September Blues
A rotating fan blew warm, mid-September air into my apartment window, chasing away the goosebumps on my arms as I prepared for a night out. The first round of exams for the semester had gone surprisingly well, our university football team was winning their home game, and the weather was perfect for bar hopping, so my best friend and I were going to take advantage of the good spirits and tear up the town.
As if we needed a reason.
Chelsea smiled at me in the mirror as she pulled her blonde waves back into a high ponytail, and I felt my own lips tug up as I returned my gaze to my own reflection. The two of us had been inseparable since freshman year, and even considered living together before her sister moved to town. We matched on so many levels, from our similar degrees to our favorite brands of ice cream, but balanced each other on even more. She was the calm to my chaos, responsible where I was reckless, yet the extra push I needed in moments of self-doubt, and I had no idea what I’d do without her.
This last thought nagged at the back of my mind as I applied glittery purple liner around my eyes. In just a year’s time, we would be graduating, and where Chelsea had her future mapped out to the finest detail, I had no fucking clue what I wanted to do with myself. College was supposed to clear things up, wasn’t it? Instead, I felt just as lost as when I started.
“Why the long face?” Chelsea asked, and I realized I was frowning intently into the mirror. I softened out my scowl and sighed, zipping the eyeliner back into my makeup bag and tossing it on the bathroom counter.
“Just realizing how soon you’re leaving for grad school,” I told her, running my fingers through my chin-length hair before deciding my getup was good enough. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. At least, no one who hadn’t already seen me looking much worse.
“Not for a year,” Chels said as she coated her long lashes with mascara. My mouth went dry when she began painting her pouty lips cherry, and I turned away from the mirror.
“That still feels too soon,” I said and moved to sit on the edge of my bed across from the bathroom. My voice had come out softer than I intended, and I cleared my throat as I began tugging on my boots. “Besides, this town’s going to be so boring without you here.”
“It’s boring with me here,” Chelsea countered, and I couldn’t help my chuckle. She wasn’t wrong, but we made it fun together.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I wondered. Chelsea had mentioned earlier that a few of our friends wanted to meet out, but didn’t go into detail while hurrying between classes.
“Since Molly’s will be packed as soon as the game lets out, we were thinking the Broken Bottle,” she replied, adding some final touches to her makeup and then flicking off the bathroom light.
“Old faithful,” I grinned.
“Exactly,” she said, and joined me on the bed to lace up her floral Converse. “Can’t go wrong with three-dollar shots and free pool.”
“Are they still in hot water over those accidents?” I asked a few minutes later, once we were outside and on our way to the bar.
It was still warm out, but not hot enough to make me regret the dark, denim jeans I’d paired with my band t-shirt. The trek to the Broken Bottle was a hair over a mile, though it was a well-lit, pleasant walk through our college neighborhood. Small, worn houses framed each side of the streets with six-unit apartments— like my own— scattered in between, but the place packed in a lot of charm. University students’ first attempts at gardening were displayed in terracotta pots on concrete patios and patchy lawns. Dog runs attached to small porches with wooden swings, and zany yard art blew in the wind. It was old, meant to be dinged up by student renters and then cycled through to the next class, but the people that lived here cared about it.
“Sort of,” Chelsea answered, reminding me that I’d asked about the bar. “But until they can prove alcohol was involved, the mayor can’t close anything.”
“What’s your sister say?”
In the past six months, three students had been killed in hit-and-runs around Banister Square, the downtown area where three of the four bars in town were located. Chelsea’s sister was studying to be an attorney and the possible bar closures had been a hot topic in Banister University’s legal department.
“Basically the same,” she said, and kicked a crushed can in our path down the sidewalk a ways. “Until there’s any proof of drunk driving, they’re just unsolved accidents.”
“It’s weird that they haven’t convicted anyone,” I frowned, remembering the parents of the deceased holding “What happened to our kids?” signs in town square weeks after the most recent death.
“Agreed,” Chelsea sighed. “I mean, it’s not like I want our bars closed, but those people deserve some kind of justice, especially with how gruesome…” She trailed off with a violent shiver and kicked the can again. “Never mind. I don’t want to think about that.”
