Of All the Gin Joints
Rose Black
Blue.
I felt blue.
Not the overwhelming desolate blue.
No, I felt the inability to breathe. A haunting cerulean drenching my lips and spreading across my face like pigment on a wet canvas.
I just wanted to breathe.
But the air had been torn out of my lungs just as my heart had been taken from me chest.
Now I was running. Running with no air. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I just needed to leave.
I find myself in the parking garage underneath the facility. I would do anything to make myself feel the air that is going into my lungs, to stop feeling like my constricting throat will soon send me into a dream I won't awake from.
And because of that, I begin my march to the bar I had seen on the way in to this God forsaken town.
I was dripping wet, but the walk to the tavern on this warm May day made my clothes wick away some moisture. And once I finally step onto the cracking parking lot of Jäger Masters, the spell for drying off comes to me. I use it in plain sight, knowing full well there's no one around this damn tiny town at 4pm.
But I look up at the sound of a door opening and slamming shut in front of me, a side door on the bar, presumably only for employees. "God damn it."
I press my eyelids shut in frustration and enter the bar.
The smell of stale air, cigarettes, and cheap whiskey greets me at the door. And God do I feel at home.
I'd really been trying to be better about the amount of alcohol I drink. Like a diet. But it was an inconsistent promise to myself that I broke more often than I broke my own heart.
The dimly lit bar was average: an old fashioned juke box on one wall, a pool table, darts, many tables, and a long bar with wooden stools.
I practically climb on the tall stool near the bartender who is turned around with a towel in his hand cleaning off some glasses.
He wears a plain black t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders on his leaner body. His arms hold a slight tan, one that I'm sure deepens during the summer to a warm bronze. His hair is dark and curly and a bit longer than I prefer, but he pushes it back with a white bandana. I can't help it, I'm intrigued.
But when he turns to face me, it's like my whole life speeds in front of my eyes and I'm taken away from the world. Flashes of dreams upon visions upon dreams of evergreen eyes race before me. The way his dark eyelashes frame the gorgeous viridian green eyes, I've seen it so many times before. A man I've danced with. A man I've ran away with. A man I've climbed with. A man I've died with. The green eyed man I'd seen for years in visions that started when I was only 16.
When I come back from my out of body experience, he's staring at me with raised eyebrows. "Uh, hi? Are you good?"
He's British?
I feel my cheeks flush, a feeling I'm not used to, and I blink a few times before regaining the ability to speak. "Sorry, yeah I'm good. Can I just get uh vodka neat?"
He smiles, "You mean a shot of vodka?"
I purse my lips to hold back a smile. "I'd prefer a glass. I handle my liquor well."
What the fuck is happening.
"Well, Miss I-Handle-My-Liquor-Well, let's see that ID," he quips, leaning to rest his elbows on the bar.
