I sat at the end of the bar tapping my fingers on the side of my bottle, feeling completely frustrated and as usual when something is bugging me, my hair was wrapped tightly around my finger. My husband's words replayed in my head over and over again. I sat stewing about the things I should have said and the points I should have made. My heart felt heavy, and my stomach twisted, but still I practiced the skill I learned long ago of beer chugging, as if when I reached the bottom, my troubles would be gone.
With the bottom facing the ceiling I sucked the suds from the empty bottle and slid it in next to the four empties I had lined up perfectly beside me. The bartender pushed another in my direction from the other side of the bar, not missing a beat of the conversation he was having with a gorgeous twenty something bimbo. I raised my hand to thank him, shifting on my stool and suddenly wishing I would have changed out my pencil skirt and into some jeans before storming out of the house.
I didn't go to bars often, in fact almost never, so I felt a tad uncomfortable and found myself starring at the pictures on the walls trying to concentrate on the music coming from the jukebox. From what I could tell the bar was pretty empty, not that I cared. I forced myself to stop thinking of my selfish husband, as a dull headache throbbed at my temples. A weak smile pulled at my lips as Reba McEntire sang, "If I were a boy."
With my back hunched, and my shoulders drawn in, I sucked in another deep breath and blew it out in sigh through my pursed lips. Absently, I released my hair from my finger and undid the first two buttons of my cream colored blouse. Feeling annoyed I kicked my plain black pumps off my feet and listened, with some amusement, as they clanked against the metal foot rod around my stool then crash landed into the wooden floor. The rest of my beer went down easy, and I couldn't help but to roll my eyes at the creep watching me from a few stools away.
"You're not here often are you? You look like you could use some company."
The soft voice came from the other side of me, and when I turned towards it, I was greeted with warm, dark chocolate colored eyes and a gentle smile. I didn't recognize her, and although I found her comment strange, she wasn't a drunken man who had been eyeing me all night, and she was a welcome diversion.
"Well I don't go out much, just needed a beer or six tonight," I told her with a smile that felt great on my face. I didn't want to give details, as I was sure my husband was doing that enough for the both of us. He was probably on the phone with Joe, talking like a high school girl would to her best friend at that very moment. Joe no doubt had heard every detail of our argument, had put his two cents in, and now they were making plans to go golfing on Sunday.
Her smile widened, "Yeah, I don't go out much either," she said pushing her long, curly brunette hair off to one side.
Her eyes were glossy like she had been crying recently, but I figured she had probably just had a few drinks. She was young, maybe thirty, with soft features and a slim but curvy figure. Her worn jeans hugged her waist and her plain purple tank contrasted nicely with her sun kissed tan. Another heavy sigh, as I remembered I would be forty next month, and with that thought I flagged the bartender down motioning for my seventh beer.
"I'm Anya," she said thrusting her hand in my direction. Her peach colored lip gloss caught the light above the bar as she said her name, and absently I sucked in my bottom lip and bit it.
"I'm Renee."
As I shook her well manicured hand, I mentally noted to redo do mine soon.
"Long day?" she asked, her large eyes flashing a hint of sympathy.
"You could say that." I really didn't want to talk about my personal problems, and wondered what it was about me that made her curious. "I guess sometimes a cold beer, and a greasy hamburger is just what I need to end a day that didn't go well." I smiled at my own words, and felt some of the tension I was feeling ease.
"Or a really big plate of nacho's and extra cheese," she said following her comment with a girlish giggle.
I watched her order rum and coke, and light a cigarette. She offered me one, and feeling slightly guilty I accepted it. I hadn't had a cigarette in almost three months but at the moment I didn't care. The smoke felt harsh on my throat as I inhaled, and I had to grip the edge of the bar until my lightheadedness passed. The hint of rebellion in the act of smoking brought another smile to lips.
I noticed Anya studying my face and straightened my back, slightly intrigued. I had to admit that she was helping the rude memories of my heated argument dissipate.
"Have you been married long?" she asked looking at my wedding ring.
"Long enough," I told her twisting it on my finger. "Almost eight years."
"I just got divorced," she said, her lips taking on a firm pout.
"Well at the moment, I'd say you're lucky." My heart flipped as the words spilled from my lips, I wasn't sure if that was where my marriage was headed but for a split second the idea didn't seem horrible.
Her full lips lifted into a coy grin, and her delicate eye brow arched. "Ah, one of those nights," she said nodding her head. She tapped her cigarette then shrugged her shoulders. "I've had plenty of those."
I chugged my beer, feeling the effects of the liquid courage and decided abruptly that she was someone I'd probably never see again, and if she wanted to know then I'd tell her. "Yeah, I guess it is. I had an argument with my thick headed husband, who seems to not hear me when he thinks he's right about something." It felt pretty good to say it, and it made me smile again, he definitely was thick headed.
"They never understand. You could argue until you're blue in the face and they won't budge, even if they know you're right."
"That is absolutely true." I started spewing to her then, I told her about every problem in my marriage in the last six months, and she listened intently seeming to understand everything, or at least pretended to. At the end of thirty minutes I felt much better, relaxed even. We talked as if we had known each other for years, laughing and making jokes at the cost of men.
It was when I slipped off my stool to excuse myself to the ladies room that things went in a totally different direction. I lost my balance and fell against her. She laughed with me as she helped me to my feet. I was embarrassed, but not as much as I would have been in any other similar situation.
"Let me walk with you," she said gripping my arm until she was sure I had my balance.
"Thanks, I guess eight is too many when you don't drink regularly."
