‘Everybody all around the world, gotta tell you what I just heard’

As my mind shifted from trying not to think about Stella to concentrating on the fruit punch that I had ordered, I found that it actually worked.

Well, that was also due to the in-club radio playing All Over the World by Electric Light Orchestra, so that explains a lot. It’s a great song, what can I say?

Dale had worn his almost drunk expression, still chugging down mug after mug of a rare combination that was conjured by the bartender which he explicitly stated he wanted. And then, this is what happens. His red polo shirt had been stained black and the overflowing mug had begun to drip all over his jeans. And he wasn’t even halfway done with the first. Lined up to his right arm were another three more mugs.

“Everybody everywhere is gonna’ feel tonight,” Dale repeated the chorus to the song while his drunken lips sang flatly. “What are they gonna’ feel, Zyler? Seriously, these songs are just messing with my head.”

He was preparing to waste himself, finishing that first mug, but I pulled it away from him before his stupor took over, forehead slamming hard into the glass table.

“You’re drunk, and you’re wasting money,” I said. “And besides, you’re not the only one with problems.”

“You got girl problems. You gon’ get over it,” he said drunkenly. “I got job problems. I ain’t gon’ get over it.”

I picked up my fruit punch mug and continued to take a couple of sips while letting my eyes roam the mini-club.

“Look at these people. Dancing, singing. Having a great time. I should go.” Dale started to push himself away from the table but I latched onto his arm with my hand.

“Stop. You’re drunk,” I said.

“And I’m wasting money,” he continued, and sat back down on the round blue seat.

I’d envisioned a scenario like this, though not quite perfectly in my mind. And that was mainly because when you’ve broken up with someone, your mind just drifts anyway. You don’t control where it goes because when you do, you start to think back again to that one thing. Then, that one thing morphs into the thing you don’t want to see, and now you’re hitting yourself again.

It sucks, I thought. Stella’s a bitch, and I’m supposedly the wall breaker.

I gulped down the fruit punch, thinking that I had bought a bourbon and so that made the taste a little more forgiving. But it wasn’t satisfactory and I thought that was the problem. Stella’s left my life and nothing is satisfactory anymore. My hobbies are still there, but they’ve become draining and so that was why I paid more attention to her. Well, I guess that never really paid off.

I scanned the room again, lifting the punch but then quickly realized that it was empty and sat it down, laughing to myself. The people were having a good time. No, they were having a great time. And I wasn’t. Blueberry Bar probably doesn’t do a lot of club time routines past the evening hour, and now there were probably at least twenty people in here, and that wasn’t counting Dale and me.

For some reason, my mind just wants to go back, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to replace my doused feelings for that fake sense of satisfaction, because it’s gone. It’s fake because it’s gone, or it’s gone therefore it’s fake. Or whatever that makes sense with.

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I’d gotten a little far too attached to my first love, as the narcissistic lovers would argue about on the internet, and so I deserved that little whooping down in my heart. Well, curse them. Love is still love. The love I deserve is still love. But Stella? The love she deserves is a rock thrown at her face.

Okay, too much. I shouldn’t have said that. I apologise. She’s still a bitch, though.

‘Friday night, it was late; I was walking you home; We got down to the gate; And I was dreaming of the night.’

Reminiscing by Little River Band begun to play in my mind, and for a second those words immediately took me back to those little moments with Stella. Sharing a glass of ice chocolate cake, a kiss on the rock overlooking Ford Garden and our short trip from the tall heights in the cable car.

Good memories, I thought, but roughly specific. I was focusing on the good things. The tiniest little cute things. Her facial expression. Her worn eyelashes hovering over those crystal blue eyes. Her kiss-ready lips. And her kissing another man before me with carnation in hand. You didn’t need much straws to break the camel’s back.

I was ready to break my empty glass mug into the table, but then something pulled me back. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve me losing my temper on her. If, anything at all, she was just a passenger that I happened to enjoy company with. But now she’s arrived at her stop and so she doesn’t deserve to linger around anymore.

The words of internet lovers reminded me again: you never forget your first love. Yeah, no shit. You never forget the first time you break your leg too.

I had to keep my mind away from these thoughts since they weren’t helping anyone, and they weren’t helping me, which was the main reason why.

My eyes had begun to look again. At first there were empty sights, or empty stares. Then, I figured that I was looking for someone in the sea of dancers. Stella, of course. Who else would I be looking for? The girl sat in the lonely corner with a blue pen and white paper, drawing?

Wait, what? Drawing?

The girl dressed in a long purple skirt was drawing in the sharp corner, her tools for her activity spewed across the round glass table. I had to look through the dancers to get to her, but she was so involved in her drawing that didn’t seem to have much time to interact with anyone, much less even herself. I checked my watch. It was over 10 p.m.

Drawing in a bar, and one that was overcrowded and playing 70’s and 80’s hits on repeat? Was she typically drunk, or was she innocently drunk? Perhaps she was, well, just drunk. That explained it. That had to. Nobody arrives in a bar expecting to do their homework, much less strut around looking like they were about to write their lovely novel here. It was just the wrong place for that.

Still, I was intrigued. What was she drawing? Why did she come here? Was she alone? All these questions needed answers, and pondering in this I was in definitely didn’t help.

“Hey Dale-” I turned to see his lips sticking out like a sore thumb with his saliva spilling out from the open gap in his mouth. It was a rare sight. And also a sight that I would never want to see again.

I walked towards the formally dressed bartender behind the counter, who was a good friend back in my college days.

“Hi Daniel,” I greeted him and he nodded.

“Sup Zyler.”

He wasn’t having any customers and Dale could hardly spell his name right under this drunken spell, and so I decided to look for him to help.

“Could you take care of Dale for me?” I asked softly.

Daniel displayed an expression of curiosity and frustration, just like one of his weird cocktail combinations.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s drunk.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, reminding me of one his favourite phrases, which he happened to blurt out.

“Not again.” He watched Dale, his slump back unmoved.

I held up my hands. “I know, I know. My fault. He shouldn’t have drank so much but, what do you know? He got fired.”

“He drinks whether or not he’s employed.” Daniel lifted his sleeves on his left hand to check his watch, and gave me a daunting look. “You’re driving him home?”

I shook my head. “I’m not driving today.”

He glared at me as if he was about to shoot the frustration through his eyes.

“Fine. But this is the last time,” he said.

I smiled at him, but Daniel didn’t reciprocate. “Thanks, buddy,” I said.

“What are you going to do?” He asked, preparing to serve two new customers as they approached the counter.

“Enjoy the rest of my night,” I said and turned, starting my way towards the girl in the corner.