8. Fall 1997
Chapter eight
Fall 1997
Dexter's
Sam
“ D ude, this night is going to be da bomb!” Ricky exclaims as he shuts his car door. He takes a step back to admire his horrible parallel parking job. “Not too bad, huh?” He looks over the top of his car at me, satisfied with himself.
As he rounds the car, I walk up onto the sidewalk and take it in. It’s awful. “Um, it’s terrible, man,” I say, laughing under my breath as I look at the back tire up on the curb. Ricky can’t park to save his life.
He makes it to my side, studies the tire, and slaps me on the shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. We are here, and that’s what counts. Let me just feed the meter, and we can head inside.” Excitement is radiating off his body.
The inside he’s referring to is the country bar we are going to spend money in tonight. And I need it. Desperately.
Because as luck would have it, I lost my job today. The small communications company I was working for went under. They announced it first thing this morning and told us we had two hours to clean out our desks.
Fun times .
I walked out with a tiny box full of what little things I had in my cubicle and immediately called Ricky as soon as I walked into my apartment. Which I have no idea how to pay for after today.
Two years ago, my life was in shambles. I lost Maria, and it felt like I was living in some kind of black hole. In time, I picked up the pieces again. But now … I’m jobless. It feels like I can’t catch a break.
I turn around and glance at the half-lit neon sign that hangs above the door of this dive I love.
Dexter’s.
The ‘x’ is completely dark, while the ‘r’ flickers on and off every few seconds. When I call this a dive bar, that’s being generous.
I have no clue who Dexter is, nor do I care. But he serves cheap beer and killer chili cheese fries, both of which I need to help me cope with the crap show that is my life right now.
And it seems I’m not the only one that needs a night out because this place is packed. People are streaming in as I stand and wait for Ricky. What is taking him so long, anyway ? Whenever the white door with chipped paint creaks open, Garth Brooks’s crooning voice, mixed with very happy bar patrons, fills the night air. It’s the sound of fun, and I’m itching to get in.
Finally, Ricky makes it to my side. “Stupid meter won’t take my quarters. I’m probably going to get towed,” he says with exasperation, looking around, trying to decide what to do next. “I’ll meet you inside. I’m going to have to find another spot.”
With a nod, I reach for the door handle, ready to take on what lies on the other side. When I open it, a few people view it as a kind gesture and stroll inside. “Cool. I’ll meet ya at the bar.”
I’m already half-way through the entrance when I hear him cry out, “And you better have a honey on your arm when I get in there!” As I shake my head and grin at his demand, I glance around the crowded bar. It’s wall-to-wall people, which is to be expected on a Friday night. The dance floor is alive with the sound of boots stomping and glasses clinking as line dancers hold on tight to their drinks .
Not a single high-top table is available, leaving only one empty seat at the bar. Which I decide has my name on it. I weave through the crowd and sit down on the stool that has a huge tear in the plastic. Within seconds, Big C, my favorite bartender, makes his way over to me. And he is just that … big.
Big C (no clue what his real name is) is Samoan and used to be a linebacker for Georgia Tech before a blown-out knee stopped his career. He’s six-five and at least two-sixty of pure muscle. No one messes with Big C. Since I’m a regular here, Big C knows more about my life than just about anyone. The best bartenders listen and will take your secrets to their grave. Since getting to know him, I’ve discovered how awesome he is, and now we’re friends.
“Sam! My man,” he charges toward me from across the sticky, lacquered bar to give me a slap handshake.
“Big C. Huge crowd tonight.” My raised voice pierces through the noise and music so that he can hear me.
His eyes scan the dimly lit bar, taking in the various patrons. “No kidding. I haven’t stopped for longer than two seconds since I got here. The usual?”
