The death of a name, I knew it would be revisited. I just didn’t know how quickly. How quickly it would have to be reconsidered. So the night began simply as they often do-it was supposed to be a night of partaking in one of my favorite combos- beer and sausages. I have long list of others that warm my soul and make me smile but this was to be the one for the night. Me and R just figured it would be the typical, typical we order a beer or two and eat our sausages and end up just talking to ourselves with the random interruption by some doucher and maybe if we were lucky a hottie with a body-then we would roll out. It was Wednesday, we had work the next day. We were wrong of course.
Within moments of ordering our sausage, ordering our beer, I ran into, ran into a person I didn’t want to see. Not because I don’t like his face, I do. Or because he is an asshole. Because he isn’t. Just because how do you move on, move on when you have to see someone. Someone that used to mean so much. And still does. I feel a tap, a poke and see his face. His face. The face of a man I loved. The face of a man that I wished things could be different. The face of a man who means more than he probably should. So I say something very awkwardly like hello and then the hugging awkwardly of course. Then I’ll be back let’s talk after I get the sausage.
But I didn’t go back to talk to him. Him. Because I didn’t know what to say. What to say. Also, there was this thing happening. Happening inside of me. This thing I hate. When I run into someone, someone like this. This happens. This feeling of 0-1000 that was occurring inside of me. Inside of me. This wasn’t the first time. It probably wouldn’t be the last. I am shaking like a leaf. I am scared I might pee my pants or throw up. This feeling, I fucking hate this feeling. How did it get to this point? All I wanted to do was change this reality.
Then the shaking of the hands, my heart, my head, my stomach- all pulsating in unison, all not in my control. Then the picking up of the sausages and using the wrong mustard. Then the popping of a quarter of a xanax- saved for planes and such emergencies such as this. All I wanted to do was change this feeling, feeling occurring in my body. All I wanted to do was change this situation. Make it easier for me to deal with, to breathe and drink my beer and eat my sausage and be normal.
Normal. The quest for it is a long road. A long road sometimes to nowhere, nowhere at all. The ignoring of him is hard, the forced laughter and being funny and light difficult. So I do what anyone would. I didn’t run away. Although tempted. I drank my beer, tried to eat my sausage. And befriended the bartender Stan, who gave us shots of bitters- even though I never take shots. I figured given the situation. It was probably for the best. The best. And free beers. This is a feat given bartenders here are known for being assholes. Then we-me and R-begin the rotation of the many guys that come to say hello and some stay for awhile. A scientist with my same birthday same year as me. A coffee shop guy who pours my coffee- free coffee possibility in the future. A group of guys just moved here. Moved here. The ratio here is to our favor. The only other women here are in couples, lesbians, or 7 feet tall-so we are in. Keep them coming I think. It makes it all easier. It always does. Attention from someone else. Even if they don’t mean anything, anything at all. Distractions. Distractions how they can save and serve you sometimes. Well I guess this isn’t so bad. So bad. Then he, B, is now our neighbor at the bar. He sits not next to me but my friend. My dear friend in the middle. A middle of a mess. Our mess. Over. But still ours, still ours.
I still love that dog. His dog. He brought her over to talk to me. Talk to me again after the momentarily bar parking. All I wanted to do was change this moment- because although it feels good to hear the words I know nothing will change. Words are just words. All I wanted to do was change what he would do next. Because he is not the first man who has stood before me and said he has missed me, missed me and done nothing to change the reality. But I know that that is like believing in the tooth fairy and santa claus as an adult. I still dream of grand gestures- this is not one. Not one. I wanted to change-I couldn’t look him in the eye entirely. I didn’t want to be changed, changed, by his words. I couldn’t be. Because I knew, I knew it would be the same. The same. And the same wasn’t good enough anymore. Anymore. All I wanted to, could do was change. Change and not let his words melt my heart. Melt my heart to him again.
And I didn’t and he left. Left with his dog and his friend and said he would be back. But back did he not return. So I went on with my night, the death of the name, maybe I would add B to the list. I decided just to have fun. Have fun. Because that might be my only choice. Only choice. I walked out of the bar and stopped at the bouncer, the bouncer, he has kettle chips, kettle chips bbq, one of my many vices. He is sharing. He just might be my soul mate. Got to love a man with chips. Chips. Chips on his person. I am walking outside. And before I know it I am surrounded by a group of men. Shaking hands and talking and laughing. The awkwardness of drinks and greetings palpable but there is an easy movement. The bumming of a cigarette does help out with this process. I shake the hand of a man, a man, a man on my right with a well trimmed beard, warm brown eyes, and a stylish hat, not the baseball variety but something more sheek but not too much. As we shake he say, he says my name is John. Too bad for you. I say. I just wrote a piece, a piece about the death of your name, name, John. Well I’m only here til Sunday and I will change your mind, I’m one of the good John’s. And I pause and smile - and change, change, change my mind he did.
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