Chapter 3 Of Nights and Bars #2
“That’s not true,” I protested. “It’s just people there…
they don’t talk about their…sexuality or whatever.
” I blushed as I said that, but I wasn’t lying.
I couldn’t even imagine mentioning something like that in front of my neighbors.
People back home were close-minded about everything.
Even I had found it hard to ignore all their dumb prejudices.
I tried to say it didn’t matter, and everyone jumped on me, like who are you to tell him it doesn’t matter, nobody asked you, and I could tell they were trying to teach me, but it was also a little mean.
Thankfully, Curtis jumped in to save me with a joke: “Guys, she just got upset because for a moment she got scared she couldn’t have me.
It’s OK, though, Jennifer. Just say the word, and I’m yours. ”
Things relaxed again after that, and I think the awkwardness even brought us closer.
Curtis gave me a bear hug when it was time to go home and waved at me from his dorm window when I was outside.
The two guys who had been with us offered me a ride.
When I told them they could drop me off a few blocks from Jack’s, they even offered to drive me home.
I replied that there was no need, then said, “See you in class!” They told me to send Curtis a message when I got in so everyone would know I was safe.
Hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I walked the rest of the way home.
It was a safe neighborhood, and I needed the fresh air and a few moments to clear my head.
Just two days had passed and I already felt overwhelmed.
I missed being home, living with my grandmother, when my biggest worry was whether my schedule at the gas station might clash with the time when I was supposed to be coaching.
Then I found myself ducking before I even knew what was happening.
Something flew past me: a beer can tossed by a drunk walking out of the one bar on the street.
As the door slowly closed, I could hear loud music blaring.
The guy laughed and flipped me off, and I crossed to the other side of the street.
That was when I saw the black car covered in stickers. I stopped. I knew those stickers. I knew that car. And I sure as hell knew its owner. I turned back to the bar—the only one in the area open on Monday nights—and asked myself: could Jack be inside?
I wanted to go in. At the same time, I wanted to take off running.
I didn’t like the look of the place and didn’t want to push through the crowd—it grossed me out to think of all those people’s bodies pressed against mine.
The place looked like a dump, and I imagined everyone in there was hammered.
But at the same time, I couldn’t just leave, could I?
The drunk from before sat down clumsily and lit a cigarette, and I dialed Will’s number. He was my one responsible friend, and he picked up on the first ring.
“Jenna, what’s up?” he said cheerfully.
“Hey, uh…can I ask you something?”
Was that too direct? I wondered, because he took a moment before answering, “Sure.”
“Does Jack like to go to bars on Monday nights?”
Silence again. Tenser this time.
“Why,” he finally said, “did you see him?”
“I think so. I’m standing in front of his car, and there’s nothing on this block but a bar, and…”
“The one with the palm trees on the sign? Like just two minutes from our place?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
“Jenna, come home. I’ll take care of it.”
Take care of what? Will seemed worried. I guessed I should do as he said—he must know better.
But then I hesitated. I told myself I wasn’t the old Jenna, the one who just did whatever others said.
And I wanted to know what was going on. I walked over to the drunk guy squatting there and asked him, “You didn’t happen to see a tall guy inside, with shaggy brown hair, kind of tired-looking? ”
“You mean Ross?”
“Yeah,” I said, shocked. “Is he in there?”
The guy stood, crushed his cigarette, and sighed before walking back inside. For some reason, I forgot my common sense and hurried in behind him.
The place was as trashy as I’d expected, and so packed it was almost impossible to move.
I kept getting shoved, and everyone was so drunk they didn’t seem to care that I was trying to get somewhere.
It was like I didn’t exist. No one would move out of the way.
And it stank! Of sweat, tobacco, cheap beer, and mildew. Disgusting.
The drunk guy reached a couple of tables and sofa where things looked calmer.
Jack was there talking to a couple of guys.
The drunk touched his arm and he turned.
Then several people crowded past me, and I lost sight of him for a few seconds.
When I pushed through again, Jack was looking straight at me.
We were both paralyzed, then a huge smile crossed his face.
Wait a minute…a smile?
Wasn’t he supposed to be pissed at me?
