The Final Countdown

         I shuffle in off the bustling streets into a crowded noisy bar. This is the same bar I always visit after a grueling, tedious day of work. From the doorway I scan the crowd, noticing decorations; the confetti, the balloons, the streamers that greet the coming holiday and myself like the boisterous crowd of drinkers. I notice the regulars immediately but decide not to face them. It’s been one of those days. I slink between two young women exiting and snag the chair closest to me at the shiny stainless-steel bar. My shoulders slouch and I feel the bar seat on the small of my back. As if the chair is holding the weight of my day as well as myself, it lets out a long creak.

            “Looks like another long one. I’ll get your regular.” I raise my hooded eyelids, hanging with exhaustion, and my eyes meet the backside of the lovely tall bartender we all call Angel. Usually that’s what she is to us, a light as the end of a dark grey tunnel we all associate with cubicles.

            My gaze follows her. She reaches high to a shelf and grabs a bottle of gin, in a quick flash her hands fly to the small fridge below grabbing a jug of cooled grapefruit juice. Her hands work quickly and efficiently, almost as if they have small wings attached to each of her wrists.  Men yell over the bar rudely for another round, she nods and says she will be only a moment. She manages to finish my drink flawlessly and slides it my direction. She gives me a sly wink and begins the next order. The crowds surrounding me scramble like ants on an anthill. I stay motionless, my Salty Dog in my right hand and a five in my other. The next time Angel comes around (and she always does) I’ll be ready for her.

            “Ten!”

I look into my drink expectantly. Maybe a new career is in there, or a new life. That would be great.

“Nine!”

Day after day I come in here knowing not of my abilities outside the office. Lately it seems there hasn’t even been an evening in which I haven’t slumped over this shining, metallic oasis like The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Eight!”

I wish I had gargoyles to talk to.

“Seven!”

Someone or anyone outside of the office, outside of my everyday life to talk to would be great. Maybe I should get a dog. I’ve read studies that loneliness can be cured if you have a canine companion.

“Six!”

Where did I read that study? When’s the last time I even read anything, much less for fun?

“Five!”

When’s the last time I took a walk in the park? Or spent anytime outside of this bar?

“Four!”

My life is a mess and I’ve been on autopilot. Grapefruit pulp floats at the top of my drink. The crowd behind me grows in anticipated fervor.

“Three!”

“Two!”

I lift up my glass and nimbly slide the five underneath it. Without having ever taken a sip of my drink I swivel my chair around.

“One!”

            I don’t think I need a drink this time. I’ve got it covered from here. It’s only a crutch.

            I stand to my feet and begin squeezing through the sardined crowd.

            “Happy New Year!”

            Confetti and balloons that were once motionless gain kinetic energy and explode in the room, filling and covering now neglected drinks. I pass a woman who stops and catches my gaze. In an instant she takes her chilled hands and pulls my face to hers. The kiss is rushed and hectic, her soft lips against mine simultaneously lighten the weight on my back.

It’s the start of a new year. Maybe coming in this bar tonight wasn’t such a bad idea, but for other reasons that weren’t initially anticipated.