Blue haze pulsated onto the bar top. Background music droned on as the feedback from freshly set up microphones popped sporadically. The clatter of the cheap, beat up wood behind him almost made him jump if he hadn’t been the one to slam it. He turned his head to see the door girl who was mouthing five without bothering to talk over the speaker system. She was new. Or possibly the old one with a new color in her hair and a shorter midriff.
He wondered if she had a cute navel but refused to look. If she was a new girl she’d be offended and wouldn’t want to be objectified, and If she was the old door girl she’d be disappointed and still wouldn’t want to be objectified.
Where was his wallet. Ah, there, back left pocket. He pulled out five crumpled ones and attempted to organize them with little success. She took them quickly, counted them, and slammed the money drawer shut. With smooth precision she wrapped a band on his wrist with just enough of the tape to uncomfortably cover his arm hair, priming his wrist for future misery.
He walked closer to the enchanting blue bar, hoping to get through at least half a beer before someone tried talking to him. That never happened. He knew it wouldn’t happen. But he always hoped. And like that it happened.
“Jonathan!” Yelled a voice.
“Oh, hey Dan.” Jonathan said with a false sense of surprise. Dan was more stout than round and more excitable than interesting. He wasn’t a bad guy by any means, but he never really gave the opportunity to disclose any interesting characteristics. He was surface level. “How’s it goin’?”
Without as much as a beat Dan spoke with a genuine earnestness. “I’m doing alright. Work is pretty not bad, glad to be here to get a beer though, for sure.” What did he do again? Was he a waiter? No. Insurance? Retail? Jonathan didn’t think it mattered enough to remember.
“Oh yeah, that's great to hear. Speaking of-” He flashed a wave at the bartender who was in the middle of making three drinks in rocks glasses.
“Whaddaya want?” yelled the bartender.
“Lonestar.” Jonathan said, emphasizing the movement of his mouth and holding up an L shape with his fingers. The bartender nodded as he finished the previous order. He tapped away at his little tablet, putting charges on someone's tab, while grabbing a tall can from the cooler he was leaning on. He set it in front of himself and grabbed a bottle opener to pry the tab open and plopped the beer in front of Jonathan. Jonathan handed a card to the man.
“Open or close?” the bartender shouted eight inches from Jonathan’s face.
“Open.” Jonathan said as he raised his beer to the bartender, as a one way cheers, and walked away. “Good to see ya, man.” he said to Dan as he turned to the rear patio exit. The stage was along the way outside. It looked like the band had started setting up, but that everyone had abandoned the project halfway through. Normal set up. Drums, two microphones, quarter inch cables skewed all over the large rug covering the majority of the stage. Who was playing again? The Kittens? The Dogzzz? Was it really pet themed? How many bands are playing? Was this an open mic night? I should have asked the door girl. I wonder if she had a cute navel. Another thin door on loose hinges was now the only thing between him and the back that held both an ashtray and his friend who had told him to show up in the first place.
The back patio had two main areas, an upper deck and a concrete courtyard a few steps below. The deck was a faded red with splinters and wood popping out in awkward places. It never seemed like the most secure place to loiter. They were separated by a rail guard that wobbled when someone walked near it and bent at a forty five degree angle when someone leaned on it. There were tables, chairs, and picnic tables scattered all around, none of which seemed to be part of a matching set.
The deck table was full of young degenerates laughing and talking over each other. A good time, Jonathan thought. Six years ago he too had as much fun in large groups as these younger drunk counterparts. When did I get this bitter? When did scenes like this make me feel tired? I’m literally here to do the same thing as them. Oh look, there’s Rob. He walked down the steps of the deck to the patio where Rob had claimed a picnic table all by himself. Rob was there playing on his phone, occasionally looking around to see if Jonathan had shown up. Jonathan sat down across from him, slammed his beer down, took out his pack of cigarettes, fumbled one out of the pack, lit it, and finally made eye contact with Rob.
Jonathan started it off. Jonathan always started it off. “You know what really pisses me off, Rob?”
Rob looked amused. He was always amused when Jonathan got mad at something. “Huh? Hello to you too, bud.”
Jonathan ignored him. “Every artist thinks that they’re the smartest god damn being in the universe for being self referential in their given field.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every book has a writer as a main character, everyone and their mom is an actor in movies and TV, and every song has to remind you that they are a goddamn musician.”
Rob glanced upward for a moment. “I mean, that’s kinda true, there’s a percentage of media that does that, but I don’t think it’s overly rampant.”
“You don’t? Does a patent need to say ‘I’m an engineer?’ This is insane, no one ever portrays the failures! The consumers! The average! The fucking asshole in an office who amounts to nothing!”
