Human Fly

 The warm, yellow light of the room almost gives me a sense of ease. The ceilings are too tall, the tables too close and a shiver goes through me. It's the end of November, not quite winter, but the chill in the air will leave me cold to my bone until May. The line starts to gather for food and drinks at the bar, the only location to order. I am grateful for my full beer. I drink, looking through the clear part of the glass until it becomes a swirl of light reflecting off the thick bottom. The brown froth eases into my mouth and I only take a small sip, letting the bitterness hit my tongue. I taste the hops and my nose inflames instantaneously making me sneeze. My pink lips leave a mark on the rim, the lipstick I forgot I was wearing reminding me in a creased grease print. I snap a quick picture, sending it off before I can lose my nerve. I revel in the momentum that is my inebriated brain choosing to under think, for once. I try to fill the awkward pause with my companion. I can feel his energy through his jostling leg. He talks about the food his girlfriend is preparing at home. I can tell he is excited to be back with her, unable to shake off the edge of feeling that if he wanders away too long, he may never be able to come home. He sends off a few quick messages, hoping to entice her to come along. She does, eventually, but it becomes strange, the trifecta of a pair of strangers who used to be better friends and a woman who feels more like a third wheel, but in truth we both feel simultaneously as such. I casually text with my own stranger, a man with a name I adore. I say so at any chance. 

"I always wanted to name my first son, Chris," I don't state the obvious name of my son, another Greek name, not so common in my family, "I love that it can be a boy name and a girl name. It just sounds so... I dunno. I just like it." I don't bother finishing my thought, because it is met with another awkward silence as my friend taps away at his phone, slips it in his pocket, never once skipping a beat with his knee bouncing away. I stare into another swig of my beer. I'm delighted to get a response, a photo of Chris drinking a beer across the state in another bar. I smile and tuck my phone into my back pocket. I try to think of something else to say, but instead, mumble about a bathroom break before responding to the message. I feel guilty. I am giddy and excited for my newest crush responding to me as if he may like me back for once. I am unsure of myself, but try to keep up my confidence. Either way, I tell myself, he can just be a friend. It's never a bad idea to just get to know someone. I look in the bathroom for the first time, seeing no one, I steal a glance at my outfit in the mirror. My black sweater is worn, but it hides my belly in a flattering way. I use the bathroom and respond to the message, somewhat probing and perhaps a bit flirty. 

I return to the bar, happy and with a fresh smear of lipstick. I try again at awkward exchanges. I miss the friendship that had seen better days. Before I decided to attempt to burn a bridge. Before I crushed someone I loved when I wished it was a different type of love. The kind of deep caring that wanted more from a friendship. I wanted badly to be the 'one' for him. I wasn't sure if it was me protecting myself waiting to develop deeper feelings or if it was truly all that could grow from the pairing. My cheeks pink slightly at the thought of throwing my hat into the ring and only realizing, it wasn't that I wanted his company in my bed, but that I wanted company. I only embarrassed us both by suggesting there may be more to be gained than a warm place to sleep along side me. I look down at the floor, noticing the knot holes in the light wood planks. Wishing that I had something interesting to say. I take another sip of my beer and look around at the line that seemed to only grow in my absence. His knee bounces hard and he comments on it, noticing that I keep looking directly down at the sight. He opens up more, then. Maybe because the line starts to die down and when we near the end of our glasses, more drinks magically appear. Tasters of things the bartender wants to share, my friend a clear charmer of sorts. We no longer have to wait in line and I am grateful, as I had already stood in line twice before and didn't want to repeat the feeling. We order directly from the bar, even though the line continues to grow, the bartender eager to share a few inside jokes before returning to the rush of pouring pints. 

A band sets up and we laugh at our own inside jokes, but that doesn't entirely mean our awkward pauses are over. Eventually, they take a break and we settle into another round that I am unsure I need. My body is becoming slower than my mind and I am slurring words that I know in my head to be clear. The texting is different now and we are talking music. Chris confesses that his older sister knows all the bands on my playlist I sent him. I am unsure if I admire the fact that he is sharing my playlist with his family or if the feeling that he is too young will over take it. I go back to my friend's house where his three giant dogs trample me instantly. His girlfriend is still cooking and it smells heavenly. He brings her beers and hellos from their favorite bartender. Her children eye me with suspicion and I take it all in. The closeness of the walls, the smell of cinnamon and yeast in the air, the bleeding scratches down the front of my legs hidden under my thick jeans, and the intimacy between them all as a family. The children show off, stomping up and down the stairs and playing coy, but pointed games that I take with a grain of salt. His girlfriend shares a prized beer from their trip to the beach only a month ago, when it was after the busy season, but still warm enough to enjoy the outdoor bars. It's just as heavy as the beers I had been drinking all night, thick with hops, which causes my nose to run. I use a tissue from my pocket to swipe my nose as I send off more replies. I would think it added to the trust of the children, but they only look at me with more distaste, thinking I was texting their step in father, rather than my crush hundreds of miles away. 

