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12
Mikal
It had been a week since Trisha left to be with her son. We’d texted back and forth, but nothing more than friendly conversations. We might as well have been talking about the weather.
Nothing was the same without her here. Not even my everyday eatery. I couldn’t go in without them asking about Trisha, how she was, when was she coming back, what a lovely voice she has. Was everything about Trisha? How about how my day was going or asking me what is new?
I got it. If I had the chance, I’d want to see her too. Funny how she never told me where she was flying off to, and I never asked. At that time, all I knew was that she wasn’t here with me.
I’d been driving around for the past hour trying to find a place to stop and eat. Someplace that didn’t make me think of Trisha. What I realized is that it isn’t a location that had me in this funk. I missed her and couldn’t tell her.
What I need is a drink.
There was a sign for a bar up ahead. Right now, I didn’t even care if they served food or not. I parked in the lot and headed inside. I stopped when I saw how busy it was. Looking around, I didn’t notice anyone that looked familiar. That worked for me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. That wasn’t entirely true. There was one person, just in a totally different time zone based on when she’d sent me a text.
There was an open seat at the bar, and I took it. An attractive woman, probably around Trisha’s age, popped her head up from beneath the bar and said, “Hey there. What can I get you?”
“Anything cold on the tap,” I replied. Something stronger was probably needed, but I was still driving home later.
She came back with a tall glass, and I took a sip. This was a start, but the only thing it did was taste good. It wasn’t going to do anything for the frustration built up inside of me.
“You’re a man who looks like he has a lot on his mind,” the bartender said.
“I’m sure that covers just about everyone in this place,” I replied. Most people drank to forget. I don’t want to forget; I just want her to come home so we can start again.
She nodded and went to serve another patron.
I know I’d do things differently this time. Instead of just letting her go with a hug, I’d pull her into my arms and tell her that I loved her and I’d be here when she returned. Of course, that left the possibility of public embarrassment if she told me she didn’t feel the same.
Damn it. I wish I knew how she felt.
I’m a man who prided myself in being a solo act. Never needed an assistant. But Trisha seems to have her own magic tricks and had put me under some love spell. Is there an antidote? Do I want to find it if there is? This was a feeling like I’ve never imagined. But the saying ‘love hurts’ is an understatement. I’ve had injuries from tricks going wrong that didn’t hurt this bad.
The bartender came back to me with a shot. “Try this,” she said.
“I don’t want to numb it. Just fix it,” I told her.
She rested her elbows on the bar, her chin in her hands. “Listening is one of my specialties.”
“What’s the other?”
“Giving advice,” she smiled. “Spill it. You never know. I might be able to help.”
I looked at her ring finger and it was bare. “Not sure you’re the one to give it.”
She looked puzzled. “How do you know? You haven’t told me anything.”
“Are you married?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Are you?”
Point taken.
“No.”
“So, this is a love issue. I’m great with those. And don’t think that just because you’re a man, that I’m going to say that you’re wrong and she’s right.”
If that was supposed to encourage me to talk to her, she really missed the mark. “I’ll pass. Thanks anyway,” I said.