I flash him a thumbs-up, and within seconds, Big C slides a Heineken over to me. I grab the bottleneck, and the chill from the glass is already making me feel better. So does the cold beer as the bubbles coat my throat. I turn around on the stool and rest my elbows on the bar as I scan the room. Maybe Ricky is right. I should try to meet someone and have some fun. I’m not looking for anything serious, but a few dances and friendly conversation with a woman could definitely brighten my day. The excitement of that being a reality gets my adrenaline moving.
I zero in on a table of ladies who look to be having fun. They appear to be my age, or a little older, which I’m not opposed to. That could work. I’ll wait until Ricky gets in here and we can approach together. Knowing Ricky, he’ll be okay with it.
As I scan the room for more prospects, I lift the beer to take another swig, but the bottle tip stops on my lips as my eyes land on … her . My heart stops. I slowly lower the beer because there she is, in the flesh.
My Maria .
Saddled up against some preppy-looking dude at the table in the far corner. His arm is tightly around her waist in almost a possessive way. I could spot her from a mile away, anywhere. Her blonde hair is still long, cascading down her back. She’s wearing a yellow cropped shirt, which shows off a sliver of her bare skin. Her long legs are on display with a black skirt, and she’s wearing black chunky sandals.
She looks incredible.
My stomach is in knots as I do a double take, then take another swig of beer before I rotate on my stool. I need to get my bearings because I haven’t seen or heard from Maria since I read The Chad letter two years ago. Who would have thought a simple piece of paper could hold so much power, but it destroyed me with just a few words.
I glance over my shoulder to get another look, and as I study her, I notice something is off. Maria was always so full of light. She’s shy but could brighten any room with her smile. But the Maria I see right now is not the Maria I knew and loved.
Well … love , if I’m being honest with myself. Which the beer is helping with.
With her shoulders slumped over and her eyes locked on the floor, she seems to carry the weight of the world on her back. She’s not laughing. She’s not talking. She just looks … sad.
Preppy guy laughs at something one of his friends says. He removes his arm from her waist, wraps it around Maria’s shoulders, and pulls her towards him. She turns to look at him, and he slams his mouth onto hers .
I look away as I clench my beer. Is this the guy she dumped me for?
Chad.
I have read and re-read her letter so many times that I will always hate that name.
Ricky returns and breaks up my thoughts. “There you are!” He takes the now empty stool next to mine. “I had to park in no-man’s-land. This place is jamming tonight.”
He raises his hand to get Big C’s attention, then looks over at me. I sit motionless, my brows furrowed, disgusted The clinking of glasses, blaring country music, and chatter are all around me, but my eyes stay fixed straight ahead on the rows of liquor behind the bar. “What happened to you? I thought you were excited to come here tonight. Why does your face look like that?”
Right then, Big C comes over with a Budweiser for Ricky. He notices my change in mood as well, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You okay, man?”
I turn the beer in my hand, no longer wanting it because of the nauseous feeling that has bubbled up in my gut. “Maria’s here,” I reply, emotionless.
Both Ricky’s and Big C’s mouths drop open. They both know the story and what she meant to me.
Means to me.
“You’re kidding me!” Ricky exclaims. “Where?” His eyes scan the room, searching for her.
I take a small swig, savoring the taste, and motion with a subtle flick of my head. “Over on the far side wall.” Ricky and Big C turn their heads in unison.
“Dang! She looks hot!” Leave it to Ricky to point out the obvious. I shoot him a sharp sideways glare.
“Dude, come on,” Big C says, tilting his head in exasperation.
“What? She does.” Ricky shrugs as he turns back around. I’m too thrown off kilter by seeing her to care that Ricky checked out my ex, who I’m still in love with.
Big C chimes in. “The guy she’s with is a complete jerk. Do you think they are a thing?”
This catches my attention. I snap my head in his direction. “I’m assuming, since he just shoved his tongue down her throat. Why is he a jerk?” My heart speeds up, waiting for his answer.
