Ireland and I

Chapter 1

It was the way it had always been.

Loud music and bright lights, dancing figures, a sweaty glob of human friction on the dance floor. And me behind the mahogany bar, mixing drinks together for the woman across from me.

"Wow"  she gasped as I pushed the short glass filled with ice and tequila towards her, feeling the cold glass leave my fingertips after she grasped the glass with her big hands, "you're a great server," she winked taking a sip, smudging her dark pink lipstick against the glass and a little on her front tooth.

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet while she smiled at me, that smudge of lipstick lingered on her tooth. I began to distract myself by re-organizing the drinks behind the bar that stand against a mirrored wall.

'Tequila, Gin, vodka, whiskey-' I whispered to myself.

"Hey, server."

My sequence was interrupted by lipstick girl sitting on the bar counter, her black strapless dress was slipping and she giggled while fixing it around her chest area.

"Ma'am" I sighed, ushering her off the bar, but she wouldn't move, instead she turned around to face me, her legs straddled my waist, I could smell the vodka on her breath, and her eyeliner was slightly smudged around her hazel eyes. I squirmed uncomfortably.

"Hey cutie" she giggled leaning in towards me, I shut my eyes and held my arms out in defense, shoving her slightly back, she shrieked and grabbed onto the counter, stabilized herself before swinging her legs around and slipping back into the marble flooring.

She turned to me, posture slanted from drunkenness, hair messed up from out commotion, she hissed at me-

"Fucking faggot."

And that's the last thing I saw come from her red lipstick lips before she disappeared into the dance floor.

Tequila, Gin, Vodka-

I count the bottles
43

The same amount as last night, and the night before, and the night before.

Tequila, Gin-

"Eden?"

I heard a distant call, from the other side of the bar. An older male sat on a stood, beer in hand. I recognized the face to be my uncle Kent Clark, who often comes to visit me at work here in Seattle.

Kent's graying Hair was tied into a small man bun at the top of his head, and his scruffy beard remained long and untrimmed. My favorite part about Kent was his smile lines around his cheeks and forehead and the way his dark eyes lit up with laughter. I could practically hear all the past Christmases where Uncle Kent and my father and grandpa Tom would sit around the table playing poker and listening to the radio about the snow fall amounts in Washington State. I could almost smell the cigarette smoke from looking at him.

Kent waved to me, beer bottle in hand. I rushed quickly to him, eager to distract myself from the previous event.

"How ya been, my boy?" Kent asked, taking a swig from his beer, and adjusting his seating a little to look up at me.

Ever since I was little, my family always nicknamed me little giant because of how tall I was, I grew to be six foot four and a bar tender at Rose Bar on 32nd street west in downtown Seattle. The truth is, I miss the simplicity of life that small children have. I miss my bedroom, and my little sister, and my parents. I miss my parents so much.