The bar was roaring with boot stomping on a Friday night. There was howling, cackling, laughter coming mostly from the corner of the bar where Hannah and I were leaning onto each other in shouts and giggles. I smacked the bottom of my beer onto the bar, and my attention was immediately drawn to the hand that had been placed on my shoulder. I was expecting Austin. I was expecting Mike, Robyn, Lynette. I was expecting George. I was expecting damn near anyone else other than you.
I can’t remember what I said. I’d honestly be more surprised if I had said anything at all.
I saw a deer on Consumnes Rd on the way to the bar this night. Austin and I laughed as we watched it hop straight up into the air, and over a 5ft fence. Not before it took a moment to stop in my headlights though. Frozen in indecision and maybe a hint of fear. I know this is exactly how I looked, sitting beside you at the bar, in this moment.
“I’m not here alone,” you told me. “Is that okay?”
“Is that okay?” You asked me, as my leaking heart split down the center, finally bursting, spilling my red blood down the middle of this old wooden bar. Blood, my blood, storming down to the end of this bar like a river in the winter. Cascading all the way down onto the worn hardwood of this bar, crashing into the wood grain below so loudly, I couldn’t hear a fucking thing else. This same bar you and I have sat at for hours- for weeks- for months. NO. NO, ITS NOT “OK”, NONE OF THIS HAS EVER BEEN “OK” but what else could I say? I’ve been the president of this bleeding hearts club for months.
“Yeah man, whatever.” I shrugged, as I turned my back.
AUSTIN. I thought to myself. Where is Austin. Be my boyfriend. Everyone be my boyfriend. No one is lonelier than a girl at the bar who just ran into the guy shes been chasing while he’s with his new girlfriend.
Lynette came up to me moments after he’d walked away and placed a new beer in front of me. “You okay girl?” She winced. What is there to explain at your neighborhood bar? These bartenders know my entire summer.
I met a guy who asked to swing me around this old wooden dance floor for what felt like hours. The entire room, a giant blur of my own blonde hair twirling around behind me. Dipping and stomping and laughing and falling into each other.
For the love of this blog, I wish I could remember his name.
Walking out from the bar you stopped me in my tracks. You were pulling onto Grant Line from this old gravel lot, not yet to the road. “Hey,” You called out to me. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I probably rolled my eyes as I took just a couple steps near your rolled down driver side window. “What’s there to talk about?” I laughed. “You’re fucking awful.” I rounded the rear end of the same Chevy truck we fucked in, a few weeks ago, at this exact bar.
Text messages started rolling in just a few minutes later:
“I’d still like to talk to you.”
“But if you don’t want to talk, I’ll have to deal with that.”
DEAL WITH IT THEN. Deal with it like I have dealt with this broken, bleeding heart for months, while I chase after you. and reserve my feelings for you. and compare every guy I’m with, to you.
Fucking deal with it, then.
Wild Little Hare 