Her dragonfly tattoo, one I had a matching version of on my wrist, poked out from below her mismatched sock, and I remembered the impromptu road trip that had led to the decision. The countdown to graduation ticked in my head, and I suddenly couldn’t wait to be drinking.
“Who all is coming out?” I asked, and took a turn kicking the can. It bounced down the sidewalk in haphazard directions and landed in the grass.
“Rachel and Stephen, Oscar, Andrew…”
“Andrew?” I said, my eyebrows shooting toward my hairline. “How’s he been? I haven’t seen him much this semester.”
“Good, actually,” Chelsea beamed. “He’s back full time and liking his classes. But you can ask him when you see him, of course. He offered to designated drive if we don’t want to walk home.”
“Hmm, tempting,” I mused, but more than anything, I was just happy to hear he’d be out. After his stepsister was killed the previous spring by a drunk driver, he’d needed to take some time off school to grieve, and I hadn’t seen him since early summer.
I wonder if her death is unsolved, too, I thought, a forlorn cloud settling over my mind as I imagined Andrew’s family in the same situation as the recent victims’, but it was chased away by the sound of clinking aluminum as Chelsea toed the can out of the grass and back onto the walkway. When she kicked it again, it bounced sideways and into the street, where it promptly rolled into the gutter.
“Damn,” she said, watching after the lost piece of garbage as it landed at the bottom of the gutter with a metallic plink. “I guess Pennywise can keep that one.”
I snorted and linked my arm with hers, tugging her gently along.
“As if anything that interesting would ever exist in this town.”
Ahead of us, downtown was coming into view, the cramped neighborhood opening up to wider streets and shops, and the sounds of cars and chatter rising in volume. Somewhere in the distance, a local band played, and the smell of greasy bar food traveled on each warm breeze.
We chatted about our mutual courses, Chelsea bouncing along to the live music as we walked the final few blocks to Banister Square, until we reached the street where the Broken Bottle sat. A car honked to the right of us, and we turned in unison to see a black, 1996 Ford Bronco parking alongside us. My face broke into a grin before the driver stepped out, and when he did, I pulled him into a crushing hug.
“Hey, Sam,” Andrew chuckled as he hugged me back.
“Hey, Andy,” I smiled, and stepped away to see him better. He looked like the same Andrew I’d gotten to know years ago in our freshman dorms, his curly hair just as lively and effortlessly stylish, and his kind smile still stretching wide across his dimpled cheeks. But there was a certain heaviness to the way he stood now, like a weight had been placed around his neck. The burden of grief.
“How’ve you been?” Andrew asked as Chelsea took a turn giving him a quick side-hug.
“I was about to ask you the same,” I said. “Nothing much changes for me.”
“Not too bad,” he told me with a light shrug of his lanky shoulders. “Honestly, I’ve been doing great. It’s really nice to be back.”
“It’s been way too long since we all went out at the same time,” Chelsea said, and I nodded in agreement.
“Seriously,” I said. “It sucks when y’all leave for the summer. I’m stuck going out by myself.”
“Oh, the horror,” Chels teased as we began making our way toward the bar.
“I know!” I mock-exclaimed. “Actual hell on earth.”
The front doors of the Broken Bottle swung open, and we were greeted with the sound of loud music and breaking glass. See, the Broken Bottle was more than just a catchy name— down the wall opposite the bar was a glassed-in, concrete range, where patrons could don protective eyewear and chuck their empty bottles to shatter satisfyingly against the stone. It was more of a commodity than a regular sport, but it was fun for first-timers and on days you could use an extra bit of stress-relief.
Toward the back end of the curving bar, a familiar couple waved, and the three of us made our way through high-tops and pool tables over to our friends. The others, Rachel and Stephen, and one of their friends, Oscar scooted down to make room for us, and we all made ourselves comfortable atop spinning bar stools. I wound up at the end of the line, next to an empty stool and nearest the bartender, but I didn’t mind being more distanced from the heart of conversation. My primary objective was to get fucked up, and if Andrew was driving us home, I could catch up more with him later.