“They came in about an hour ago. He had his arm around her shoulders, as if she was a piece of property. She looked uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure him and his buddies were already lit.” He points in their direction. “He demanded we scrub that table before they sat there and had the nerve to check and make sure it passed some sort of inspection. Then he threw his gold card at us and said, ‘Money is no object. Run this when we leave.’” He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head as he wipes down the bar. “He’s running poor Maggie ragged. And seriously, who dresses like that at a bar like this?”
I take another quick look. Preppy has on white chinos, a pink collared shirt, and penny loafers. I pinch my lips together.
“So basically, an entitled rich brat, spending Daddy’s money,” Ricky proclaims.
“Would appear so.” With that, Big C is called over to another paying customer.
I glance over my shoulder again. “Do you think I should go over there?” I squeak out.
“And do what exactly?” Ricky asks. “You would piss off her boyfriend, and I’m not in the mood to break up a fight tonight. It will only end badly, you know that.”
I abruptly pivot, choosing not to answer his question because I know he’s right.
We both sit in silence for a few minutes, the eager energy of the room not doing much for my mood.
Ricky tries to knock some sense into me. “Seriously, man, what purpose would it serve to talk to her? That was two years ago, and you were horrible to be around after that day. I don’t think I could endure that again.” He shakes his head as he finishes his beer and slams it down on the bar.
“Gee, thanks.” He’s not wrong. I was a bear that day. And every day after for months. But Ricky was there for me, like best friends should be.
Big C hands him another beer as Ricky continues. “Look, we are here tonight to let off some steam and have some fun.” He lifts his beer to the table of women I noticed earlier. One of them wiggles her pinky at Ricky. An evil grin crosses his lips. “You can sit here and sulk all you want, but I’m going over there to talk to that redhead in the black dress.”
And with that, I’ve lost my wingman. He cuts his way through the crowd and is standing next to the fiery redhead within seconds. He’s already making her laugh with one of his cheesy pickup lines, while she rests her hand on his chest .
I don’t have Ricky’s charisma, charm, or bravery with women. In the past, I didn’t need it, since I had the one person I could ever need or want. The beautiful blonde that is sitting only fifty feet away from me. It’s the closest I have been to her in two years.
This is what small towns do to you. They force you to run into people you least expect to see at the exact moment you don’t want, or need, to see them.
But I can’t stop staring at her.
So many questions are swirling around in my head that I’m feeling dizzy.
Is that Chad?
Is she still in school?
Does she live at home?
Why? Why did she destroy us?
I finish my beer as I stare, willing her to look in my direction. The minutes tick past as song after song plays. The dance floor is a revolving door of people, while more patrons come and go out the entrance. A fight breaks out near the front as the bouncer grabs a guy by the collar and throws him out.
But the commotion fades in the background as I watch Maria. I can feel Big C’s eyes on me as he serves customers, watching me, probably wondering what I’m going to do.
Just when I decide to take off because this is pure torture, preppy guy whispers in Maria’s ear. He gets a small nod from her and then leans in to give her a tender kiss on the forehead. I track him as he leaves with his friends, weaving through the crowd and right out the front door.
Leaving Maria alone.
She’s swaying to the music and looks lighter now that he’s gone. I’m watching, spellbound by her presence. As the tacky disco ball in the middle of the dance floor comes to life, beams of light bounce off of something gold resting on Maria’s wrist.
Oh, my God. It’s the watch.
The watch I gave her at graduation. The watch that I saved our entire senior year for. The watch I gave her in Pittsburgh, at our spot.
I can’t believe she still has it. And wears it .
This realization forces me to look away so that I can get my bearings. I still don’t know why she ended things. I know what her letter said, but for two years, something has always felt off about how it went down. It continues to haunt me. There is nothing I want more than to hold her in my arms again, one more time. Maybe ask for answers.
And as if I willed it to happen, the music changes to a slow song. I glance at Big C, and he shakes his head in warning, knowing what I’m thinking.
But I can’t help myself.
Taking a swig for some courage, I place my beer on the bar and head in her direction.
I’m going in.