I always tried to figure out why people were a certain way. Why they don't like certain things or why they act a particular way. David was always an organized, conservative person and I never questioned it. I assumed my boyfriend just grew up that way and that was that. He always planned our dates a few days in advance- something an organized guy does. And I later found out that his father is the same way. So , that's where he got his traits from. He one day asked me why I didn't like him being affectionate in front of other people. I always assumed that I didn't like it because I was conservative. I thought showing affection should be done privately- not publicly. It just advertised that you're a couple and I didn't like drawing attention to myself in that way. That sounded like a real good argument, one that worked, one that fit my lifestyle. Then a thought hit me, maybe that's not the reason. The thought hit me after David told me about Dillion's girlfriend, Tara. Apparently she didn't like affection of any kind. I understood that because of her situation. She was abused by another man. So it made sense. She's not comfortable trusting herself or men. Either way, the fact remains, she doesn't like to be touched. So the thought hit me... Am I like her? I always worry about what others think of me. I'm always careful of the men I date and I always correct someone when they wrongfully think that I am seeing someone other than David. But could it really be that? Did he have such a great effect on my life that I am the way I am today? Did he abuse me so much that I can't trust my own feelings or any others? Especially men? Was I so naive at age eleven that I allowed someone to hurt me? No. It can't be. I'm not like that. I'm conservative and I don't make mistakes. I wouldn't let someone touch me like that. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't allow that kind of behavior.
The Backtrax bar room was at it's usual 9:30 pm sound level. Hearing yourself think was always hard, but could be achieved till the band went on. The corner seat always seems to look like there's an impression in the brownish vinyl cushion, warn out from the amount of time I spend on it, waiting for my fiance', David and my friends, Dillion and Tara. We picked this place as a random choice one night and we just kept coming back every weekend there after. I think we come here out of habit more so than anything else. The clientele and the bar scream of a flash back from the eighties with big hair, spandex, and the occasional song choice, "You Give Love A Bad Name" from Bon Jovi, the king of hair bands. My hair, even back then, never seemed to reach the death defying heights that the occasional thirty- somethings would show off as if Cosmo was coming out with this trend as the latest fad.
"What will ya have hun? The usual?" said a voice in front of me, disrupting my thoughts for the moment. It was the blond bartender on duty tonight. She always looked as perfect as the drinks she made. Never a hair out of place on her head or a slice of lime in a drink served by her. I don't think a pimple has ever dared to show up on her 22 year- old face.
"Yeah hun, a margarita." I said while reaching for my neck with my tired hands. It was a long day of phone
"So are the margaritas good here or what?" said a male voice coming from my right.
"Oh yes, they're good." I managed to get out, startled by the interruption.
"Is there anything else that would entice one's thirst? Because I see something else that looks good." the voice said while the eyes behind those baby blues shifted down with each word uttered and then came to rest around the third button of my blouse.
Here we go again, I thought. The mating season has started and I wasn't even a third of the way finished with my drink. The alcohol always seemed to make the ritual of man vs. woman more bearable, but this time I had wished I had sharper claws to fend off this tacky line of attack. I had to come up with something good to make him leave- and fast. But what? The lines from the voices every night were growing worse and lacking creativity and luster with each passing moment, like the oldie but ever so memorable "What's your sign?" of the seventies. They were becoming as cleche' as the big hair. But the voices that lingered around like bad cologne were probably the worst. They never seemed to be able to take a subtle hint and my patience with that was growing thin.
"Any drink from here will quench one's thirst." I coyly said while thrusting out my chest as a trophy to win. I wasn't going to make him leave without a playful tug at the hook first. The sting from the tug should make him squirm away from the bait all night if I did this right.
"Enticement of one's thirst, however, is another story."
"And what might quench that thirst?" the voice said as if it were rehearsed for opening night.
"I would be satisfied with anything except you." the hook, line, and sinker was now visible to the voice along with a nod, smile, and a shift in position of my seat. The voice took the mac truck of all hints well and proceeded to look for his next prey of the night.
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