The Bar
"You're beautiful!", first comment of the evening and even though it's from an intoxicated, problem-toothed, skinny man I'll accept it 'cause my big boned frame and ego takes anything compliment wise.
I make my way indoors to the bar and a slightly overweight man in his fifties offers to buy me a drink-off to good start. I politely say, "That's okay." and order my diet Pepsi from the official bar wench, Millie. She has worked here longer than all the young waitresses combined and doesn't take crap. When Millie cuts you off, she means it and if you give her a hard time you won't be welcomed back. It's best to stay on her good side so I leave her all of my change from the five.
There's a mixture of people in the bar, most notably an early thirties male with black lightning bolts covering his arms, messy dark curly hair hanging past his shoulders and a beard to match. He's wearing a white undershirt, jeans that could use a wash, and black combat boots.
It's a tough bar, the toughest in town. The type of place where misfits have a home; bikers, natives, unwed mothers, drinkers, and loose woman, as the Beatles coined, 'the lonely hearts' club'. We all love the music. We all want a good time on a Saturday night.
The band plays under green neon lights. A soft song comes to the microphone. One couple dances and more join them. I watch them as they lean on each other, wishing them love; love that has eluded me. The singer sings softly, "Cause I don't know why the harder I try, the harder it come."
I look back at the bar and Millie gets the booze ready for the pretty, young Indian waitress. Her tanned skin covers her small and toned frame. Beautiful dark hair falls neatly to her waist. She has a perfect nose surrounded by high cheekbones and half moon brown eyes. When I see her I think of the word grace.
The dance floor is now packed. Bryan Adams' famous words echo, "Those were the best days of my life......back in the summer of '69!." Fearfully, I think to myself are the best days behind me ?
Time to take a quick cigarette break. The drunk outside is yelling. The young Indian princess offers me a light. I've got my own lighter. In fact I feel like an endless bright light here in this moment. She asks the man filled with spirits if he needs a cab. He doesn't respond.
Back in the bar, I check out the dance floor- seven women and one man. The song ends and more people get up to dance to the beat.
My old bar friend, Michael, dances with two girls who have the skill of movement. He motions for me but I don't have the courage. He's a good looking, Italian, short curly glued hair, well manicured with expensive shoes. Problem is I think if I were to have sex with him he'd drop me like a hot potato just like the other women he's met under these circumstances.
"Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" song comes to my ears and the dance floor is packed, complete with a man in a cowboy's hat. As the band finishes the song, the lights turnoff signalling the end of the night. The crowd goes wild with clapping and banging on tables.
The band responds to the encouragement and blue lights and smoke fill the stage. The long haired man who is headed for Nashville sings Bob Seger's famous lines, "Here I am on the road again, here I am up on the stage and here I am playing a star again, here I go turn the page."
My mind wonders off to why I came. He never showed. No after party tonight.
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