Page 48 of Bone Dust

“How y’all doing to-niiiiiiight?”

Savi shouts and the crowd roars. She launches into Chris Cornell’s “Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart”, and the crowd claps in time. It fuels her and I feel a smile nearly split my face.

I look around the room and something weird starts. Some feeling deep inside my belly. One by one more bodies hit the dance floor, while others wiggle their asses in their seats. It’s not just me that’s feeling something. Everyone is, and the joy inflates the room like it's filled with helium and, suddenly, it hits me too.

Shit!

Is this what being happy feels like? I feel woozy and silly, and I want to laugh because Savi’s joy is coming through the music and it’s fucking infectious!

I clap along with them until she finishes, and the air erupts with rounds of praise. Lots of hollered “Yeah’s!” and a final round of clapping splits the crowd. She responds with a smile that curls her lips nearly to the corners of her eyes. She’s practically glowing.

And my heart’s nearly exploding.

“What a great crowd y’all are!”

She gets a coy look and modesty flushes her cheeks a bright pink as one by one they cease until the room is quiet. Savi bows her head as she slides into another song, and I take a step back to catch my breath. What the fuck just happened?

I’m dumbfounded, or maybe just dumb. Is this what they mean when they say that you’re happy for someone else’s happiness?

I’m almost a little panicky. Fear of the unknown, maybe? I haven’t a clue.

I roll my head around my neck, cracking a few bones as I do the motion. I mentally dissect what I felt to compare it to what I know and shake some strange, unfamiliar feeling off my shoulders. I’ve never felt anything this intense without drugs and I feel like I’m drunk. I mean, I know the happiness I felt when Dash was happy. Even though that feeling was good, it didn’t feel as good as this.

Busted flat in Baton Rouge

Waitin’ for a train …

She cuts through my thoughts with her honey-sweet voice and it’s like I’ve taken a tranquilizer. The panicky feeling mellows, drifting slowly down, and then, I relax. This … this feeling I know. It’s the same one I get when I’m sitting around the fire pit, kicking back, and looking at stars. It’s familiar. It feels like home.

And a woman did that.

Who’d thought?

I lean against the end of the bar. This whole time I’ve been back and forth between working and enjoying the show. Now, I’m using my break to focus on her. She sees me and, we lock eyes. My chest pinches again and I’m starting to make the correlation between it, and Savi.

A couple of hours pass, and Savi closes out the night with a final song. The crowd scatters and the bar empties. Wait staff bus the tables, stack the chairs, and sweep the floors. Savi lingers, talking with a few stragglers as she walks them to the exit. It’s been a long night. she’s got to be running on adrenaline but doesn’t show it. She’s happy—nearly elated—as she walks on air over to the bar.

“You were on fire tonight,” I praise.

“I feel it.” She looks up at me with eyes of sparkling sapphire.

“Damn! You were good.” Sam adds. “And it was a good night, too. I think it’s the best night we’ve had since we opened.” Sam pauses, then dips behind the bar. He looks out on the floor, puts two fingers to his lips, and blows. The move produces a piercing whistle, and everyone goes still. “C’mon over here.”

They respond, approaching with rags and brooms in hand. One by one Sam pours a little wine into cups, about enough for a swallow or two.

“Everybody grab a glass.” He slides a soda to me, taking a final glass for himself. He looks around at the faces and smiles. “I’m so damn proud of y’all. You did a good job. Not one complaint. Not one! I hope they tipped you well, but I want you to know, I appreciate you.” He lifts his glass. “To Mad Dogs—every dang one of you.”

“MAD DOGS!!! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!” They bang their glasses with each barking sound, take a drink, then go back to finish so they can get out of here.

Savannah hops up on a barstool while Sam and I wash and rinse some glasses.

“How did this place come about? I mean, how did you decide on a bar?”

“He never told you?” Savi asks me, then turns to Sam. “Tell him the story, Sam. It’s a good one.”

“You’ve heard it a million times.” He answers.

Savi shrugs. “So, I’ll hear it a million and one. Tell him.”

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