I'd been having redundant dreams. This odd idea of time has influenced them, and it's even getting in the way of my daylight thinking. For example I'll dream that Mozart was my friend and he is really from this time period. Then he'll say, "Watch this," and turn into a history book. I'll open it and see how he wrote his first composition at age six. But he told me what he was going to do. And he's not the only one. I dream that it happens all the time. Well it was really getting in my noodle the other night. I don't mind spending the amount of time alone I do. Trust me, it's a lot. So I went out to a local bar, just a couple miles away. I needed a change of view, something to get me off the time-dream thing. Well I tried.
I don't mind going out by myself. People in general seem to like me. I don't get into much trouble and read faces well enough to stay away from some. But at times I'm a magnet for people unloading problems. Sure it's easy for anyone to expose the vulnerable side to a stranger, but come on -- a stranger with Einstein hair, a fishing hat, and wing-tips???
So I pull up and it looks almost empty. I grab my bag a notebooks, and walk in. As I walk in I hear "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?!?", from a drunk, girthy blonde at the bar. I reply "Why looking for you of course". She puts her face down quickly having had her bluff called. I sit well away and in an empty area of the bar. I pull out a notebook and start to write a silly poem. For a moment I wonder about a character in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that had an extra arm added, as I juggle a cigarette, mug of some type of ale, a pen, and a notebook. Then, I think of what was written in The Guide About Earth. I smirked a little as I thought I was well within the definition for "Mostly Harmless."
I write:
April 14,
2003
Slant jawed chap,
With a middle tooth gap.
His talk was smooth
and full.
Though it contained only bull.
He had no slip or
stammer,
And a good gasp of grammar.
Pounding out thoughts like a
hammer,
The listening ear was enamored.
He talked about corn,
Or
history on the day you were born.
And that was as far as I got before I was developing a crowd. The bar had a lot of open area, but I was still being surrounded. First was a guy, who later I found is name was Brad. He had a problem with his eyes, as he talked to me it seemed he was looking a foot above me. Then came the 'couple'. The were too tan already. Boaty people that have early fruity drinks and more summer clothes then one could ever wear. Brad bought us all a shot of Orange Whip. It tasted good and made me think of the Ice Cream Man. I ran down the street with a quarter and dime in my head, as it ran down my throat. The couple were fighting, well the girl was. I guessed her to be around 35, and he around 50. Turned out I was off by a year. She was really drunk and yelling at the bartender, "Come party with me Trisha!!! Bitch!!!" This went on and on. The guy went to play pool and Brad left her side shortly thereafter. Her mouth reminded me a broken-down screen door banging around in a heavy storm. Her teeth seemed to come out straight at you. I tried to go back to writing when I hear, "Hey you wanna fuck?", her face mushed with the hand holding it up. I don't bother to look at her, and call for a beer. I didn't need one yet, just needed someone else to be around. When she understands I'm not going for the bait, she goes off about how unhappy she is. I can listen, and do for quite some time. It's mostly about their age difference and how he doesn't like her friends. Mucho nodding on my part, what else can you do? She shows me about fifteen pictures of her daughter. The girl was pretty and ready to graduate from a local school. Turns out it's the second time too, Mom was preggers when she got her diploma. Well the guy finally comes back, good thing, my ear was about to bleed from the pitch she spoke, no, yelled in. From behind me he reads the poem. I started it before he got there, but he does has a gap in his front teeth. I tell it's lyrics for a buddies song. Then I broke my own rule right after. I thought they were out the door when I whispered to him, "You might want to look into a marriage counselor". Okay, everybody in unison, "Dan? What were you thinking?" It just kind of slipped out. I didn't plan on saying it. So he blows up and asks her what I'm talking about. I put my head down -- what else could I do. She starts yelling like a sailor at him, and says I'm lying. I almost laughed at that. Like there was something to gain by all this for me. The guy did shake my hand about five time, saying he was glad someone finally told him and dragged her out. And when they left Brad came back to fill me ear.
He was celebrating. He knew everyone in there, all five or six of us, but wanted to vent to me. I find out about this time that the girl that yelled at me when I walked in was his ex-girlfriend. That's the kind of weirdo I am. Throughout the night, three girls hit on me and all have the guy in their life within ear shot. It's a wonder I don't have more black eyes. So Brad is celebrating. He does taxes, and had worked, I think he said a trillion days in a row, but I was looking over my hat to see what he was eyeballing. Brad would tell me something like, his age (29, in case you were wondering) and it would be followed by "I like you man! What's your name again?" This went on all night, well until I got the bartender to call him a cab. He wasn't a bad guy, just a little lost. He asked me to smoke a J, so we went outside for a minute. I hadn't smoked any in quite awhile so it seemed like a good idea. He asked me if I was a narc followed by his recording. I asked if a narc would wear wing tips? He looked over my head. I got board and went in. I went back to my seat and tried to work.
I always find it funny how people get paranoid about my writing in bars. Almost everyone had to ask me what I was doing. Earlier in the night, I gave Trisha the bartender 'the riddle poem', she was saying it was slow, she was caught up, and bored. Most of the time when I was asked, I'd say lyrics like earlier, people look at you funny when you say poems. Hell, people look funny anyways, or I do? The poem got passed around, and nobody got it. Surprisingly no one cheated either. The paper was folded in half and the answer, "The elevator" was written there. I was shooting pool with Brad when the three left asked to read others. Brad tipped over and took out a row of bar stools as I fold out a folder. I just shook my head, and thought I really don't need to worry about plagiarism here. I was suppose to been playing for a drink, but I didn't care really care. Brad feel down like his skelton was ripped from him. "Your taking a cab home", as I stood on my tiptoes to make eye contact. I proceeded to tell him what a smart and thoughtful guy he was for doing it. Some how he got his girlfriend mixed into his head and thought she planned it and was paying for it. I had to laugh at that. He was going on about 'not wanting to go on', so the thought was "that bitch! She's trying to save my life"! She had left two hours earlier. Then it was back to "I need a friend like you, I like you man! What's your name again?" And he shook my hand.
The other two guys left about the same time Brad and his driver did. Just me and the bartender Trisha, and it was only eleven o'clock. Trisha was a tough little drink of water with a mole under her right eye. She had been playful throughout the night, but you get use to that from female wait staff. You know that flirting gets a better tip. So I paid little mind to it. I must have looked like I still needed filling, for the duration of the night I get free drinks and to hear her life story. Her once heart of gold was becoming brass, and I said that's what I thought. She was only twenty and starting to hate the world. I tend to pseudo-quote Gandhi and eastern thoughts when I bombarded with Jerry Springer type crap. She had been used and abused by several boys/men, and didn't have much family. I was ready to leave after each beer, but she'd just snatch it up without a verbal pause and fill both mugs, beer and my ear. I really didn't mind, but thought she was starting to get a little dreamy-eyed. Then she brought up a big guy about her age that had been in there earlier. I felt much better, especially after hearing what she did to the last guy to screw her over. She also, at great length and detail talked about a local cop she had to get a restraining order against and why. Really creepy if true. I'd look at her and wonder what she could have been in a different envirorment, then I'd think what if caucasians had been the slaves. I dislike like the word 'caucasian' a lot. And wondering about all the 'ifs' might lend something to the plot of a story, but they're not much use among the living. She was bright but dark. I knew I was the first person to listen to her, maybe ever that didn't have immoral thoughts riding shotgun. I'm very compassionate, but rarely feel sorry for anyone. I don't for her. And I think that should be the end.
�2003 Daniel J Harris