Where We Go (Part VII)
I got into my car and drove down the street to Winger’s. The sun was still out, though only barely, and I admired the color it gave the sky. It reminded me of old photographs we took together on the back roads by the vineyard. Stop signs held no weight there. I liked it there. I drove for a few minutes and pulled into a parking lot behind the bar. There were several cars but it didn’t seem like it would be too crowded. I got out of mine, leaving my coat behind. I thought for a moment about leaving my phone behind as well. I should have. I felt it in my back pocket. Not this time, I thought. Just leave it. How attached I am to that piece of metal and plastic. My symbol of misplaced hope. I closed the car door and walked inside, phone firm in its place.
There was a girl standing outside when I walked up. She had long hair to match her legs and she smoked a cigarette. We caught eyes as I walked through the door. I smiled half-heartily; she did not. I walked inside past a couple tables and sat in an empty seat at the bar. There was a tall man a few chairs to my right and a couple to the side of him. Winger’s has two television sets on either end of the bar. Bottles of liquor fill in the middle space. It’s nothing special really, but I enjoy it. The television I was closest to had a game on: Los Angeles versus Vancouver. That’ll do fine, I thought. The bartender walked up to me. She had helped me once before, maybe twice, I couldn’t remember. “I.D?” she said, extending a hand. Apparently neither could she.
I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and produced the plastic card. She took it. “Thanks,” she said, handing it back. “So…”
“Um, just the IPA for now. Thanks.”
She turned and grabbed a pint glass. Seconds later I had my beer. “Want to start a tab?” She asked.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Just need a card.”
I gave her a card. “Thanks,” I said.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” She smiled and walked to the other end of the bar.
The couple at the end of the bar looked like they were having a good time. The guy seemed to be into the girl more than she was into him. An all too familiar scene, I thought. They were drinking beer, or maybe the guy was drinking a beer, something light I could tell, and the girl had something in a bottle. Stella, maybe. Gross shit, I thought. But I envied them. They seemed to be getting along nicely. I missed that. The older, taller man closest to me was drinking a dark beer, looked like Guinness. It was probably Guinness. He seemed to have a story to tell, but he was intimidating so I kept to myself. My longing for conversation of any kind wasn’t that great, not yet at least.
There was no sound coming from the game but Vancouver was winning by a goal. I didn’t care too much for either team so whoever scored, whoever won, it meant little to me. The game was just an excuse to drink. They went up and down the ice with a great pace. Finally a whistle blew when Vancouver scored again. Good for them, I thought.
