“Why do you even want to learn guitar? Surely the miserable bunch of bastards hanging out in this bar would be enough to turn you off the idea for life.”
Drew screwed up his face in thought. He might be thinking about that for a while.
“But sometimes I have songs and they are inside me, just playing around, and I need to get them out.”
The poor little bugger was screwed. If he’d said he wanted to do it to pick up chicks or look cool or one of a thousand other reasons, there’d be some hope for him. He’d learn a few chords, fool around with the idea of making it big one day, and then move onto something else, but he had the worst reason of them all. The one that takes root inside you and never leaves. The one that is stronger than love or booze or life itself.
I banged my glass down on the bar. “Enough. I don’t want to hear any more about it. Ever. Give up, Drew.”
Poor Drew. His face dropped. I hated to be a bastard to him but he’d nag me forever if he saw any sign of weakness.
Without thinking, I picked my glass back up with my left hand. Sometimes I forgot. The glass slipped through my fingers because I couldn’t grip it tight. My brain sent the message but the fingers didn’t hear it. They’re closed off to the rest of my body, useless sausages. I grabbed a cloth off Drew and mopped up the mess. He didn’t say a word. He never does. For someone as mouthy as he is, he does know when it’s best to say nothing.
When Gina comes into the bar tonight, after putting my plan into action, I’ll disappear for a while. I’ll miss the bar. It’s been a home to me and a comfort but it’s the only way I can see to fix this. I’ll come back in a few months and, when Gina walks in with a new man, I’ll swallow my sorrow with my whiskey, in one big gulp. I’ll keep my gaze on my glass, not following her around the room. I’ll taste bitter but that bitterness will just blend in with the rest of it inside me.
I don’t want to be cruel and I don’t want to hurt her but, it’d be a crueler man to lead her on. I order another drink. I can’t be sober for this.
Chapter 2 Gina
I DRESSED WITH EXTRA care to go to the bar. Not too dressed up, that would be wrong. I’d look like I was expecting something. But I wanted to look my best.
I wore my favorite jeans, the ones that hugged my hips and gave me a nice butt. First up, I put on a tight t-shirt that hugged everything. But it wasn’t me. It was more like something Carlie would wear. I couldn’t be someone else to get his attention.
I had a cute gingham shirt that fit just right without being too revealing. Perfect. I hoped.
After brushing my hair until it shone, I put on some makeup. Nothing heavy, just a bit of mascara and some lip gloss. My hands shook as I put it on.
I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed. I wasn’t pretty, I knew that. I didn’t have attention-grabbing looks like Violet or Carlie. I wasn’t fun and exciting. I’d never be like that. But, maybe, I had some good qualities. I had long eyelashes. That was one advantage. And quite nice hair. And I was a good listener. People said that to me but I wasn’t sure what they meant by it. Doesn’t everybody listen?
One time, I’d won a medal for citizenship at school. That was too lame to include in my list of assets though.
My stomach felt like it was trying to break out of my body and run away. Was this a mistake? I could ruin everything. I’d lose his friendship and everything would be weird and awkward. But I couldn’t hold back. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life wondering “what if”.
I wanted to be more than just friends. For months, I’d been going into the bar and sitting with him. We’d talk or, sometimes, we’d just sit together in silence. It was a comfortable silence.
But that had gone on for too long. I’d never made the first move with a guy before, the thought made me want to puke, but if I didn’t, I’d be in this holding pattern for the rest of my life. I needed him to know I liked him and that I wanted things to go further. How he dealt with that was up to him. I knew he had feelings for me, I just had to get him to admit it.
He had issues and a ton of baggage, that was for sure. Things had happened in his past that he didn’t discuss. I didn’t know if that would be a big deal or not. He could have all the time in the world to open up, if that’s what he needed. I wasn’t asking for a serious commitment, or for anything really, just to move forward rather than circle around this thing between us.
On the walk to the bar, I tried to work out a game plan. I’d need to talk to him alone, that’s for certain. I’d not be able to say anything if any of the others were around. I wasn’t sure how to get Jackson alone, though. We were always in a group.
Before I’d gone to Trouble, I’d have never even thought about going to a bar by myself. That first night, I’d planned to meet an old school friend to see a band she’d liked. I turned up way too early though and sat in the corner, terrified that people judged me for being alone. I wanted to hold up a sign saying I was waiting for a friend so I didn’t look like a loser. After a while, I realized that no one paid me the slightest bit of attention. No one except the guy sitting at the corner of the bar, and that wasn’t pity or mockery in his eyes.
My friend bailed on me and I ended up seeing the band alone.
About a week later, I’d had an empt
y weekend stretching in front of me. I didn’t want to watch movies or read. I wanted human company. I’ve never been good with people. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to them or hang out. It just takes me a while to be comfortable with people and usually, by that time, they’ve given up on me as being boring or snotty.
I got dressed and walked to the door a hundred times. In the end, I told myself I’d go for one drink then leave. That’s all I needed to do. People did that all the time. I’d take my book with me and read it at the bar.
When I walked into the bar that night, I’d searched for that guy in the corner without even meaning to. I hadn’t really expected him to be there again but he was. Sitting in the same spot as though he’d not moved from the week before.
He looked at me but I looked away, embarrassed to be caught checking him out. There was something about him that made me search for him. He wasn’t the best looking guy in the bar, not that he was ugly or anything, just not conventionally good-looking like some of the other guys. While he tried to seem gruff and mean, there was kindness and understanding in his eyes. Those eyes crinkled when he smiled, and that was something that made me feel better whenever my day was shitty.
I ordered my drink and sat back in the corner. A little while later, the busboy, Drew, came over and sat down with me.
“What are you reading?” he asked.