Another day, another drink on this mahogany bar I've grown so used to. The same scratch marks, the same glasses, hell even the teasing percussion on the back of my ears felt familiar from times past. I'm sure if I had given it my audience I would have found it to be unrecognized.
I lifted my glass and finished the first drink of the night, my beloved white russian. I gestured the bartender who gave me his nod, the same one he's given me since my first night here. Seems like centuries since then. "Another white russian please" his nod I'd grown so fond of gave segue to the birth of my next glass of the night. Vodka and coffee liqueur danced together in a spiral towards the stage of shimmering glass, flowing with the grace that is appreciated by so few as it settled around the seats of ice. Curtain call came with the cream, a billowing conclusion to my drink of choice. The bartender settled the drink and placed his signature nod. I drew the glass in, admiring the scent.
I felt so at peace in this moment, the constant pace of work gave little retreat into moments like this, it would be safer to say it was void of any silent happiness to the core. The constant rearranging of rare, exotic machinery across the country was no easy task.
Enough of that, I'm in my world now. Here to stay as long as I need.
"So, come here often?" I heard from behind me, a smooth and majestic query settled in the seat beside me, almost as if it were a light gust flowing by. I looked, a slight turn of the head presented a figure of which I have never seen in person. My attention ensnared I took a full view of the intensity that has taken interest in me. Pearl skin wrapped in a silk of red I couldn't take my eyes off. The one thing that was more breathtaking than the deep red were the eyes. Eyes of glistening amethyst framed in locks darker than the grim reapers cloak. She was unlike anything I've ever seen before, I found it hard to even think that her upward inflected statement was directed at me, if her sight wasn't latched onto me I would have never answered her.
"Often? sometimes it feels like I never leave" after I said it, I wished I hadn't. What a stupid thing to say.
"That sounds nice" velvet letters across my ears. Did I say something right?
"It seems like I'm burdened to never see the same faces, feel the same familiar scratches in the bar. The glasses, the crystal on the shelves. I envy that" her fingernail played at the scars in the mahogany, scars I was familiar with. Memory's prodded at the back of my mind.
"So, what are you having this go'round?" She gestured at my drink with a finger. What did I get? How stupid am I. Getting so lost like that, I must have looked ridiculous. I made slow retreat to a more proper, upright posture.
"White russian, my usual" A smile sailed around her porcelain skin. She leaned in, showing her interest.
"My personal favorite" her fingers interlaced "My personal sanctuary in a world of noise" She snapped her fingers, the bartender nodded.
"A white russian please, and put his on my check if you would" The bartender nodded, did she just pay for my drink? Confusion started to make root. I'm nobody, a regular, a head in the clouds. Yet, somehow this, which is something that could very well be from my wildest dreams is conversing with me. I feel frustration blooming.
Am I dreaming? Or could it be that I've dipped into a dementia like state? I feel numb, but a wave of warmth overwhelms the back of my hand. She touched me, her thumb massaging my knuckles, one after another. She smiled at me. A smile so comforting, so welcoming I couldn't help but crack a smile of my own. A genuine smile, not the kind I masquerade with. She brought her drink up to view.
"A toast, to the drink of peace and solitude in a world of ambient noise and distraction" A toast. Well, if this is in fact a dream or a joyful moment of dementia, I have no reason not to indulge in it. I raise my glass, give it a gentle knock against hers, and we trade another smile. Bigger than the last.
I feel again, the faded shirt on my back, the weight of the coat behind it. The percussion teased my ears again, the radiating warmth of her hand still holding mine. The pulsating healing warmth drew me out of the near dead state I had occupied for years now, a state of cynicism and reality I had grown used to seemed further away for a moment.
Please, stop time. Even just for this moment.
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