for Wally in the crowd and saw him down at the other end of the bar talking to a woman I recognized but whose name I couldn’t recall. I could tell he was enjoying himself—his cheeks were flushed, but his martini was still sitting on the bar, right where Roberto had left it, only now, it was nearly empty. 

Just then, Wally turned and caught Roberto’s eye. He smacked his lips gave him a thumbs-up grin. He also raised a finger in a way that was the universal sign for “one more.” Roberto nodded. The glass on the bar was now empty. Roberto set about making another Wally-special and when it was ready, he removed the empty glass and put the fresh martini right in the same spot. Wally’s eyes met Roberto’s—another wordless exchange that spoke volumes. No one else was paying any attention—they were having too much fun—but I was gobsmacked. I was also determined to get to the bottom of the untouched glass mystery, so to speak.

Angelique came over to chat, in French no less. I forgot I was on watch. When I remembered my duty, Wally’s fresh martini was gone. I don’t mean the glass was gone; it was right where it had been but was now as drained of liquid as a swimming pool in December. 

That was when Wally sidled up to the bar and flourished an air pen in Roberto’s direction, the universal sign for his tab. Roberto turned to the cash register and produced a check for two martinis. Wally signed, left a generous tip, and gave Roberto a sly wink. And just like that, he was gone.

They say osmosis is the natural phenomenon by which a liquid moves across a semipermeable membrane creating equilibrium. It’s a process crucial for the cells in our bodies, in fact, for life itself. Just another of life’s many little miracles…

Happy Holidays, and, please, God, a happier New Year. Cheers!

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” is scheduled for publication in February, 2026. (It’s available for pre-order now on Amazon.) His website is musingjamie.net.