Sincerely, S.H

Chapter 7

As I suspected, I ended up sitting by myself at the supposedly fun gathering at the local watering hole. I found a spot in the corner, and I have been sitting here staring at a slowly emptying glass of water. Where is Nick? God I was stupid to agree to this. I should have stayed in my room and got ahead on homework. Stephanie isn’t even in the room. She’s out with Henry. Perhaps they’re off removing all of the proverbial red paint from the town. I chuckle at myself. At least somebody is here to laugh at my jokes.

Perhaps to wash out the bitterness of my thoughts, I down the remainder of the water from my glass. “Vodka?” asks a voice from my left. The voice shocks me, and of course I jump. No. not again. Not again! My heart is pounding when a hand lands on my back. Turn around. I tell myself. I shut my eyes and obey my own orders. Facing the direction from which the voice came, I realize that closed eyes defeats the purpose of turning around to face the source. Reluctantly, I force my eyes to open. Relief floods through me when I find a person there instead of a void.

“Sorry for startling you,” the man says, his hand still on my back. I stare at his arm, questioning its presence. He notices my concern and removes his hand, as if he was caught touching a masterpiece at a museum. “Sorry,” He mutters.

I blink rapidly to get rid of the nerves pervading my entire existence. “No, sorry. I guess I’m a little jumpy.” I look back at my empty glass, wishing the stranger away.

My wish goes ungranted as the stranger sits down across from me. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says, creating friendly conversation.

I glance up to see his piercing green eyes on me, but I can’t hold his gaze for long. And I look awkwardly back at the table. He spoke to me. What was it he said? Oh, he asked me a question earlier. What was it again? “I’m sorry, what was it?”

He leans back in the chair and gestures to my empty glass when he says “Is that vodka.” His posture seems to suggest deflating confidence. Perhaps he’s giving up on whatever it was he had hoped to accomplish through this interaction.

“Oh,” I chuckle. “No, just water,” I admit, a little embarrassed to admit my youthfulness and implied innocence. “But after the week I’ve had, a girl can pretend she’s drinking real spirits.” He laughs at this and still refuses to leave. “I’m not twenty-one yet.” I’m not sure how a person is supposed to respond to such idiocy and mundaneness.

“Then, and I don’t mean to be rude, why are you in a bar filled with people that you obviously have no interest in interacting with?” His eyes bore into mine even more than before.

Offended, I respond “How can you know that I don’t want to talk to them?”

He takes a slow sip from his glass, eyeing me over the brim of it as I cross my arms. After what seems like an eternity, he responds “If you wanted to, you wouldn’t be sitting alone.”

“Well, I’m not alone, am I?” I respond, pointing out the obvious, but attempting to hold my ground.

He laughs and leans forward with his forearms on the slightly unstable table of questionable cleanliness. “No, you’re not,” And now it’s clear: this guy can’t take a hint. “But why are you here?”

This is none of his business, so I push my shyness aside and sharpen my sarcasm claws. “If you must know I came here to be interrogated by inquisitive strangers like yourself. Thank you for making my wish come true.” I look away again, but hopefully this time I don’t appear to be doing so out of fear. Hopefully, it looks more like I’m pointedly ignoring him.

In response, he threw his head back in laughter. I must admit, that that was not the response I was hoping for. “You came here alone armed with wit to ensure that you remain alone. Fascinating.”