Singles Bar

I pulled into the dirt parking lot of the establishment. My eyes were weary of staring through the bug-stained windshield, my mind lapsing into dreamy road hypnosis. The rain that had pelted the car an hour ago still hung to the contours of the body in icy droplets. This rustic building was the only sign of life, the fogged windows glowing with a secret light. I stopped for all of these reasons, none of them. My soul was worn thin.

The door was wood, pitted and ancient, sanded smooth by the friction of thousands of hands. There were no words on it, no sign of welcome, no hours of operation posted, no doorknob. I pushed and the door gave easily. I followed it inside.

A rush of cold air escaped through my legs to the outside world, countered by heat from the overhead lights. A thick layer of cigarette smoke hung in the balance, and I waded through it chest deep. The smoke swirled around me, eddying and leaving a wake in the dim light. My nostrils filled with ancient leather, burning wood and the lingering scent of sweet alcohol gone dry.

I neared the bar, feeling as if I was being pushed on roller skates rather than walking. There were people in the corners but they seemed ghostly in the parlor tricks of light and smoke. The bartender was too young and healthy looking to be working in such a place. Before I said a word, even gestured, he had an icy mug out. He filled it carefully, tipping the heavy glass to catch the amber liquid and pushed it toward me, retreating into the background, not waiting for payment.

I considered the beer, pushed it back. Alcohol would not help me to concentrate on the road. I would ask for coffee when the strange young man returned for payment. I turned on my stool (when did I sit? I had no idea) and surveyed the interior. I spotted her in the farthest corner.

Her back was to me but I could see the reflection of her face in the beveled mirror that lined the back wall. Even without the peek at her expression I could tell by her body language what she was feeling. I knew that emotion too well myself. A thick braid of black hair coiled over her shoulder like a silky rope, its beautiful sheen contrasting with her downcast posture. I rose from my stool to go to her.