“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked, and I ordered my usual Long Island. I’d buy the group a round of shots later, but I didn’t need to start out that aggressively. The game was just ending, the victory setting the Banister Bull Sharks up for a solid postseason, and the night was still young.
The bartender, a girl I recognized from one of my seminars, took the rest of our orders and hurried off to open us tabs, before returning a few minutes later with our drinks. I pulled mine close, stirred it up with a biodegradable straw that I’d watch slowly disintegrate over the course of the evening, and then took a sip from the edge of the glass.
Delightful.
I tried to keep track of whatever the group was talking about, occasionally joining when Chelsea roped me in and laughing when I caught a joke, but all too soon my attention was wandering. I eyed the TVs above the bar, listened in to nearby discussions for anything interesting, and glanced out the front windows as I sipped my drink and melted ice on my tongue. I was bored, antsy, searching for something to keep my mind off my quarter-life crisis, and was about to order shots when the empty seat next to me suddenly filled.
I didn’t know the guy. He was tall, handsome enough with light brown eyes and a mop of blonde hair, and wore a Steve Miller Band Fly Like an Eagle t-shirt that looked older than him, but I could safely say I had never met him before in my life. Even so, he was looking right at me, and he didn’t waste any time getting to why.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I could feel my friends’ eyes on my back as they waited to see my reaction, always ready to step in at the first sign of discomfort, and smiled knowing that no matter how this interaction went, I was in good hands.
“Possibly,” I hummed, and the man’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s your name?”
“Shane,” he said, and offered me a hand. “In hindsight, I could have led with the introductions.”
“Sam,” I told him, and took his hand. Behind me, my friends resumed their discussion, but I barely noticed as my potential distraction for the evening crushed my palm in his iron grip. “And I’ll let it slide.”
“You go to Ban U?” he asked, pushing some hair back from his face as he leaned his elbow on the bar. I nodded.
“Senior,” I replied, hoping my voice didn’t sound as grave as I felt about the fact. “Bio major. What about you?”
“I’m a junior in history,” he said. “Though I’m looking at another two years, maybe three. It took me a while to figure out where I wanted to go.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I said, fairly certain that I knew more people graduating late than in the four-year expectation. “I’m graduating, but my future is still one big question mark. It must be nice to have an idea.”
“It’s something,” he told me, “and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Eventually.”
“So, about that drink,” he grinned, and I stirred my ice thoughtfully. He wasn’t exactly my type, but something about his carefree demeanor and mischievous smile made me believe he’d make for good conversation. As long we were clear about our expectations…
“Listen, Shane,” I began, swiveling my stool to face him more directly, “there’s a low to zero chance that I’m going to hook up with you. I don’t know if that’s what you’re looking for, but it’s definitely not on my radar right now, and I just wanna throw that out there before you waste your time. However, you seem like a cool guy. So, if that doesn’t bother you, I’d love a drink. Your choice. Make it when you’re ready.”
“Wow,” Shane said after a brief pause, but he didn’t make any immediate move to get up. He didn’t seem put off, which was a good initial sign, though there was still time. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean?” I wondered.
“Anything else I should know?” he asked, but a smirk tugged at his lips. “Before I make my choice, as you put it?”
“I like your t-shirt?” I guessed, feeling my expression match his teasing one.
Shane let out a deep chuckle and motioned for the bartender, who assessed us from across the room and began making two drinks.
“Same tab?” she asked when she placed them before us, and he gave her a thumbs up.
“Thanks,” I said sincerely, and took a small sip of my drink. Another Long Island Iced Tea. “Also, good choice sticking with my previous order. Always trust a girl to know what she likes best.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Shane said, stirring his own drink across from me. “Plus, your group has good vibes. You just seemed like you needed a distraction.”
“Damn, right you were.” Once the bartender was gone, I raised my glass toward my new acquaintance. “Toast?”
“What to?” Shane asked, but lifted his glass as well.
“To new friends?” I suggested. “Or, to distractions.”
“To distractions,” he agreed, and clinked his glass to mine with a broad smile. We threw back our drinks, each taking a sizable gulp before smacking the glasses down on the counter, and then laughed at the goofiness of it all.
The night was looking up.