The tv is blasting and I am comfortable. I eat bags of junk food, unable to soak up the tiredness and the feeling of inebriation. My friend dozes on his girlfriend's lap as she plays with his hair. I cough gently remembering he admitted he liked his hair tugged during sex, realizing I shouldn't know such things when this relationship is still new. I make a point to say I am not as drunk as I know I am or as drunk as they think I am and mentally think of the closest fast food taco place on the way home. It is a long drive and I am sure I will sing loudly and forget my turn, with a belly full of beer and tacos within the hour. The highway is illuminated by my lone headlights. During the day, it is easy to be stuck going ten miles under the speed limit. I relish in the ability to speed and cruise down the dark pavement singing the wrong words to my favorite classic rock hits, forgetting that I am possibly reliving the days of my youth with wiser eyes. 

I am nervous and I wonder if he is only here to pet my dog since he barely gives me a mild hello before inviting himself inside. I thought we would meet somewhere more public, but at the last second, I suggest he come meet my newly adopted pom. She rolls onto her back and kicks a paw at him while his heart melts and he pets her soft belly. I offer him a drink and he politely refuses. I try to make small talk, which is nearly impossible while I mask my true feelings. I usually come across as strange on first dates, and I suppose even the fact that we met through a mutual friend doesn't seem to have deterred him in the slightest. He had shown up to ten classes in a row, not that I had counted, of my pints and poses yoga class taught in an old basement of a former church. He and I had exchanged simple words after class for most of the classes before exchanging numbers. He had admitted to changing to another yoga class taught closer to home, which I had taken no offense to since he was still sort of new to yoga. I wasn't sure if the fact that I was in a position of power as a teacher was more uncomfortable or the fact that I was not sure how old he was and feared it was a low number. We eventually walked our way to the center of the city, making a stop at a bar I had recommended. There was only one other patron at the bar, which left it feeling more awkward. I wished there was a buzz of people to fill the space so it felt more hip, more like a local haunt, than like the wasteland it currently looked like. How many times had I walked into the place wondering if I could get a table and tonight, when I was trying to impress someone, it was deserted. We peeled off our coats, making small talk and looking at the beer list. I picked one quickly and ordered. Food menus were placed in front of us and I found a sandwich that sounded good. I wondered if I should pay since I had invited him out, but settled on seeing how my mood was once the bill came. We talked about games he enjoyed and I struggled to find the names of ones I had played. The awkward pauses came, but I wasn't sure quite yet if it was because he wasn't interested in me or if the bar was killing any chance of a mood. We ate our food in silence and paid separately before downing the last of our beers and moving along to another location. 

I came back from the restroom and ordered another vodka tonic. He had opened up more and maybe I had as well. We teased each other and I demanded he empty his pockets. Curiously, he did as I asked and I looked through his relics as he embarrassingly apologized for old photographs he had kept. I found it odd, not endearing, that he had apologized. He shared that his ex was abusive looking directly into my eyes. I was still masking my feelings so I said I was sorry he had to deal with that, knowing full well my own story. I tucked the photo safely back behind some hole punched frequenter cards and snuck a peak at his ID. He was a lot younger than I had thought. I didn't have to do the math, since his date of birth was so close to the millennium that my stomach clenched. I didn't need to do the math to know he was old enough to be my son. I was disappointed, but still determined to have an evening worth having. I asked the bartender their name, what their favorite hobbies were, and they opened up to me. They showed me a scene of a storm and my jaw dropped. It was beautiful and haunting. They admitted to being a storm chaser and had since stopped using a male name, switching to female as they had felt it was more suited to their inner being. Tears welled in my eyes and I knew I was glad to ask more than just their name. My date, turned companion, agreed to walk back and see my new pom one last time before departing. I was still unsure of their interest until they made excuses and left my house practically running out the door without even a hug. I locked the dead bolt and sighed. Was I destined for mild interactions or will I someday find something more?

For a period of time, I saw Chris in passing and we would exchange hellos, but it only lasted a few months. I told myself I was busy, or that he was, but the sting of rejection hung between us despite the potentially glaring reasons. Each time I saw him after a time, I looked down at the floor, feigning an excuse to look at my phone, or to fumble with my watch, until I eventually stopped pretending and just held my head high in passing. Realizing, I don't have to have a reason to ignore someone, even if my heart felt a slight jolt if I thought too hard about it. 

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