Anderson pulled his Tacoma into the parking lot behind the bar. He didn't like this. Nope! Didn't like it a bit. Darn his mom. Why did he always say yes to her? How many times did he have to tell her he was fine. Everything was just friggin fine. If he said it enough he might actually believe it.
But, nope, roped into another blind date. 'My best friend, Betsy has a daughter and she's smart, beautiful, accomplished ...and tall. Oh, and hasn't been on a date in quite a while. Just like you, Hon.' Barf.
Coffee! He'd suggested they meet some place during the day and have coffee or get dinner, but she was insistent on this bar. He was pretty sure this was a bad idea. Bars--hell, he'd only been in a bar a few times in his life--and those were sports bars to watch a game he could't get on TV or his computer.
Nope! Not his kind of place. Why pay seven dollars for a beer when you could get a six pack for that? But he didn't drink much anyway. He'd made some bad choices in college that still haunted him. Nothing too bad in the big scheme of things, but things he regretted even now five years later. Why the hell did memories from the past suddenly and unexpectedly pop up and plague you for a while before disappearing again?
But here he was, fifteen minutes early. Figured he'd scope out the place. He rubbed the dash of his Tacoma. He loved this truck, had to, he guessed--every spare dime he had went to support his family. And it had been good to him. Two years of high school, four years of college, some graduate courses and nothing but oil, filters, tires and batteries.
He now had two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it, an '08, and the same dents it came with. He smiled to himself, no extra charge for those the guy had said. 'Gives her character.' Sure. And gray, plain old gray. If it would just holdup for a few more years...
Tacomas were small back then, not the big old things they were now, but it was affordable and the seat went back far enough so his legs weren't all crunched up. Damn, he still felt like one of those daddy long legs or some spider or something. Nothing but arms and legs; good for basket ball, but not a real chick magnet. Could be the shortest date ever.
God, why was he doing this? He hated this part of town--never came here. He saw enough of this part of town on the news every night, well, at least when he watched the news. Heck, all he wanted to know about was the weather, he was too busy to take on the world's problems.
But he watched it enough to know he shouldn't be here. What kind of girl would want to meet here? He chuckled to himself, maybe she was one of 'those' girls and he'd get lucky. He shook his head. Not much chance of that. It'd been quite a while.
He opened the door, hesitated, almost turned around; no, his mom would be really ticked if he didn't at least meet her. Who the hell was Betsy anyway? He walked in and up to the bar. "Diet soda, please." The bartender frowned at him and he noticed a woman at the end of the bar studying her phone who also suddenly frowned. Ah, just another day of being judged by the inhabitants of this universe and found lacking. Wonderful.
Dang! Maybe he could use that for a game. A tall, gangly spider type guy out of sync with the universe who manages to...he'd have to work on it. She was pretty, though and he kept glancing her way as he looked around the bar.
Not much of a bar. Dark, neon lights, beer adds, and of course, the new hot drink--tequila. He'd tried that before. Yuk. Beer, maybe wine, a little bourbon...but not tequila. Definitely not tequila.
Despite the neons, the bar was poorly lit, tables and booths, a pool table in the back, a number of screens with different sports events, and noise--way too much noise. Way, way too much noise. A constant rumble of voices punctuated by too loud speech or laughter. He liked...quiet, peace, order.
But oh, no, 'Let's meet at some piece of crap bar.' And like the man he was, he'd said 'Sure, that'd be great!' He hadn't used the exclamation point. That would have been oh, so gauche. He chuckled to himself. Way to step up and be the dominant male.
He glanced at the woman at the bar again as she studied her phone. On second thought, she was beautiful. Long blonde hairy that glistened on the dull overhead light, soft, feminine features that somehow seemed hardened or roughened. He nose had a slight bend in it. And she looked great in that tee shirt. He chuckled again and she frowned. 'Save the Planet.' Who the heck wore a save the planet shirt anymore? But she looked good in it--great, in fact.
