35

3. A Stranger

   The LED lights flickered a calm green and purple, glimmering off of Cindy's full glass of red wine that she hadn't yet touched. She'd been sitting there for a solid hour, wondering, thinking to herself. She didn't want to leave this place, in fact she wanted to stay forever, because it meant quite a lot to her to be here. Unbeknownst to a majority of those who attended the Rosemary Saloon, this had been the loneliest the woman had felt in years, though it was moreso a melancholy remedy that brought her. She felt good that despite the sadness, she could have the last say in where to go and what to do. Her own decisions were dictated by no one, and it felt good. 

She'd barely sipped on her beverage and stared at it for a good while until a voice suddenly pinged in her right ear.

   "I've seen you here before," one of the men near her seat gave her a gander and a smile. She could catch the man looking her up and down as he waited for a response, but she didn't care. She naturally hesitated to respond, the anxiety filling up into a ball that rested comfortably in her gut, until her voice finally spoke to him.

"Sometimes, yeah. Been here a few times."

The man looked at the glass in her hand and noticed it was hardly empty at all. She'd barely touched her drink.

   "Not much of a drinker, huh?" He mentioned to her. Trying to string up a conversation with this woman was going to be a chore in and of itself, he thought. She already looked disinterested.

Cindy laid eyes on her drink, completely forgetting at that moment that she even had a drink in front of her at all. "Not really," she muttered. "I don't drink much."

'Was this man dangerous?' was the first idea that krept up within the woman's mind. It was the only thing in her mind that lived there.

"Well, that's certainly interesting," he chuckled. "Girl hangs out at a bar but doesn't drink."

Her response took a few seconds to cook, as she sipped on her glass again. "Well, I have my reasons."

   The man wasn't bad looking, she'd rolled around the thought in her mind. He was a relatively average looking man, appearing almost as tall as her. She didn't mind that. She could've cared less about the height of a man for that matter. He had a barely noticeable beard developing that looked like it had just been shaved maybe a week prior, and was getting ready to grow itself back in again. He looked relatively clean, his brown curly hair was shining thoroughly despite the harsh colors of the LED Lights reflecting in the strands. You couldn't miss the pronounced brown color, or the color of the eyes. They were a solid green. She'd taken note of that.

   There was a song that began to play from the loud speaker. A Pearl Jam number kicked in, and was almost immediately recognizable to her. 'Better Man' began to bleed through the bar. It made the experience just a tad more comfortable to her. This was a favorite song of hers. She'd listened to it many years back during the years that she was ill.

When she was ill.

"My name is Brandon," the man began again. "You like Pearl Jam?"

A small smile grew on her face. It was the first time she'd smiled tonight. "Yeah, I do."

   The chubby bartender returned to the table, noticing the emptiness of Brandon's hands, almost as if he'd been reading the stranger's mind that entire time.

"Whiskey sounds good." Brandon said.

Whiskey.

   Her body grew tense. Suddenly, she'd felt a little more uncomfortable now, but in all due honesty, it was something she liked. Something she wanted. She gritted her teeth, and barred the thought of that harsh stench of fresh whiskey that would've violated her nostrils. God, she despised that smell.

   "You never told me your name," the man mentioned to Cindy, who had been staring off into the puddle of red that was stationed in her glass. She'd been nonchalantly humming to the song that'd been playing. It was almost over.

She snapped out of her trance, but didn't look at him. "Cindy."

He smirked. "I like it."

   "My father didn't like my name very much." She replied. She didn't know what had compelled her to bring it up to him, but she did. For the first time in a long time, she'd felt the urge to open up. She didn't know how to feel about it.

"Well," Brandon continued in response to her. "Your father probably had a goofy name himself. Insecurity, I assume. What, was it Eugene? Skeeter?"

"Todd". She froze when she said the word. She promised herself she'd never acknowledge him, or his name again, but she was compelled to. She hated that name, so, so much.

   "I see," Brandon said to her, "Still not nearly as nice as Cindy. I think ‘Todd’ needs a brain check." He mocked to ease the tension he could see on her face when her father's name was mentioned.

"Yeah," she responded to him, unsure of how to continue a conversation like this. Her gut was beginning to tighten again. She couldn't fathom taking another sip of the red wine in front of her.

   "You know, years back I had a best friend. His name was Andy. You kind of remind me of him. He was quiet, he didn't talk much, and as far as I knew him, he had a lot in his mind that he didn't tell anyone."

She looked into his eyes, bewildered. "What happened to him?"

His breaths deepened as he heard her ask. He was unsure if he wanted to answer, but he did.

   "He's long gone. He went to join his wife. She died in an accident long before, and it ate him up from the inside. He went out the same way, for her. I was pretty heartbroken to hear it. I still think about him sometimes, but life just keeps going on, man."

Cynthia didn't know how to respond. What did keep her intrigued was how much he was able to know so easily of her. It was almost like he'd read her entire story through her eyes alone.

"I'm sorry to hear, I hope you've found peace with that. That's awful." She responded.

"For the most part," he said. "I mean, everyone dies someday. He wanted to go to see his wife again, and I can't blame him. This world kind of sucks."

   The melancholy conversation was interrupted by the bartender, who'd finally brought the man his whiskey. Cindy could smell the obnoxious stench from here. It lit up her nostrils like a firecracker.

"So, you never exactly told me why you were here," he remarked. "Just to enjoy the scenery? Watch all the couples dancing while you sat by yourself? What's going on?"

   She urged to open up, but kept her guard up. She didn't know what to say to this nosey stranger she'd only met twenty minutes ago. He sipped on his whiskey as if he enjoyed it. Cindy could never.

   "I guess I don't really know how to answer that," she muttered under her breath. "Today is my birthday". Her mind defaulted to the first thought in mind.

"Oh, damn. Birthday huh? All by yourself?"

"You could say that, yes." She added.

   "Why's that? You know I told you about something that's been aching me. It's your turn," he chuckled, innocently at her. He continued on. "You don't gotta worry about me. I'm in my 40's. I lived a pretty good life. I have nothing to hide from anyone."

   "Do you really want to know why I'm here?" She asked, gazing up at the man again, but still refusing direct eye contact. It made her uncomfortable.

"Well, sure. If you want to tell me."

   After a few moments, she looked down at her glass and back at Brandon, who continued sipping on the hard whiskey he'd ordered. It looked disgusting. It smelled disgusting.

"I don't want to say it here, if that's okay with you."