Trouble

I told Melanie repeatedly that if she wanted to go out, she could, but I wouldn't join her. And because we had always done everything together since our first date, we stayed home for the last four months. However, seeing her unhappy, especially during the previous two weekends, I gave up. She was thrilled when I told her I wanted to go out.

The bar was empty even though we showed up at 11 PM. Melanie got us two beers, and we played at a pool table for half an hour. Then, from nowhere, the bar was buzzing. Most of the arrivals were our age. The bartender greeted everyone with her huge smile—it was obvious she knew them all, and we were the only strangers.

As soon as people ordered their drinks and chose their seats, a young woman the exact size of Melanie came to challenge us. Melanie accepted it. This little girl named Tana, with her husband Emanuel, crushed us in no time. Melanie challenged them back, and off we played the second game. We played better in this one. Nevertheless, we lost with three balls on the table.

A cigarette break was necessary for my little bird and me. Outside, I tried to talk some sense into her. I told her to let it go that the night was long, and these people were pretty good. Melanie's mouth didn't shut for almost a minute, but at least she disrespected me in a hushing voice. I knew this was coming; thus, I didn't let it sink.

When Melanie stopped calling me names, she dropped her half-smoked cigarette, stamped it, and spun on it. I still had a few puffs left; I intended to use every single one to calm myself before going back inside.

As I turned, the bartender handed a short glass to Melanie. I took a deep breath and went to join my little bird at the bar.

Her left hand, close to her face, held a slice of green fruit with white powder on the back of her thumb, while her right hand held the glass.

"Tequila?"

She didn't even bother to respond; she licked the salt, shot the alcohol, and bit the lime.

Because it was my idea to come, I didn't want to hold her back with the alcohol, especially not now, only an hour after we had just arrived. So, I looked at the bartender and ordered the same drink to prove to Melanie I was still fine being there. Still bitter, she strolled towards Tana and Emanuel. Quickly, I poured down the alcohol to catch up with her.

Of course, all sweet, she talked to the married couple. She knew very well how to pretend.

For our next game, we had to wait because our new friends were playing other folks in the bar. However, we didn't need to wait long. Before Melanie popped back in from the toilet, I set the balls for Emanuel to break. This game took much longer. Melanie began with the defence; I did precisely the same—as if that mattered. We lost for the third time.

"Again!" My girlfriend's hand hit the rail. Then she stormed off.

I took the money that slid from the cushion to the cloth and inserted it into the coin mechanism of the table.

My little bird brought a plate with four Tequila shots just before I set the table. Not waiting on anyone, she tossed it down her throat without using the salt or lime. I tried to be as friendly as at the beginning, so I drank the shots with the married couple.

This game was Tana's turn to break. She didn't make any balls, so it was my turn. As I tried to decide which balls to play, Emanuel stood between his wife and Melanie; he admitted they had played the eight-ball for the last seven years every night, plus most weekends, they played tournaments. Right away, I understood they hustled us. Yet, looking at my love, her face said it all – she didn't care; she wanted to beat them.

Again, we lost. However, before Melanie could say anything, Emanuel told us he was tired.

"Nonsense! Suck it up."

"I'm tired as well." Tana hung her cue stick on the wall next to her husband's. They said their goodbyes and fled the pub.

Outside, smoking alone, I silently thanked God for Emanuel and his wife and their thoughtfulness. I knew it wouldn't be a relaxing night out with my little bird, yet I hoped.

When I walked back inside, Melanie stood behind the foosball table with two men opposite her.

"Come on, James."

I looked at the table behind Melanie. Her purse, two beers, and two shot glasses with quarters of lime and salt were on it. One of the shots was already empty. I put my cigarettes inside the half-moon bag, drank beer, and gripped my two handles. The guys opposite me wickedly smiled.

"Let's show these apes how it's done," Melanie said.

With that, the guys looked at each other and twitched their eyebrows.

We played all eleven balls. We lost five to six.

Even though Melanie is one head shorter and half my body size, frantic, she shoved our side of the table into the air. Then, as the foosball thundered, she let go of the handles. In the next moment, she downed the second shot.

"Again, donkeys!" Melanie grabbed her beer with her right hand and chucked half the bottle while the other hand negligently pointed at our opponents.

"You should handle your woman before something happens." The man with a ponytail said in a low voice.

I knew I should let it slide, but from nowhere, I already faced this man punch-length away. I curled my fingers on both hands and, with a stone face, peered into his eye. "Say that again."

Suddenly, the bartender emerged behind this hairy guy with her hand on his shoulder, and without exchanging a single word, he stepped away.

At that moment, I realized the bar had fallen into a cemetery-silence.

"He said you should handle your woman before I happen."

Facing the bartender, not the man anymore, threw me off. I've never hit a woman, and I wasn't planning to do so anytime soon. Therefore, I took a step back.

"I have no problem with you. But this man," I pointed at the man with the ponytail, "better not talk about my woman, or he'll regret it."

"That's enough. Get your belongings and go."

The bartender was fuming. I knew this was the end for Melanie and me, at least in this bar.

"Screw you, bimbo. I'm going nowhere." Melanie sat at one of the chairs at our table and fixed her eyes on the bartender.

Why does she always have to be like this? Why can't we have a nice, peaceful night out? Why does it always have to end up like this? Why did I tell her to go out? What did I expect?

"You have one minute."

"Or what, dummy? You gonna call the police?"

"Fifty-five seconds. And no, I'm gonna kick both of you out myself."

Standing beside Melanie, with my back to everyone, I reasoned with her. Drunk, and in her stubbornness, she wasn't budging. There was nothing I could do.

The bartender marched towards us as soon as she said the time was up.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on my woman."

That was the last thing I remember saying. Then I heard only Melanie's screams. I've never heard her cry so loud in our twelve years of relationship. I wanted to assure her everything was okay, but without my permission, I lost consciousness.