Rob pushed forward. “No, but teachers always have their kids make things that say how good a teacher they are. Oh, and don’t forget about your cup of joe in a number one dad mug.” He paused and lit one of Jonathan’s cigarettes. “I think people are just proud of what they are and they don’t know any better way of expressing themselves.”
“Uhuh.” said Jonathan.
“Like, how difficult it would be to develop a character outside of what you know. First, you’re writing a military character, and at some point you accidentally call a magazine a clip and then the whole internet is after you. But maybe you try to show a lawyer or a tech kid on TV, everyone always eats that shit up because it’s so poorly portrayed. Y’know, Perry Masson shit or hacking into mainframes. It’s safer to have a writer write about writers.”
“Well, sure I guess, but I just think its fucked. Put it to rest.” Jonathan looked down and wiped off the ash that had fallen on his shirt. How does that keep happening? I’m not even flicking it that way.
“I think put to rest should put to rest.” retorted Rob.
“Fuck off.”
“Anything new since yesterday? I mean I doubt anything, but I still gotta ask.” asked Rob without acknowledging Jonathan’s outburst.
“Has it only been yesterday? Fuck, these days are starting to blur.” Jonathan touched his head and shook it a bit.
Rob laughed, “Well it was a good band practice at the beginning.”
“Yeah until you broke into the Fernet.” barked Jonathan.
Rob put his hands in the air with mouth agape. “Well it’s the only liquor we had and you drank the last beer.”
Jonathan looked away and back and took a drag of his cigarette. “It was a 24 pack. We weren’t supposed to drink it all during practice. But to answer your question, my day was fine. Classes sucked, my head hurt almost all day. It was a struggle, and I slept through Labor Law, but I hadn't prepared for class so it’s fine.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Jonathan took a long gulp of his beer and took another long drag from his, now, nearly finished cigarette. He Crushed it into the ashtray with an intense dedication. Like a machine he took the back of cigarettes and proceeded to light another on. Rob had already started spacing out. His mind wandered as much as his eyes were.
“Looking for anyone in particular?” Jonathan mused. Rob snapped back into reality and rolled his fingers along the table like a pianist playing an arpeggio in front of a packed concert hall.
“Oh, uhh, no.” he replied. “There was this girl though, on campus, I only got a glimpse of her. This blonde-”
“Wow, another blonde.”
“Yeah, but, no dude, she was beautiful, she had this short length hair with bangs.
“A bob cut in law school? Brave.”
“And she had such supple features. Like glowingly translucent skin. Some King Arthur shit man.”
“Another pretty stick girl. Dude, ya gotta stop falling for every girl you meet.” said Jonathan. This happens every time. Does he have a filter for this shit?
“You do it too, we even wrote a song about the married one.” said Rob, attempting, and failing to defend himself.
“Yeah, but I also knew that one. I don’t even know if this girl exists. You could have suffered a mental break or an aneurysm or something and dreamed up this manic pixie dream girl to cope.”
“No! She’s real! And beautifuuuuul, man.”
“Ok, let’s assume she is real. That is now the basis of reality for this hypothetical world. We can pretend your mental model is correct. Then, let’s take it further. She probably has a tall, buff, handsome, successful boyfriend, no, husband; she’s possibly Mormon; and I bet she gets involved in local republican elections.”
The table was still with silence and disappointment. The degenerates at the other table had calmed down once half the party went inside, presumably for another round. Rob sighed and lit his cigarette that had gone out. “You're probably right. I can still dream, you asshole.”
““Sure, I won't ruin it for you anymore til’ you point her out to me. Enjoy your one way love with a figment of your imagination. I completely support you.”
A few people headed past their table to the one behind them. A girl with green hair and a tight extra large shirt led the group, followed by a very thin acne scarred boy with sweatbands on took the middle of the people train, quickly followed by a very short girl wearing too much black, too much makeup, and too much hair. They didn’t speak, but one coughed and the other two repeatedly bumped into the table Jonathan and Rob were sitting at, without apology.
“White.” whispered Jonathan.
“Whale.” whispered Rob.
“Holy.” whispered Jonathan.
“Grail.” whispered Rob.
The two of them grinned, chugged their beers, crushed the cans, and nodded at each other. They stood up and headed inside right as the green haired girl started talking about privilege. “Don’t let your memes be dreams” mused Rob under his breath as he held the flimsy door open for Jonathan.
