Chapter 30 Dawsen
Dawsen
This whole day has kind of felt like an out of body experience. Almost as if I’m not even in my body, I’m outside of it floating around watching myself be in all of these minutes and hours with Birdie Banks.
The day hasn’t been perfect—we were caught in one of the worst storms I’ve ever seen, almost had a full on panic attack in front of the one person I don’t want to crumble in front of, and now I’ve gotten her trapped here with me, having to spend her whole evening cooped up in some motel while eating shitty bar food with me.
All things considering though, I’d take this day everyday for the rest of my life if it meant I was hanging out with her.
Birdie has always been that kind of girl, now woman, the kind that makes every circumstance fun. She makes bummers seem like blessings. That’s such a fucking superpower.
There was a time during my junior year of high school that I was benched during football season because of my grades.
I wasn’t able to get back on the field until I brought my GPA up, which felt impossible because I had slacked so much that year.
I was behind on weeks of algebra assignments and chemistry labs.
All of my free time was spent doing extra credit and makeup exams—even my weekends at River’s house were spent with my head in my books while he leveled up in the latest Grand Theft Auto game.
I remember one particular Friday night, I was sitting on the couch in River’s basement and Birdie sat down next to me. She pulled her legs crossed, facing me directly. She cleared her throat to get my attention and said, “Ricky Evans isn’t a great football player is he?”
I remember feeling so confused and intrigued by the question.
Ricky Evans was a nice kid. He wasn’t the athletic type, but man was he passionate about football.
He loved the team, he was basically put on the team just because you’d look like a heartless asshole if you didn’t.
But he was a bench rider. He was always there just in case, and even still—the kid had a heart of gold and great attitude, even though he never got any real playing time.
He possessed what made a football player great. Heart.
I laughed and agreed and fully wrapped up in my self pity, “Yeah, he’s shit.”
Birdie nodded at me and chewed her bottom lip for a couple beats before she said, “I know you’re bummed and pissed and whatever all the emotions you’re having about not being able to play, but I think it’s actually a really good thing.”
I scoffed and remember feeling slightly offended but then she continued, “Ricky Evans would never get any game time if it wasn’t for you being benched.
It’s a bummer few weeks for you obviously, but your bummer is making one of his best moments possible.
You’ve given Ricky Evans the gift of knowing what it feels like to be out there under the lights on a Friday night.
So yeah, shit for you, but for him, it’s an opportunity he wouldn’t have otherwise.
And you’ll be back out there in no time.
Soo, maybe try to just look at it like that. Might help make it suck less.”
She just shrugged after that, and I remember not knowing what to say in response.
I was in shock a little bit. I never would have thought of it that way, and she simply did.
She shifted my bummer into a blessing. I had a better attitude about the whole thing going forward, and she was ultimately right.
He had a good three games out there before I got my grades back up to an acceptable place. Then back to the bench he went.
* * *
Hal’s Hideaway doesn’t necessarily have the same updated charm as the motor lodge, but I guess it’s charming in its own way. In a very rustic way.
There’s wood paneling floor to ceiling. Not the trendy wood paneling either, we’re talking retro paneling.
There are multicolored Christmas lights strung across the entire ceiling, neon beer signs are plastered on the walls.
The whole place is buzzing with patrons sitting at high top tables enjoying cheap beer and nachos.
There’s dart boards on the other side of the small dance floor, and right now I’m laser focused on the two seats at the end of the bar that just opened up.
It seems like the rain brought everyone in town here tonight.
“There’s two at the end of the bar there.” I say, leaning down to Birdie’s ear, pointing in the direction of the empty stools. She looks at me with a soft smile and does a little prance towards the empty seats.
Birdie shifts up onto the empty stool, leaving the end one for me. I take a seat, and twist to face her more directly. I prop one elbow on the bar and lean into it casually, trying to act unaffected by this whole day.
“Are you okay?” Birdie asks, her brows scrunch together a little, looking like she’s actually concerned.
“I’m just dandy.” I say, teasing, drawing out the word she used earlier, hoping she’ll notice my playful tone.
Birdie smiles and gives my bicep a little punch. “Are you mocking me?” She quips.
“Yeah, a little bit.” I say, smiling. Reveling in the feeling of making her laugh.
“Dick.” She says with a smile on her lips.
“What can I get y’all?” The bartender asks as she slides two coasters onto the counter in front of us.
“I want a big burger and an ice cold beer.” Birdie says confidently.
