THE LOST CAUSE BAR #wattys2017

Chapter 3

                 

When the disturbance falls silent, I take my chance to listen to those around me and to inspect the walls and other fixtures.

            The chatter is light, normal blue collar, off the clock complaints, they work long, hard hours, they don't get paid enough and absolutely no respect from their higher ups.

The sexy, flirty bartender that served me moves down towards the trio that is talking, grabbing something from underneath the bar before reaching them. The bartender raises his hand, palm down, offering something to his blue collar customer. The guy takes whatever was in the flirty man's hand and vacates his seat, making his way from the bar and off in another direction.

            I turn my chair to follow his progress across the room to a wall with ink on it, it looks like writing, something I had not noticed before.

            As I focus on them I can see that some are small and neat while others are large and messy, a few are bubbly but most are sloppy or illegible altogether.

            The man searched the wall for half a minute before finding a spot and writing something. When he is finished he walks back to his seat slamming the marker on the bar while sitting.

            "better?" the bartender asks.

            "Yea...Can always give our lost causes to the group of lost causes already up on the wall." The bar patron answers back thumbing to the wall for emphasis.

            Is that what is written all over the wall?

            The patrons of the bar write on the wall things that they feel they cannot change. They write it up there to relieve themselves of something that they probably could never change, kind of sounds like my life so far.

            I tap my fingers against the bar three times to get the bar keeps attention.

            "Is there anyway I can borrow that marker?" I question taking the last swig of my beer. He gives me a look then reaches behind the bar, coming out with another marker. I thank him for it and make my way over to the wall of lost causes.

            In the distance, I hear the front door open and an uproar of noise ensues. I shut it out to concentrate on what I am trying to give away.

            When the noise does actually die down I know what to finally write.

                        "Unreliable men who constantly

disappoint who break every promise they have ever

made and then say they are sorry like that will make

it all better."

            It looks like a small paragraph by the time I am done.

I turn back to the bar to order another drink and to return the sharpie marker but some a-hole is sitting in my seat. The ones that were once empty around mine are now full with what appears to be friends of the flirty bartender.

            What makes me irate enough to call him an a-hole is that I can't reach the bar to get another seat let alone another drink due to the groupies surrounding two of the men sitting down, fawning over those two and the master of drinks.

            As I walk up I hear an angry voice loudly informing those around him, "The fucker is leaving town and closing up the place leaving the rest of us floundering for a paycheck."

            The loss of the community pulls at my heart. They need this place and the part it holds, the hope and relief it brings to so many but I also see an opportunity, an opportunity to start something of my own.

            I look around, yes it looks like a dive but it feels comfortable and safe, like home. Purpose fills me and pushes me forward towards the bar and right up to the loud violent voice.

The girls, they are shorter than my 5'11" frame so I am able to see over them.

When I do I thank my parents for my genes.

The a-hole who stole my seat has long rich dark blonde hair, light green eyes that flash with his emotions. His dramatic movements cause his dimples to present themselves, which nicely sets off his square jawline.

That's as much as I can get before the girl in front of me closes rank and moves closer to him, them.

Damn them and their one-track minds.

I take a step closer and clear my throat, loudly trying to get their, his attention. And right as I do the bar's noise level falls making my gesture ring out louder than I intended.

Ooops.