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“Yes. Sorry. Just thinking…about hair.” I finish lamely.
He stares at me for a moment before shrugging and holding his hand out. “ID.”
After the bouncer checks my age and stamps my hand, I slide past him into the dark interior of the bar. With Halloween a couple of weeks away, the bars have started decorating for the occasion. Skull-shaped lights dangle from the ceiling all around the room, pairing well with glittery spiderwebs and painted pumpkins. The place smells like damp wood and beer. Jazz music plays from hidden speakers, but in the back of the bar I catch sight of a band setting up their instruments.
It’s been months since I’ve heard live music.
For a Monday night, the place still has a decent crowd. But that’s New Orleans. A never-ending party, especially with a holiday approaching. Of course, Halloween has nothing on Mardi Gras.
In early February, New Orleans explodes like a purple, yellow, and green piñata. Every street becomes a celebration for weeks. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad eased up on their strictstay inside after darkrules to take me down to the parades. Each day we’d pick a spot, setting up chairs and a step ladder for me to stand on. Back then, I wasn’t so tall and needed the help to see over the heads of the drunk partiers. We came home with bags full of goodies tossed from the floats: masks, purses, coins, stuffed animals, flowers, and, of course, beads. I wore so many strings by the end of the night my neck would ache from the weight. I’m lucky I didn’t strangle myself.
The memory of my dad attempting to carry me with the added weight of my plastic jewelry has me smiling.
I wonder if I’ll still be in town for the wildness this year.
Would Mom and Dad want to go out? Could I convince my taciturn father to raise his hands in the air, begging the float ridders to toss him a prize?
The image has me chuckling to myself.
But almost as fast as the bubbly feeling comes, my humor fades away to a sense of sad loss. Chances are I won’t be here. By that time, I should be employed, most likely in a city far from New Orleans. Somewhere I can start my life fresh. On my own. Without relying on my parents to support me every time I stumble.
I’m supposed to be an adult. My days of being carried home by my dad are long gone.
And that is why tonight I shouldn’t even be hoping that this is a date. No reason to get attached to a guy when I’m going to be leaving soon. Maybe Dash can just be my friend for the moment. Someone to show me the parts of New Orleans I missed out on when I was younger.
Tomorrow, I’ll stop putting off the inevitable. I’ll update my resume and send it out. Any place that sounds even slightly appealing, I’ll throw my hat into the ring.
I’ll be the responsible, capable adult I’ve always wanted my parents to see me as.
And when I get hired, I’ll leave New Orleans behind again.
This time for good.
DASH
The guy sitting next to me at the bar scowls my way. That’s when I realize I’ve been rapping my knuckles on the wood in a light nervous rhythm. I stop and turn my back on him.
Excitement rattles through my nerves, and I’m so twitchy people probably think I’m jonesing for a hit.
Only if they consider a woman to be addictive.
This adrenaline, the fast fluttering in my veins, the distinct pound of my heart pulsing under my ribcage, is familiar. It’s the same reaction I had moments before I’d jimmy the lock on some poor bastard’s Toyota. My body would vibrate, but my hands would stay steady as I reached under the dashboard to hotwire the car. Then I’d revel in the growl of the engine, grip the steering wheel tight, and press the gas pedal down to make a quick getaway that earned me my nickname.
All the warning signs are here.
I ignore them.
Even fate seemed to be against me making this date. My crap car refused to start no matter how many times I turned the key in the ignition. After popping the hood, I realized it wouldn’t be a quick fix.
I could’ve canceled.
I should’ve canceled.
Instead, I gritted my teeth and dealt with the expense of calling a cab. Without a smartphone, I couldn’t even take advantage of the cheaper rideshare services.
Now I’m here, nursing a glass of water, waiting for a girl that affects my body in dangerous ways.
If only I could take a drink to calm my nerves, I might not be so annoying to sit around. But that’s a bad idea. Against my parole. I shouldn’t even be in a bar. But, how can I show Paige the NOLA nightlife, everything she’s been missing, without bringing her to a place where people are drinking?
