Where We Go (VIII)
Like earlier with Jeffrey I finished my beer faster than expected. This was possibly a bad sign. The bartender noticed my glass and came over.
“Another one?” She asked. I hesitated. “Maybe something different?”
“I don’t know. Whiskey, maybe?” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t drink whiskey.
She said, “What kind?”
“Honestly, I’m a beer guy. My experiences with hard alcohol are very limited. Limited in that any time I have some I pass out far too early and that’s just no fun, right?”
“Well in that case…” She just looked at me, kind of. I was laying a little bit of charm on but she didn’t seem to be buying it. She was pretty but her mind was elsewhere.
“Just give me a whiskey coke, I guess,” I finally said. It seemed that the importance of blacking out at some point grew with every second.
“Sounds good,” she said. I watched her make the drink. There’s something hypnotizing about bartenders that keeps me from looking away any time they make a drink. I wish I were a bartender, I thought. “Here you go. Whiskey sour.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s strong. Looked like you could use it.”
“Thank you?”
She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean it bad or anything.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, smiling. I probably looked like I did, like I needed something strong, sitting there alone after all. I took a sip. “That’s good.”
“Of course. If you need anything,” she trailed off. I lifted my glass toward her and she smiled and walked away.
I lost interest in the game fairly quickly after that. The drink had put me in a more relaxed mood. I looked up at the television now and again but I just wasn’t there anymore. There were a few more people in the bar. Another couple and two other men. The tall man had left. It was maybe eight-thirty or nine, I wasn’t too sure. Jeffrey still hadn’t gotten back to me. I assumed I wouldn’t be seeing him again today. I checked my phone. It was just before nine and only one period left in the game. I motioned to the waitress for another drink. We didn’t talk this time. She just brought it over and set it down in front of me. I looked at my phone again. My brain spun up and I could tell I’d be making some bad decisions in the next few minutes. I hoped for Jeffrey to text me, or call, or anyone for that matter: Danny, Evie, Pat. Somebody. I have shit for willpower and the alcohol only made to suppress it even more. I looked again at my phone, probably the thirtieth time tonight, unlocked it and scrolled around a bit.
“Don’t do it,” the bartender said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I can see what you’re thinking and I’m telling you, don’t do it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“You’re going to call or text someone, most likely a girl, and you were going to do it drunk. Not a good idea. Trust me.”
I looked at her. She was stern and serious and she knew I knew she was right.
