Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Four:

With the night off, I make plans to meet my friend Iris at the nearby dive bar. My hair is still up in the claw clip, curls blowing in the breeze as I walk up to the bar. A strand sticks to my lipstick, and I peel it from my lips once I step inside. Rap music from the 1990s is blasting, and it's surprisingly packed in here for a Monday.

My foot sticks to the floor—residue from a cocktail that wasn't cleaned up and left to dry. The age range in here looks to be from the early thirties to the fifties. I feel eyes on me as I scan the bar looking for Iris's slicked jet black hair.

"Damn," an older man says to me as I breeze past him. Despite me not acknowledging him, the glint of a wedding band is clear on his hand. Men never cease to disappoint me.

If only I were a few inches taller, I might be able to see above all the tall, gross men in here. All their smells create a strong mix of cheap cologne and sweat. The lights are dim, besides some neon glows from the signs hanging from the walls.

A hand grips my elbow, chubby fingers lacing themselves around my arm, pulling me in a certain direction. I quickly look down at the hand. Dark hair on the knuckles, pudgy, and painted with middle-aged wrinkles. I don't mind older men; in fact, older men are all I've ever dated. In high school, it was a challenge I created for myself. In the grocery store, my childlike fifteen-year-old face would smile sweetly at any man I saw, watching as their eyes widened in surprise that a girl my age even noticed them. I very rarely let them do anything; I just enjoyed the attention it brought me.

My freshman year, after just turning fifteen, I met Nathan. A twenty-five-year-old who played the guitar in a crappy band. They were performing at a restaurant Iris and I were at. I locked eyes with him, shot him my smile, and he waited for me by the door of the restaurant after his show ended. He asked for my age; I told him; he didn't care. Said I looked and acted maturely for my age. Something I was told often. We hooked up a few times; he bought my friends and me alcohol and let me smoke his weed; and then I cut all ties with him after he became overly creepy. Showing up at my school, spamming me with endless texts every day, demanding I spend more time with him.

My lack of attention at home, I received from these men. It made me feel pretty, wanted, needed. Despite how disgusting they all were.

The hand holding onto my elbow belongs to a chubby Hispanic male who looks like he wants to devour me on the spot.

Carefully, I peel my elbow from his grasp, giving him a smile.

This intrigues him. "Can I buy you a drink?" He asks.

I pretend I can't hear him over the music.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He yells, and I wince like it pierced my ears.

"That'd be great." I tell him. Free alcohol is free alcohol; it doesn't matter who's buying it.

He can barely contain his excitement, and the friends he came with are giggling like schoolgirls at the table behind him, all of them in shock that I said yes. I follow the man over to the bar, where he orders me a Jack and Coke, not my preferred option but better than nothing.

"You from here?" He asks me, and my nose scrunches at the smell of alcohol filtering from his mouth.

I nod and take the drink happily, placing the straw in my mouth. My eyes widen, and I pretend to spot Iris behind me. I gingerly place my hand on his shoulder. "I'll be right back. I just spotted someone I know." I tell him, and his mouth hangs open like he wants to stop me but doesn't know how.

Quickly, I move past him, disappearing into the sea of people, until eventually I do find Iris. She's sitting at a table, drink in front of her, as she stirs her straw around absently.