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1
May 2001
I was never one for the bar scene, but it was my twenty-first birthday, and my friends told me that this was where we had to go to celebrate. The Handlebar. It sounds like a biker joint, but it’s not. It’s a small music venue with a bar in our downtown area. I guess they figured guests to the venue would need the drinks to cope with the up-and-coming musicians who played there.
I could have stayed home that night, drunk a few beers on my couch, and then moseyed off to bed at ten. Instead, I was forced into a pair of tight jeans; a flowy, black top; and a pair of shoes that had a heel no woman should have ever subjected their feet to. Then again, there was the other part of me that wanted to go out. I was always in constant conflict with myself.
“Wow, Rachel, you clean up nice,” Kelley joked as she barged through my apartment door. I’m not sure what she would have done if I had ever actually locked my door. I imagined this scenario in my mind often, and I always cracked a smile as I envisioned Kelley crashing into the door that she had expected would open when she turned the handle.
“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes at her. “I hate these damn shoes.” I really did. I looked down at my feet, and I swore I could hear them pleading with me to take off the shoes.
“Cheer up, buttercup. It’s your birthday.” Kelley smiled widely at me and pushed her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders. Everyone loved Kelley. She wasthatgirl. The one everyone wanted as a friend. She was beautiful. I had always envied her long legs and beautiful, blue eyes.
I was Kelley’s opposite. My five-foot-one frame dwarfed next to Kelley, and I definitely didn’t stand out in a crowd with my mousy brown hair. And it didn’t help that I was an introvert, while Kelley loved to party. But for some reason, Kelley was my friend. My best friend, I guess. She didn’t tell me everything, but she told me the stuff she didn’t tell her other friends. That counted for something, didn’t it?
The Handlebar was crowded that night. I’ve never been a fan of crowds, but I pushed a smile on my face, anyway, and pretended to be elated. Chels—our other tall, blonde friend—was raving about the band playing that night. J.R. and the Band. I rolled my eyes at the name. How original.
My friends and I made our way deeper into the tiny music venue, ordered a few drinks at the bar, and then found a high-top table about five hundred feet from the stage. J.R and the Band had already set up their instruments—a piano, drums, guitar, bass, and a microphone centerstage. I took note of the piano. It was not a normal attribute of a rock band.
“Let’s go dance,” Chels exclaimed with a wide and probably too excited grin on her face.
“I’m not dancing,” I told Chels and Kelley. “You two go. I’ll watch.”
Kelley rolled her eyes at me. “Just keep drinking. Join us when you’re ready.”
Kelley and Chels darted off into the crowd, disappearing among the rest of the herd dancing to some horrible ‘80s music that the venue’s deejay was playing through speakers that also seemed to be set at an ungodly volume.
“You don’t dance?” a man’s voice asked from my right side.
I was a little startled. I had no idea anyone was around, much less listening to us. I turned to face the voice and found myself surprised to see a long-haired, blue-eyed, bearded man standing right next to me. He had long, dark hair that was thick and curly. It hung well past his shoulders, and I found myself oddly jealous of how perfect his hair seemed to be compared to mine. His dark beard framed his oval face perfectly, and he wore a pair of Ray-Bans perched atop his head. His black, plaid shirt hung open to reveal a white t-shirt underneath, worn jeans with holes in the knees, and a pair of black boots that had certainly seen better days. He gave me a relaxed, and perhaps even slightly nervous, grin as he watched me look him over.
I was instantly attracted to him. I had always liked this type of man—the kind with a bit of an edge. Bad boy type, I guess. Guys with issues. Maybe I liked setting myself up for failure. My mother would have certainly agreed with that.
“Haven’t had enough of these,” I replied, shaking my vodka tonic at him.
“Ah.” He nodded his head. He continued to look at me with a slight smirk on his face. “You don’t look like the kind of girl who comes to places like these often.” He had to shout to be heard over the music.
I wished they would adjust the volume. My chest was vibrating. “I’m not. My friends forced me here. It’s my birthday,” I explained, “and they thought I would have fun.” I laughed then at the thought of my friends believing that I would consider a place like this fun. “I don’t think they know me as well as I thought.”
He kept the smirk on his face. “Well, happy birthday.”
“Thanks. It’s just a day. Nothing special.”Positive. Find something positive to say.“I hear the band playing tonight is really good.”
The man smiled and then shrugged. “Yeah, they’re all right.”
“We’ll see. I hope they come on soon. My friends are counting on me to join them on the dance floor. No one wants to see that.” Self-deprecation was always my go-to when I was nervous. I was socially awkward.
The man glanced at his watch, and then he turned his beer up before tossing the bottle in a nearby garbage can. “I have to meet up with my friends now. Will you be here after the band plays? I’d love to buy you a birthday drink.”
I smiled at him. “Depends on how good the band is.”
He smiled back. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Rachel.”
“It’s really nice to meet you, Rachel. I’ll see you after the show?”
“Yeah,” I replied. He smiled at me again and then turned to walk away. “Wait! I didn’t getyourname!” I called after him.
