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Friday Night Fights (Nfld part 4, a prelude to Sunday)

November 28, 2017

This could/should be called “Meet Me on the Stairs”

But really, it’s chapter 4 a new hope.

Told you I was emulating George Lucas

There has already been a disturbance in the force.

I met the boy.

That Swain boy.

When I heard his last name some kind of quiet bell went off, like I had heard it somewhere.

But that was exactly how every minute with him felt, like a quiet bell ringing in familiarity, and has become a chapter all of its own. 7 days of knowing someone begat 7 articles.

And maybe one more for closure.

But this is about the Friday before the Sunday.

As I said I wasn’t sure if whiskey had tainted my memory. He offered to pop by on Friday night. I made it clear I had to work and he was fine with that.

I was fine double checking.

I danced for the cutiepatootie to this song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0uWF-37DAM&feature=share

So grindy and sexy and good. So was the dance. I made it so because I wanted to be there in that moment with him. 3 minutes feeling like days.

I am gifted sometimes with the knowledge that with specific moments I am creating memories that will keep me warm until I die.

This was one.

Lightning in a jar.

He has had a few names, but when speaking to my girls he was, and remains, the cutiepatootie.

It was more than that.

I was away from home and drained. When I met him I suddenly had something to look forward to.

But it goes further back than that. It had been a while since I had someone to look forward to.

I think that is why I felt so crushed when he did finally show up at the bar, I looked at him and realized ‘yes, he is as beautiful as I remember.’ I went to say hi and got very little in the way of reaction. He seemed more interested in talking to some dude at the bar than me. So I walked away.

And I pouted, hard. Out of sight and a little out of my mind.

Did I not look like he remembered? Was this a joke? A game?

Sometimes, often, boys vex me.

So often that I am used to it.

But that let down though.

The worst.

I hid upstairs, smoking, a few tears fell but I wouldn’t let them all out, I had spent a lot of time on my make up in anticipation of both a busy Friday night and a visit from this boy.

Panda tried to pep talk me and offered to shake him for me. I declined.

Instead, I sat in the corner and texted him “It’s so weird, there is a guy sitting at the bar that looks just like you. But it can’t be you because that guy is ignoring me.”

He messaged back “Do you mean me?”

Yes. Yes I mean you.

He said he was nervous and asked me to come back to him, so I did.

Spent the next 6 hours glued to him. Told you, we were magnets.

Even if we weren’t directly speaking to each other, if I let go, he would take my hand and put it in his lap.

I went on stage a few times. Got scooped up for dances here and there, but I always came back.

Started texting him to meet me on the stairs, and he did and we kissed, and it was good, amen.

The dude he had been speaking to earlier decided I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, Napoleon complex, the kind of guy who would piss on a flower for having the audacity to grow and be beautiful. I had a fire in my belly both from the boy and the whiskey so I sassed right back. As a result, yet another bar fight started because that dude couldn’t leave well enough alone and was being untoward towards me, within earshot of the boy and it stopped because I put my hand on his waist and said hush baby, he’s not worth it, stay with me.

And he did and it was good amen.

There’s hope.

In this ugly mess of men and women, there’s hope.

If a 22 year old fisherman from up shore that sounds like Brad Pitt in Snatch will defend a strippers honor there’s hope.

At the end of it all, I somehow walked out with $400 and a belly full of whiskey, despite not taking a penny from him.

As I was leaving the bar, one of girls asked the bouncer if it was safe to leave, his answer was “good luck” and an ominous shrug.

We pushed hard on the door and walked out directly into another fight. Apparently when it doesn’t rain on a Friday night in St. John’s the whole of George Street becomes drunk, rowdy and tangly.

In the midst of the immediate fray, I saw my boy, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the second fight of the night.

Second verse the same as the first, went from seeing only red to seeing only me.

He smiled, kissed me and walked me to a cab. Even in my drunken state, in a strange city with a strange boy, I felt perfectly safe. Like calm in a storm.

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments

  • Reply Robert Wertzler November 28, 2017 at 3:10 pm

    Every town seems to have at least that one bar known to all as “the fight bar.” The Swain Boy has thanks for keeping you safe to write this. And you kept him safe too. Yes, there is hope.

    • Reply sexloveandgrace November 28, 2017 at 8:07 pm

      he knows. i don’t know if he can handle what he knows, but he knows. we shall see. it would be a crummy universe if we didn’t meet again.

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