By now one of the bands had arrived and started checking equipment, hitting foot pedals, and muttering checks into the microphones, all the while the music systems blared abrasive rock and the patrons shouted over all of this horrid sea of noise. Jonathan noticed the lyrics playing overhead and could barely make them out:
Happiness is for people like you
I’ll never have it but you still call me the fool
He couldn’t make out anymore as the two passed the stage to the packed bar. The faces were all familiar, but no names or memories of interactions came to for Jonathan or Rob. “All these fucking regulars, god damn punk degenerates.” shouted Jonathan, attempting to whisper in Rob’s ear.
“I bet they would say the same thing about you!” Shouted Rob.
“We do.” shouted the bartender, “What do you degenerates want?”
“Two Lonestars.” Jonathan replied. “My tab.” The bartender nodded and went to a different cooler and pulled out two tall cans, cracked them open with ease and passed them to the pair. They picked up their drinks, crashed them together, slammed them against the bar, and gulped. Rob always liked the table clank of the cheers procedure. It offered a nonverbal third part to the cheers/drink dichotomy for those that didn’t have any witty things to cheer for. Everything is better in threes he thought, until he saw that thin door closing and saw Stacy walking in. Stacy was almost tall, almost thin, and almost beautiful. But the only things she legitimately could be described as were extroverted, rough, and friends of Rob and Jonathan. Jonathan waved at her as she paid the door girl with the possibly cute navel and received a wristband.
“Oh dude,” Rob said to the bartender, “one more on my tab.” the bartender proceeded as Stacy approached. He passed the beer to Rob who passed the beer to Stacy. Rob planted himself to hear whatever she was about to complain about. He tapped Jonathan on the shoulder to bring his attention to her. Jonathan was disappointed to stop talking with the ugly old punk couple about their collection of iron on patches only to now listen to Stacy complain about whatever it was she was about to complain about. He leaned against the bar and looked at stacy.
“Why the fuck is traffic so bad right now? It’s not like it’s right after work?” said Stacy who proceeded to chug half her beer in rage.
“Seven PM on a Friday in the middle of downtown,” muttered Rob, “You're one of many in a car city. A city for cars. Traffic causing cars.”
Stacy’s face lit up. A shift from frustration to anger. She liked Rob well enough, but his brand of snark always seemed to get to her. “Well fuck that! Parking sucked too!”
This time Jonathan jumped in, “You kinda decided to go to a bar in a district developed to be, well, not a bar district.”
“BUT IT IS ONE NOW.” she finished the other half of her beer and crushed the can out of anger. “Why do we even come here? None of us even live close to here. My feet hurt. This music is too loud. I need another goddamn beer.” Stacy turned to the bar.
Rob Shrugged. “Shoulda got here earlier.” This was false, as Stacy had left her home as soon as she got Rob’s text message, which was fifteen minutes ago. Stacy knew this. Rob knew this. Jonathan didn’t know this, but also would not have cared.
“Fuck off, Rob.” Stacy muttered. “Hey barkeep, 2 Lonestars!”
She slammed a ten dollar bill on the table, grabbed the two drinks, and stormed off to the patio door. Rob and Jonathan shrugged at each other and followed her outside. The degenerates were back in full swing, a round deeper in, and much louder. Rob and Jonathan’s table was still available for the most part, a couple had taken up the far side of it, trying to not be a bother to others. You could tell the girl was interested in the guy, no matter how awkward his body language seemed to be. The poor soul, thought Rob as they approached the table.
“Can we join you?” Stacy said, more as a statement than a question, and sat down on the other side without waiting for a response. Rob and Jonathan joined her. “So what have you assholes been up to?” She started chugging one of her beers.
“Oh just solving the mysteries of life.” said Jonathan.
“And causing them.” chimed Rob. “Nah, just class, drinking, band practice, love-”
“Oh a new girlfriend huh?” teased Stacy.
“She’s not real” said Jonathan in a matter of fact way as he lit a new cigarette.
Rob seemed visibly flustered. “When we’re married, neither of you are allowed in. I’m gonna hire bodyguards and everything and you two can’t come.” They do this every time. Why do I even tell them about it? Rob never got support from his friends for his romantic life, possibly because it didn’t exist.
Stacy cackled. “Fuck off, I bet she's real, sure, Rob wouldn’t lie about that again, but you’ll never talk to her, let alone marry her. Do you even know her name?”
There was a long pause. “No.” muttered Rob.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me Rob, again?” said Stacy. “This is like the fourth mystery girl since y’all started law school. Have you even got laid since your last real girlfriend?”
“Yeah, but none of them were this pretty.” replied Rob as he started daydreaming once again about bob cut girl. He heard the song playing from the bar:
I can only write sad songs, but it’s not that bizarre
Cuz when I’m happy I don’t play guitar