Let's Get a Drink

                She placed her wine glass on the bar as she stared into the depths of her cell phone. Her face was washed in the blue light of her phone. Her thumbs sliding up and down over the small screen in a blur. She was not interested in the bar room nonsense around her. The jukebox playing too loud. The random sports ball game on the overhead TV’s.  She was focused entirely on the small screen in front of her scanning eyes.

                Her loose hair was drooped down the sides of her face, concealing her full visage from my view. Which was likely for the best since I was already starting to feel like a creep for watching her. I’d watched her since she confidently strode in and took a seat at the bar. She quickly ordered her white wine from the bartender and almost immediately dove into her phone. She’d barely put her small purse down. I had thought to say something to her, but decided better of it. It seemed rude to now try and interrupt her. She was there to do her thing and I could see that I would be a bother if I tried to speak with her. I knew to respect her space. Even if that space was eyeball deep in a flurry of text messages.

                The bartender looked at her and then at me. He raised an eyebrow. I shook my head as if to say, “No, not this one.” He understood. I pointed to my near empty bottle of beer. He nodded again and dug out a fresh bottle from the cooler. He opened it and placed it in front of me. I kept my unfinished beer in my hand. I had to get every last drop otherwise it seemed like I was getting cheated. I never let the bartenders take my bottle until it was completely empty. The bottom is where the good stuff is.

I saw the flash of her arm as she reached in front of her for her wine glass. She snatched it off the bar top and took a quick, tight lipped sip. She put the glass back down in front of her. Her eyes never left her phone screen. I looked at her. White sweater, nice but not too dressy, tight jeans but again, not too dressy. Her dark hair seemed black in the diminished lighting of the bar and in the silhouette of her glowing phone screen. It could have been brown. She wore the ubiquitous tan boots of the day. They looked new. She wore a few rings on her left hand, same with her right. None of them looked like a wedding band, but then, I’ve been fooled before. Her look was a mixture of serious but fun, of someone who seemed like they could go out all night or go home early and be comfortable in their clothes.  I thought that was admirable. I never know what to wear or when to go home.

I looked around the bar for anything else to catch my eyes. I was actively seeking something, anything, to keep from being bored to tears with how mundane I had let things become. I wasn’t craving adventure or something obnoxious, but something at least interesting. Something to break up the monotony of thought. The talking to myself every night in my small apartment had started to gnaw at me. I was answering too often and marveling at my own incredible insights into the vast wasteland of bachelorhood. Some days it seemed like I talked to myself more then I spoke with other people.

The bar was dead, except for myself, the bartender and the woman. Yet, the jukebox was still too loud for some reason. The music was that mix of unfamiliar and familiar, funky but electronic, and all too loud. I motioned to the bartender that perhaps the music was too loud for this small crowd. He nodded back, but didn’t change the volume. He only did a little hip thrusting dance, smiled and returned to drying the pint glasses. Which I didn’t understand as to why he was washing them since there were only two patrons and neither was using a pint glass. I politely smiled at his portly dance moves and took a final swig from my old beer bottle.

I looked at my own phone, to check the time. I thought about how everyone had pocket watches again, although less elaborate and with less winding involved. The night was still very early.
Hardly anything had happened yet. I didn’t know if it would.  I glanced over at the woman sitting on her stool. She’d put her phone down for a moment and was vacantly looking up at the TV screens as Orange jersey college team played Blue jersey college team. Her hand was draped gently around the stem of her wine glass as she tapped the side with a ring. She never turned her head.

Her phone lit up from the top of the bar. She scooped it up like it was prey and she was ravenous for a bloody kill. Her thumbs returned to their fury as she tapped away. I thought about her world. Or at least the world of space she was currently occupying. She was out in the world but not a part of it. She was present but not there at all. I at least felt like I was there, living in the moment. Even if the moment was boring as hell. It was raw, real and truthful. I was alone and no amount of phone interaction would change the present space I occupied.

 I took a sip of my new beer and motioned for the bartender.

“I think it’s whiskey o’clock,” I said.