His phone went off. 'Andy, sorry. Will be a half hour late. Work stuff.' He knew it! She probably wasn't going to show at all. He should just say the hell with it and leave. Enough of this blind date crap, but... 'That'll be fine. No problem.' Gag. Why was everything fine? Why did he just let the world do what it wanted to him? Ever since his father left, his life was never fine. It just...was.
Shit, he wanted to be home working on the games or apps--new characters, new weapons, new terrain, or de-glitching. Always a challenge when they sent him a file that had to be straightened out. Find the bad code, put in some new, and then maybe just enhance everything a little bit.
The one he'd just gotten though was a pisser. He hadn't been able to track down the problem. He was getting close though, he could feel it!
His clients loved it. He'd been offered in-house jobs, but he preferred freelance. More control, he could take some time off and hike or take a kayak down the river, but good insurance and a 401k would be nice. But then, he never actually took the time to hike or do those things. And there never actually was any free time. Work and family took all of his time--and then some.
Dating? No time for that. Every day seemed like trying to cram a day and a half into twenty-four hours. Taking care of his mom and siblings...Damn! There was always something to do or pay for or fix. So dating was way, way down the list of to do's.
Although, as he thought about it, he really missed having someone in his life other than family. His thoughts flashed back to Tiffany. Tiffany Grainger. Best friend as they grew up transformed, at least in his mind, into something special by the time they hit the eighth grade, but then her dad left and her mom moved to California--she was gone. Probably once a year he searched online for her in every way he could think of--nothing.
Anyway, he looked around and spotted a girl sitting alone in a booth nursing a beer and nervously looking at the guy with the women in the corner. There was some kind of link there. She wasn't happy. Her whole being seemed sad or tired or something--and fearful. She was scared. Really scared. Her hand was trembling as she reached for the beer and took a sip.
Wait! He knew her! TIFFANY! It couldn't...how could it...He slid off the bar stool, although his feet were nearly to the ground anyway, walked over to the booth and slid in across from her. She looked up--startled, frightened. "Tiffany Grainger! I haven't seen you since your folks split up and you moved away in the eighth grade! How have you been?"
"You can't be here. You have to leave! Go! Now! Who are you anyway?"
"Anderson Jackson. Remember, you lived across the street? We did everything together from kindergarten to eighth. But I thought you moved out west somewhere. Do you live here now?"
"Andy! You have to go! Now!" Looking up and pleading, "Bart! No! He was just a neighbor..."
Anderson was lifted by the back of his shirt, which ripped, and thrown to the floor. "I told you! Unless there's money sliding across the table you don't talk to anyone but me." He slapped her and she stared at the table.
"I'm sorry, Bart. I told him to leave..."
Anderson tapped Bart on the shoulder. "Hey! You can't treat her like..." The fist hit him in the mouth, he felt his lip split and he went down again. Dammit. Blood on his favorite tie. He grew angry, untangled his limbs and stood back up.
"Tiff, you and I are gonna have a long chat. I've warned you about..."
Anderson came up behind him again, "Hey!..." Without even looking, Bart slammed his right hand straight back over his shoulder directly into Andy's face and he went down a third time.
"Don't you move a muscle, Tiff. I'm gonna teach this piece of shit a lesson." He turned around, bent down, grabbed Anderson by the front of his shirt and his tie and pulled him within striking distance. He raised his right hand to deliver the first blow, but a hand caught it.
"Hold that thought, Bart. Wait just a second." He went to pull his hand away, but she had it firmly in her grasp.
"Who the fuck are you? You're next, right after I beat the shit out of..."
"Oh, hush, Bart." Looking at Anderson. "Are you Andy?" Anderson nodded.
"You're the girl at the bar. Are you Antonia?"
"Yup. Sorry, Scooter. I can't let you hurt him. He's my date. You know it's kind of a his mom, my mom sort of thing...I can't let him go home...well, anymore beat up than he already looks. I'm sure you understand."
Bart stood up. "Scooter! No one calls me fucking Scooter."