“I’ll do the same—we’ll do Dos Equis.” I say, nodding towards the tap handle. I know Birdie likes Dos Equis, so I’m confident ordering it for her, hoping I don’t seem like one of those pricks who order for their dates. Not that this is a date at all. At all.
“Sounds good.” The bartender taps twice on the counter before she shuffles off to pour our pints and put our order into her computer.
She’s all business and not chat. I personally prefer that in a bartender.
I’m not usually interested in making small talk with a stranger pouring me a drink, but I know other people crave that companionship.
At the winery I try to gauge my customers and what I feel like they’d prefer.
I always ask a lame question like, “How’s the day treating you?
” When I first greet them. Their answers are usually pretty telling whether or not they want conversation or if they’d rather be left alone.
Birdie is just smiling at me. Like, all of her attention is on me and it’s unnerving. I chuckle and ask, “what?!”
She smiles softly, and shifts in her seat to avoid eye contact. “Nothing… I guess I was just thinking that you’re a really cool guy.”
That admission makes my heart pick up its pace. Those words make my body feel warm. Birdie’s opinions are quite honestly the only opinions I’ve ever really been interested in.
“You’re surprised?” I ask, feeling a pang of sadness thinking about what her perception has been of me until now.
“No. I’ve always known that, I just wasn’t sure if I’ve ever told you that, and I feel like it’s important to tell people whenever you have a good thought about them.
Because otherwise, it’s a wasted thought.
Like what’s the point of having any thoughts at all if they’re just going to stay in your brain?
Because then if you died, those thoughts would just die with you and nobody would remember you by any of your good thoughts.
” She says, in the rambling way she does, and I love every second of it.
Her eyes dart back and forth between the ceiling, her hands, and me, like she needs to be in motion for the entire thought process.
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
” I say, enjoying the way her eyes just shot open, pausing with the glass of cold beer pressed against her lips.
She finishes taking a long sip. She sets the glass gently down onto the bar top and immediately starts rubbing her finger against the condensation on the glass.
“Sorry if that was too forward. I just didn’t want to die being the only one to know I have that thought in my head.” I nudge her arm and our bartender returns with our burgers. Perfect timing.
* * *
We’re about three beers in now. We cleared our plates and we’ve been talking about the last great movies we’ve seen.
“It’s like the movie making people ran out of ideas. All they do is recycle the same stories with new actors or they just make sequels of movies that should most definitely not have a sequel.” Birdie says, apparently very passionate about the topic.
“Especially children’s movies. These poor tiny people who are born to use their imaginations are forced to watch sequel after sequel of movies they probably could have come up with in their sleep.” I add, egging her on.
“You’re onto something! Maybe kids should be in charge of the movie industry.
I bet they could come up with some real original story lines that kids would actually be interested in.
And we could cut out all the adults trying to sneak in their creepy, unnecessary adult humor and subliminal messages! ”
“You’re a lot of things, Birdie. Boring isn’t one of them.” I say, with a chuckle as I take the last swig of my beer and signal our bartender for the check.
Birdie turns in her bar stool to face me, knees touching the side of my leg and she pokes my bicep, like a firm poke that actually kind of hurts.
“Why are you saying these nice things to me?”
The bartender slides the check in front of me and I reach into my pocket for my wallet.
I take the receipt and slide my card forward and try to figure out what to say to that.
Because I don’t know why I’m saying them.
Nothing has changed. I can’t have her. I won’t have her.
But I also can’t stand not telling her. Maybe it’s the alcohol induced courage or maybe just the circumstances of this day.
But I don’t really give a shit. I want her to know.
“Because I’ve been having those thoughts ever since I’ve met you and a wise woman once told me that there’s no point in having a good thought if you’re not going to share it.
” I admit, and it feels like a weight was lifted from my shoulders.
The weight and pressure of keeping my feelings about Birdie locked in tight is starting to loosen, to crack open, and it feels dangerous.
Like I’m scared that if I start, I won’t be able to stop and all that will be left is ruin and destruction.
“So let me get this straight. You thought I was cute when you first met me?” Her eyebrows are crinkled and she’s leaning on the bar top, dangerously close to me.
“I said you are beautiful, but yeah. We were in grade school and I didn’t really know a lot about girls, but I knew you were something.
In your overalls and cowgirl boots.” I admit again as I’m filling out the receipt, making sure I leave a good tip and make sure all of our drinks and food were added correctly—habit from working the bar at Southbound.
The gears are turning, I can tell, but before she gets another word out, I say, “Alright. You ready? We should probably get some rest. It’s been a day.”
Birdie hasn’t looked away from me, yet her expression is unreadable. She nods and follows me towards the doors.