Long Ride Home

Read-Along Song: Weird Fishes by Radiohead

Great, there’s no games on that I can pretend I’m watching. The Celtics and Bruins are practically on the same schedule, the Super Bowl was last weekend, and the only things on the TV hanging over me are golf and rugby match highlights.

I don’t blame myself for the situation, getting stood up, I mean. It’s never happened to me before, but they say there’s a first time for everything right? I blame movies and shows for glorifying sitting alone at a bar. Producers and cinematographers make it look cool, the lone chiseled guy in his forties with dirt and blood on his face as he downs a whiskey and swoops up the first woman he sees. That, or he gets into a bar fight. He usually gets into a bar fight. Glance to my left, there’s a couple shoving their tongues into each other. One’s even making gurgling noises, much to the hostess’ dismay. She was turning green at the sight. To my right, it’s two fellas who had stumbled in after a gala or something. They were dressed up in button downs, examining each other’s watches to compare. One mentioned he had a rotating case at home. Nice, the other said. Across the bar was a bunch of other couples. All invested in each other, never looking elsewhere in the bar from their partner’s eyes. Drinking alone has its benefits though. You don’t have to pick up the tab for someone else. You don’t have to fill the silences and pauses in between conversations. It’s easy.

 A blind man walked into the bar with help from the hostess. Stick out in front of him and everything. He had Tourette Syndrome, and would yell out “oh yeah!” every so often. A number of customers turned from their riveting discussions to stare, as if to say “how dare you interrupt my life and remind me that other kinds of people exist.” I recognized the guy from the train. He was always wearing a faded red scarf, coupled with a clashing navy vest. Back then, the conductor wasn’t as kind as the hostess who was personally taking his order. The train operator was impatient and told the man to buzz off. He didn’t understand and stood there shaking his head. He told the hostess he wanted a steak. Just then, the bartender snapped me out of the flashback and placed an ice cold pint of IPA on the bar top. They didn’t have my favorite so I went with Fiddlehead, a close third or fourth in my rankings. I didn’t hesitate and gulped down half before pulling away. She responded. I didn’t even want to look to be honest with you. But it’s true what they say, us Gen Z folk are helpless when it comes to the temptation of checking our screens. Hell, I’d check it even without the buzz, just in case.

A cute girl walks in. She’s a brunette with bangs wearing red lipstick and a corduroy flannel to cover her lowcut top. Pale skin, or at least wears a ton of powder. Dimples. Piercings. Oh shit. Too bad I’m too shy. Always too shy. I’m stealing glances when I can, shifting my gaze from golf to her. My pupils don’t stay centered on her for more than a second each time. I’d rather be dead than get caught peering across the bar to where she was. Maybe she’s waiting on a date. Maybe she’ll get stood up like me. Then we could be stood up together. She orders a beer, I’m a fan of hers already. A Bud Light? Cost effective to be sure, but c’mon live a little. Bummer she asked for the check after getting her drink. Maybe she’s coasting? Only doing sips. I was wrong, she got an Ultra.

“Oh yeah!”

Right, you can do this Jay. Just go over there and ask her if she’s waiting on anyone. Make small talk even though you despise it. As I’m thinking that, her friends waltz in. Dammit. Should I stick it out? At this point, who cares? Now there were three people who could potentially catch me staring. Tiger Woods is on the TV front and center. Wonder if he’s still saying he didn’t cheat on his wife. On the TV next to him is the All-Star game. Joe Mazzulla from the Celtics is coaching. Thank God I finally have something to scapegoat my attention. I finish my beer, then I wondered. How many more can I drink before it gets sad, if it’s not already? 

For my pride’s sake, I should say I don’t do this often, but getting stood up made me almost rebellious, determined to stay there despite being alone. I was going to be out in the world with or without her. That’ll show her. It wasn’t a total waste of a Friday night. I’ll take a Sam Adams Coldsnap, please. I blinked and the girl and her gang were gone, walking past tall glass windows leading towards Chestnut Hill. To my left, the couple was gone too, replaced with two parents and their daughter, presumably a BC student. People are moving in and out. How long have I been here? Who cares. Self-care, right? I gulp down another quarter of the Coldsnap, it goes down easier. Some frat guys stole the seat of the man from the train.

I was distracted by the pretty girl and forgot to check my phone. I flipped the screen over, it was splashed with water melting off my frozen pint. Under the droplets was a sole text notification from her. 

“Really sorry about tnt, r/s for next week?” 

I sighed, finishing off the rest of the Coldsnap. It was twenty minutes after our meeting time when she said she felt stomach aches. It was forty minutes when she said she’ll let me know if she could make it. It was an hour past when she called it off. A half hour after that is when she apologized. The timeline didn’t bother me. I’ve been getting good at seeing through people who say they want to make plans versus the ones who actually do. She was the former, and once she mentioned her stomach I knew that was it. I pondered what to do next. Order another beer? Call it a night? A train from the South End will take me at least a half hour to get back. It wasn’t exactly late, but pregaming hours were certainly over. Burning my eyeballs into the fairways and wooden plank courts, I felt someone brush up against me. The two finance bros were replaced with a threesome of more college kids. There were only two seats, so the girl who bumped into me was standing instead. I was slightly agitated with the guy of the group who was sitting down trying to flag down the bartender who was purposely taking laps. Give her the seat, dude. Well, I was thankful at least. They were my deciding factor, I thought as I tried to make eye contact with the tender. I checked out and left a decent tip. Turning, I pulled the high chair towards her. 

“All yours.” I walked out before she could respond. Into the cold, returned to winter from a brief glimpse at spring earlier in the day. The blind man from before was outside getting helped into a car by a friend who came to pick him up. 

“Oh yeah!”

Time for the long ride home. 

Lady Luck has been having so much fun looking the other way that I’ve started keeping a tab. She owes me a fortune.

Blue Jay

A writer of poetry, fiction, blog entries, and journalism

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