Page 5 of With This Lie

Now, Dan is pretty lonely. For his age though, he’s in impeccable shape. He certainly isn’t your average little old man.

“Oh, I’m fine, hun. Say, when are you going to let me fix you up with a good woman? Come on, Danny boy,” I tease.

“Oh no, my darling. You know I only have eyes for you. Besides, everything is broken, no point in it now,” he teases back.

I shake my head at him and get him another beer. He’s the only man I know who was truly in love with his wife. He didn’t even want another long after she was gone.

I wipe down the bar and refill drinks, and then I just listen. Listening is my favorite part of this job. As an avid observer, there is nothing like perking an ear up. The couple in the corner is fighting. Apparently, he’s been making “fuck me” eyes at someone named Denise and he doesn’t think his girlfriend notices. There are two men to the left of the couple who are gay but trying hard not to show off this fact, which I find kind of sad. Say it loud, sisters. Another drink or two in and the PDA would be abundant. There is a group of men toward the middle of the bar. They’re partially blocking the service station where people sitting away from the bar come up and order. This is the most annoying type of customer. No regard for others. Maybe they’re coworkers or old frat brothers. Who knows? A few had wedding bands and a few more had skillfully removed their wedding bands but you could still see the indentation and tan lines on their chubby little sausage fingers. No doubt there were two or three wives at home probably pregnant or taking care of a baby or multiple children.

The idea of being one of those women one day repulses me. I had seen too much, been a part of too much. I could blame my mother, but for what? Exposing the truth?

There is a middle-aged woman alone in the other corner of the bar. She’s wearing a lot of gold jewelry and her lipstick is smeared. Her leopard pants coupled with her purple faux fur coat are a cry for attention. She shifts in her seat every few seconds and scans the room. She’s on the hunt. I don’t know her real name, but she looks like a Barbara. Barbara the cougar. Just then a man strolls up to Barbara and her eyes light up. Go, Barbara.

“How’s it going?” Quinn asks as she steps in from her break.

“Same people, different day,” I say.

“So, are you going to let me fix you up yet?” Quinn asks.

She’d been trying to set me up with her cousin almost the entire time I’d known her.

“Seriously? Again with this? You already know my answer,” I say.

“Oh, come on, he’s a really sweet guy,” Quinn says.

“What kind of really sweet guy is single for three years then, huh?” I ask.

“Well, what kind of nice woman is single for three years?” Quinn sasses.

“That’s your first mistake,” I say.

“What?” she asks.

“Classifying me as nice when I’m anything but.”

“I’m just saying…”

“And I’m just saying. I’ve designed my life, okay? It’s this way for a reason. Thanks, but no thanks on the really nice guy,” I say firmly.

“Fine,” she says. Quinn holds her hands up in defeat.

She knows she lost. And she’ll probably wait about three weeks before bringing it up again. I hate the notion that in order for a woman to be truly happy, she has to be with someone. My happiness hasn’t been dependent upon another person since I was a child. And even then, it was never a man. My mother had been the only person in my life to have that kind of influence.

I float away from the bar for a moment, lost in my thoughts. My hands are there pouring drinks, but everyone’s voices turn fuzzy.

I am about seven years old. My mother is leading me down the hallway again to my bedroom closet. I’m older now so I ask why.

“Oh, princess, the world is a dark place and sometimes you must hide inside your castle until it’s bright again,” she says softly. She runs her fingers through my hair and tucks it behind my ear.

I can smell her perfume. I can see her silhouette through her silk robe. I know this is when one of the men will come. One of the men who laughs so loudly I can hear it through the walls of my castle. One of the men who makes other noises. Who makes my mother make noises I don’t understand yet.

“Okay, Mommy,” I say, stooping down into the closet.

She hands me my small pink flashlight and my blanket from the end of my bed. I curl up with my book and flick the light on.

“Stay here until I come and get you, my princess,” she says.

I nod as I always do and watch her disappear as the door closes, with a smile on her face and a look in her eyes I could never quite place. I know when she returns for me she won’t smell the same and something about her smile will be off.

---