I come here every night and drink like we used to. I order the same drinks, mine and yours, and wait for you to show up like you used to. I keep tabs on the ice as it melts into your drink and waters it down so that it doesn’t taste like it’s supposed to anymore. And while I wait I play our song on the jukebox in the corner, three songs for a dollar, a three-peat of Beast of Burden every night since you stopped showing up and no one complains.
I feel like I should know the bartender’s name by now, it’s the same guy every time, but I just call him, “Hey,” and, “Can I get another?” I like him though, he doesn’t try to ask questions, he doesn’t try to develop a relationship with his customers and I appreciate that.
Tonight though, tonight he finally says something, he finally talks to me and he asks, “Still waiting?”
“Yeah.” I keep it short and simple, no need to expose how drunk I might really be with slurred words; it’s hard to slur the word yeah.
“She’s not coming.” He says it, trying to sound casual, disillusioned even, wiping the inside of a glass with a dirty looking towel.
“I know that.” Saying it out loud I wonder how long it’s been true and then I can’t help but feel like I messed up by saying it myself, I gave it power, I solidified the fact that you’re done here and never coming back because I admitted out loud that I knew in my heart that that was the truth and now I feel stupid, like everyone in the room is watching me.
“If you know, why don’t you just leave?”
“Because…”
“Because?”
“I’m not ready, I’m not ready to go, I haven’t even finished my drink yet.” I look down at my drink, it’s still there, but the ice doesn’t melt like yours does. I’ve been sipping this glass all night and it’s still full.
“Listen, you can’t stay here forever, I can’t let you. I have other customers who’ve been waiting to sit there all night. For the last couple of nights in fact.”
“I don’t care, I’m a paying customer, you think I give a shit about those other assholes? Besides, I’m-”
I almost said it, I almost said Besides I’m waiting for someone, I almost admitted I was waiting for you but I stopped myself. I think he knew I was gonna say it anyway.
I sip my drink and it doesn’t get any emptier and I slam it down on the table.
“And what the hell is this anyway? I want another drink, something aint right with this one.”
He pours me another drink without any comments and I take it from his hands and chug it as fast as I can. The glass is still completely full.
I look around, surely the others are staring at me now, wondering what this old drunk is getting so upset about, but they’re all moving around too fast. They fade in and out of view, sometimes brightly lit, sometimes blending in with their surroundings.
“Do you even realize how long you’ve been here, sir?”
“What do you mean? How drunk do you think I am?”
“What are you drinking?”
“What?”
“Your drink, what is it?”
“I…”
I look at the glass in my hand, it’s full of something, but I don’t know what. I don’t remember what I ordered; I don’t even remember ordering it. I glance at your drink, the ice is completely melted now and the condensation off of the glass is creating a little puddle on the bar top.
“What does it even matter? I’m paying you aren’t I?”
“Are you?”
“Well… Yeah, I mean… shit, you’re not giving drinks away for free are you?”
“You don’t even remember her name anymore, do you?”
“Don’t. Don’t say that.” My hands are shaking now; I can hear the ice rattling in my infinite drink.
“I would never forget.”
“What’s your name then?”
“What are you trying to do, huh? What do you want me to say? What the hell is your point? You think you’re so goddamn smart, why don’t you just tell me what you’re getting at and quit dicking around?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t move on for you, I can only lead the horse to water, I can’t make him drink.”
What is my name? I think to myself. I know yours, I would never forget, but I’m at a complete loss when it comes to my own. I reach for my wallet and open it up, thinking my driver’s license should be able to refresh my memory, but all I find are one dollar bills to tip the bar tender with and nothing else.
“Last call.”
I look up at the clock, ready to protest, “No way,” and I can’t make out what it’s supposed to be telling me. The hands move just as chaotically as the people in the bar. The numbers go beyond twelve, up into the thousands and beyond, and some of the numbers I’ve never seen in my life, strange scribbles that don’t even look like something a human being would be capable of imagining.
And then we’re alone, me and the bar tender, and he’s got my coat off the rack.
“I’m afraid we’re closing now sir.”
He hands me my jacket and I take it. The words come out in a soft mumble, a choke, on the verge of tears, “But, where do I go? I, I don’t know what I’m doing…”
“You know what they say sir, ‘You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here’.”
Somehow he walked me to the door without my noticing. I look out the glass window on the large front door and I can’t see anything. Not black, not white, just nothing.
“Goodnight sir. Just stay on the sidewalk, you’ll be fine”
I walk out into the cold nothingness and look back to see a sign on the door saying We’re Open Come On In! Through the glass I see another poor slob at the bar on the same stool where I always sat next to you and everybody else is still sliding in and out of view.
I fold my arms across my chest in defense against the cold and I start walking. The sidewalk goes on forever and I’m having trouble seeing in front of me. Then I see the warmth. The light in the distance gathering and growing and I see you laughing like you used to laugh, with your hand covering your pretty smile, and I try and I try but I can’t see your face because you keep shifting out of focus and I start to run and as I get closer you start to turn your head and I can see the party going on in the background and everybody’s laughing it up and having a grand old time and the tears start flowing and for a moment I’m so very afraid that I won’t make to the end of the sidewalk. And then I hear it softly in the background, growing slightly louder by the second; our song is playing and you stretch out your hand, asking for a dance. Then I see your face again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity and you pull me in close, out of the darkness on the sidewalk and into the party and when you finally say my name it feels like I’m in heaven.
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