Miriam finishes her martini and walks slowly over to the bartender, trying hard to stay focused and keep up her posture. Geneva pours a tall glass of ice water and preaches:
“Miriam. Miriam. Listen: I don’t know your boyfriend, so I’m just going to say what’s on my mind. It looks like to me that he’s hurt you. Now I’ve only been working here for about five months, and during this time I’ve seen your boyfriend come in here with about four different girls. You’re the only one out of the four I’ve ever seen come in here depressed and without him. Granted, whenever the two of you come in here and drink, I have never seen him with another girl. But I can see that he’s hurt you. I know it’s not something else. He hurt you. Your face is a face I see in here all the time. A selfish man hurt you, or I guess I should say a selfish boy.”
Miriam stares deep into Geneva’s eyes and leans forward on the bar. She’s never drank this much.
“ . . . were together for three weeks. Moved in.” Miriam pauses and yawns. “It’s over. He cheated. I walked in.”
Silence.
What words could be said after hearing such things?
Not even the voices of the other barflies in the distance could get through to the ears of Miriam. He’s had other women in here?! He’s done this plenty of times before. They’ve all probably moved in with him. They’ve all probably been told the same words he told Miriam.
“Shot of gin, Geneva.”
“I think you should drink your water instead.”
“ . . . drink water after you tellin’ me that?! Here,” Miriam pulls out the remaining crumpled dollars in her purse. “I’ll drink . . . your water . . . right after the gin.”
Realizing that what she said must have been excruciating to hear, Geneva pours her a very small shot of gin and says it’s on the house.
Slam.
Watery eyes.
Scorching throat.
Miriam creates a sharp thud when she brings the shot glass back down to the counter. Immediately she drinks the ice water and smiles at Geneva because she kept her promise. A false vibration comes from her purse and she reaches for the imaginary rumble, thinking foolishly that he’s calling her. Miriam checks her cell phone and understands that there was no call at all, only hope for one.
A few guys approach Miriam and ask her if she wants another round, smiles deep in their lascivious thoughts. She shakes them all off by waving her arms, motions that look like she’s doing a rickety breast stoke in an Olympic-sized pool. They scatter immediately, joking at her level of intoxication. Miriam looks toward the back corner of the bar and sees the well-dressed stranger, Cody, feverishly continuing his journaling. He’s not paying any attention to her or anyone, he madly composing abstract thoughts into the thin pieces of paper attached to his notebook. She stares at him and wonders if he’s the same type of person her ex is.
“Finish your water, Miriam. I want to pour you another one.”
“I’ll . . . finish . . . it soooon.”
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