He was wearing a gray T-shirt, a black jacket, and some old jeans I’d seen him in dozens of times. He rushed over and brusquely shoved away the people nearby. “Jen!” he shouted.
I was so surprised that I didn’t know how to react. That seemed to bother him, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping an arm around me and dragging me over to his friends. I felt like a rag doll as he squeezed me and said, “Guys, this is Jen!”
That was all they needed to hand me a beer and give me a place against a column where everyone would stop pushing me.
Jack leaned in close and shouted into my ear, because the music was so loud, “Did you come here to see me?” He sounded like a little boy at Christmas. “Drink your beer, it’s on the house.”
I tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t listening. Someone had tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around and started babbling like crazy. I stared listlessly at my beer. I hadn’t drunk alcohol in forever, and these didn’t seem like the best circumstances to start again.
Someone moved past, knocking him into me, and I stared at his chest, just a few inches from my eyes. He stank of alcohol. I could see the spots where he’d spilled beer on his T-shirt. He asked again if I’d come to see him.
“Are you drunk?” I asked in reply.
I’d never seen him acting that way. He’d always been one of those guys who could drink and drink without ever getting drunk. Now, though, he was pretty far gone: swaying, with a dumb smile on his lips, on the verge of dropping his bottle.
“Are you not thirsty?” he asked, trying to take my beer.
So this was what he was like when he was drunk: unable to shut up or stop moving.
When he wrested the bottle from me, he laid it on a nearby table and asked, “What’s up?
Are you OK? Is something wrong? You’re cold, right?
Of course you are, why do you always go out without your jacket, Jen, you’re a disaster, but I’ll forgive you, because you’re my favorite disaster… ”
He laughed, and in an instant, he was in short sleeves and I had his jacket draped around me.
I couldn’t react before he’d grabbed my wrist and guided me to the couches, pulling me onto his lap, because there was nowhere else to sit.
He was talking and laughing with the person next to him, and I was disoriented: the lights were flashing, the faces were unknown, the place was weird, and my head was starting to spin.
Jack pulled me in close, and I remembered how he used to do that before.
But it had been tender then. Now it was rough and jerky.
I didn’t like Jack when he was drunk. I felt…
sorry for him. As if he were a baby I had to protect from himself.
I could feel his forehead against my neck as he murmured, “I’m so, so glad you’re back. ”
I wanted to be happy, I wanted to let myself go, but I couldn’t. “You didn’t seem very glad this morning.”
“Oh, Jen. Things have gotten complicated. But it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”
“And you’re drunk on a Monday night.” I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. “Ross, don’t you have a job? A movie to work on or something?” I had remembered what he’d told me, and I’d respected it—I was supposed to call him Ross now.
“Fuck the movie.”
“But it’s your dream…”
“Can we not just have fun for one night? Shit, Jen, I’m just trying to have a good time with you. I missed you.”
I wanted to tell him I’d missed him too.
But I wasn’t sure whether it was him or the alcohol speaking.
And anyway, I couldn’t talk more because somebody grabbed me by the wrists and stood me up—a girl who wanted me to dance with her and her friends.
I kept looking back at Jack, but the people on the dance floor all blocked my view.
I didn’t want him to get up and disappear.
But then he was back, dancing beside me.
The bright, colored lights shot across his face.
He laughed, took a drink, grabbed my hand and pulled me close.
But I wasn’t dancing. I was desperate. I wanted to get the hell out of there.
Will had to be waiting for us. How long had I been there?
Everything got confusing, and all of a sudden Jack was gone.
I looked around for him, but there was no point.
People were jostling me, and I didn’t know any of them, and I was starting to feel scared.
I was overheating in his jacket but didn’t want to take it off.
Eventually I found the girl who had dragged me onto the dance floor and asked her where Jack had gone.
She shrugged and pointed toward some tables and said he’d gone to talk to a guy in a blue sweatshirt.
Supposedly I couldn’t miss him. When I found the guy in question, Jack was sitting across from him.
I found something else, too: lines of white powder being cut with a credit card. Next to them was a rolled-up five-dollar bill. Jack grabbed it, cackled, and sucked one of the lines up his nose.