“…That one night at the bar…”

It happened. That one night at the bar it happened. A straight bar. There sitting two tables over was a man. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I cheered my friends’ band as they played. Covering some songs whose names I don’t remember. Some rock song and a little John Lennon.  I silently prayed to God that the band would sound somewhat good so I could be somewhat impressive to the attractive man and be “like yeah, so I’m friends with them.”  I then quickly sent up another prayer that if I did manage to talk to him that I wouldn’t sound like a complete idiot.

Talking to him. That was another challenge. I’ve never been amazing at walking up to a stranger and starting a conversation. Before I walk up to the person there is usually some high anxiety, breathing exercises, and a mental pep talk. This process can happen in a matter of a few seconds or stretch over a fifteen minute period. All depends on how bold or intimidated I feel. Luckily I had an in. I knew his friend/roommate. A girl I worked with. Thank you Jesus for this small little favor or else I probably would have never walked over. My normal process was taking longer than fifteen minutes and now I felt as though I would probably lose my window of opportunity.

Deep breathe. Mental pep talk, “Grow some cajones and walk over Rodriguez.” Walk.

CRITICAL REVIEW OF WALK TO TABLE:

I somewhat ignore the attractive man and talk to his roommate—NEGATIVE. I walk over the table and acknowledge his existence—POSITIVE. At least I got over to the table and did not completely ignore him. The attractive man, Nick, is friendly and asks questions—POSITIVE. My response is “like yeah, so I’m like friends with then.”—I guess God can’t answer everyone’s prayers.

Nick was very friendly and slightly drunk. Another small favor from God, if he’s drunk I have a chance that he won’t remember any of the stupid shit I say, but hopefully I’ll make a good enough impression that he’ll at least remember who I am.

The details of that night have faded with time. There are flashes of walking through the tunnels of Center Street to travel to different bars. An ass grab and an intense kiss. A flash of a girl’s pierced nipples. Karaoke at Charley’s. Exchanging of phone numbers. A kiss good night, and another cheesy line, “I hope you remember me in the morning.”

I laid in bed waiting for sleep to come. I remembered only two months prior words that were spoken to me. I laughed at the memory because it was told on a night where the floor was constantly moving and we were the greatest singers in the world. A drunken prophet in the gay bar once said to me, “Luis, it will happen to you. But not here. It will happen to you like it did to me. I meant my girl here in the gay bar. For you, it will happen somewhere else that is not here. Not here. You will be in some straight bar, and you’ll see a guy, and he’ll see you, and you’ll know.”

The chime of a text message woke me the next afternoon. “I remember you.”