He’s been talking to her all night. The conversation has been a spirited competition of words, funny voices, impressions and dumb jokes. He could go all night. And he would, if he thought she’d be won over.
She hasn’t let him buy her a single drink. It’s the ‘let me buy you a drink’ line that gets you in trouble, she knows. When the bartender looks her way, she is quick to signal for another. One more, for her. He can signal his own.
The birthday of a mutual friend is their cause for gathering. It’s drinks and cake all around, friends crowded around the birthday girl, batting balloons ahead their heads until someone jabs it with a cigarette. POP!
They’re sitting at the corner table, discussing in detail why these balloons won’t stick to the wall after being rubbed on another’s head. It’s probably a conspiracy, they decide.
Everyone is trickling out, complaining about early mornings at work, getting older and that smell in the bar bathroom. She’s settling her tab and chatting with the bartender. He’s lingering, bar tab already paid, purposely, not yet awkwardly, but obviously. She’s starting to get anxious, eyes avoiding his, not wanting to encourage him. She imagines him trying to walk her to her car, standing around awkwardly, trying to ask about her weekend plans while she dives into her car and escapes. The polite but unmistakable ‘no thanks’ is so difficult. There’s a fine line between being clear and being a bitch.
They sit at the bar, nursing the last beer of the evening while the jukebox rocks and rolls. TV's positioned around the bar show a variety of sports shows. Silent, glowing boxes, the men watch the captions that roll along the bottom of the screen.
As the guys begin to argue football and hockey stats, she spaces out, wondering how this will play out. . . oh god. What if he tries to kiss her? She worries and drinks.
He stands and yawns “Excuse me for a sec, hon.” He saunters into the men’s room.
Gazing at the dark amber bottle in her hand, she grins at the solution that dropped into her lap so unexpectedly. If only it was always this easy. One more swig finishes her beer and she’s on her feet.
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2 comments:
Let me guess the ending, she accompanies him into the bathroom? Giggity. But that's an awesome post, it seems to describe a lot of bar situations I've seen. We probably drink in the same places and don't even know it
ha ha, you said giggity.
in writing. Nice.
I don't drink much anymore. I was a Boobie Trap girl, but not so much anymore. I enjoy hole-in-the-wall bars and random neighborhood bars where the drunks hang out. Lately I like the Seabrook. Where do you go?
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