Page 19 of Choke

“I would’ve come back to say bye if I didn’t get the chance while we were working.”

He steps aside, holding the door so I can walk in. The bar is empty and not open for business for another few hours. Even so, the air is thick with the aroma of old cigarettes, spilled beer, and something else I’ve never been able to pinpoint but always kid myself is the scent of regret.

Jay makes his way back to the bar and resumes polishing the cups. I gotta give the guy credit. The place is a dump, but he takes great pride in what he does. I am pretty sure he’s the only bartender that polishes the shitty old glassware. I am super early, and the bar has no policy against employees drinking, so I grab a seat. I have some forms to complete for my new job, which I start next week, and this is theperfect opportunity to get them done. When I get settled, Jay stops what he’s doing.

“What’ll it be, little lady?” He asks in his best Western accent.

I laugh. He’s a good guy. Young, in college. Cute.

“Gin and soda, if you have the time.”

He gives me an incredulous look that says, ‘For you, I always have time,’ and spins to grab the top-shelf gin he knows I like. While I wait, I open my laptop and scroll through my email. I have had many jobs but still haven’t figured out how to do tax forms correctly.

They really should teach this shit in school.

Jay sets the glass before me but doesn’t return to his polishing. I type for another minute before looking up at him. He stares intently.

“Jay,” I start, “what’s up?”

He fidgets slightly—is he nervous?

“So, that guy from the last shift we worked together?”

I don’t need more than that. I know exactly who he’s talking about. I refuse to let anyone know that Adrian’s been on my mind, so I raise an eyebrow, pretending not to remember who he’s referring to. “The big hockey player. He sat at the bar with you after that girl puked all over the floor.” Pretending it clicks, I nod and ask, “What about him?”

Jay grabs a glass and looks down at it. He replies, “Well, he came back the next night.”

Returning patrons isn’t uncommon. I’m unsure why this seems worth mentioning, but his tone makes me uneasy. I give Jay a motion that relays,‘and?’

“Well, he came back looking for you.”

My eyes widen a bit. “What? What did he say?”

“He asked for your full name and phone number.” His tone is pensive. I’ve never seen Jay like this. He is typically very self-assured and confident.

“Jay, please, for the love of god, tell me you did not give that beast of a man my information.” My tone pleads. I do not need to be another statistic when he shows up at my apartment.

“Fuck no. I told him we don’t give our employees information out. If you wanted him to have your name and number, you would have given it to him.”

Relief washes over me and, simultaneously, a strange twist in my belly. Disappointment? I return my attention to my laptop, continuing my attempt to fill out the tax forms without inadvertently committing tax fraud.

Waving my hand, I say, “Good riddance. I’ll never see him again, Jay.”

He turns his back to me, and instead of collecting more glasses to polish, he returns with a slip of paper. He hesitates a moment as if second-guessing giving it to me at all.

“Yeah. Also, though, he left this for you.”

I take the piece of paper and unfold it.

Adrian Liberty

555-8361

My fingers tighten around the paper.

Why does seeing his name make my stomach twist?

I scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it into my backpack, returning to my laptop.

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