place was not as friendly to gay dating as most other Southend clubs."
"Yes!" said Lem with a very quick nodding motion. "That's exactly right. The men here are dogs too!"
"Why are you two acting so weird?" I said.
"Dogs, Mikkel!" restated Lem with urgency.
"Let's just take a walk and find another bar," said Szandor.
"Yeah, let's find another club." said Lem.
"First round is on me!" said Szandor.
Okay, now I knew something was wrong. Szandor never buys the first round unless he's already stinking drunk. In fact, that's usually the only time we can get him to buy the first round in any mood other than begrudgingly.
"I'm just going to take a look in the bar, then we can look elsewhere if you want," I said.
"No, bad idea," said Szandor. "Let's just go."
"What is it you're hiding?" I said, attempting to walk past them to the bar.
Szandor stepped in front of me and gently put his hand on my shoulder. "Really, don't go in. Just between you and me. Trust me. This is just you and me talking. Brother to brother, blood to blood. Don't go in. You're going to regret it."
I shrugged him off. The more they persuaded me not to, the more I wanted to go in. Us Nowaks have a stubbornness in us. It's what amplifies our recklessness to almost danger seeking. Once we get an idea in our heads, we do it. And all their persuasion has just reinforced my desire to go into the bar. I brushed past Lem and Szandor.
With a quick move, Szandor stepped back in front of me. His face close to mind. "Please. You're going to regret it."
I pushed him aside and went inside the bar.
I went through an old wooden door and then down a set of stairs, as the bar itself was below street level. As I descended the stairs, I saw all the familiar bar elements, the same here as nearly any bar in Avalon, nearly any bar in America. Smokey interior, faded neon over the bar either as a joke or advertising brands of beer, the smell of spilt alcohol, and out-of-date radio singles playing on the jukebox. The club wasn't full by any means, probably because of the iffy weather, but it wasn't empty. We could get a table pretty easily and not find ourselves in a remote, uninhabited corner of the bar. And contrary to Szandor, I did see a few attractive women in skimpy outfits, even a few attractive men, which meant Lem had lied too. Why? I walked down to the bottom of the steps, wondering what had made my friends so reluctant to be here.
And then I knew why. It was in the moment my boot stepped off the last step onto the tacky floor. My vision which had passed over the room, taking it all in, ambiance, tables, and dating possibilities, had fallen on one last figure. A head of blonde hair. And then I realized exactly what my friends had been protecting me from.
There was something familiar about that hair. It would always be familiar to me. Even if she changed the style, even if she changed the color. Somehow I'd always know, somehow it'd always be familiar. I don't know why - call it fate, call it chemicals, call it energy. I'd always know.
As I saw that familiar hair, she turned her head, as if she felt the weight of my eyes upon her and knew to turn. While realization was dawning on me, her gaze fell upon me. I was out in the open. Nothing to hide behind and an exposed stairway my only retreat. I had caught sight of her just a split second before she saw me. I couldn't hide. And as our eyes locked, neither of us could turn away and pretend we hadn't seen each other. No escape, no hiding. We were locked in the mutual gaze and mutual acknowledgement regardless of what we wanted.
Did I want this? Did she want this?
The universe sure wanted this. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, a tightness in my heart, and something resembling a panic crawling up my spine, I looked upon the former love of my life, gone some months now.
This was my ex-girlfriend Carly.
I don't really know how to discuss Carly. How do you really tell someone about the past? You can
"Yes!" said Lem with a very quick nodding motion. "That's exactly right. The men here are dogs too!"
"Why are you two acting so weird?" I said.
"Dogs, Mikkel!" restated Lem with urgency.
"Let's just take a walk and find another bar," said Szandor.
"Yeah, let's find another club." said Lem.
"First round is on me!" said Szandor.
Okay, now I knew something was wrong. Szandor never buys the first round unless he's already stinking drunk. In fact, that's usually the only time we can get him to buy the first round in any mood other than begrudgingly.
"I'm just going to take a look in the bar, then we can look elsewhere if you want," I said.
"No, bad idea," said Szandor. "Let's just go."
"What is it you're hiding?" I said, attempting to walk past them to the bar.
Szandor stepped in front of me and gently put his hand on my shoulder. "Really, don't go in. Just between you and me. Trust me. This is just you and me talking. Brother to brother, blood to blood. Don't go in. You're going to regret it."
I shrugged him off. The more they persuaded me not to, the more I wanted to go in. Us Nowaks have a stubbornness in us. It's what amplifies our recklessness to almost danger seeking. Once we get an idea in our heads, we do it. And all their persuasion has just reinforced my desire to go into the bar. I brushed past Lem and Szandor.
With a quick move, Szandor stepped back in front of me. His face close to mind. "Please. You're going to regret it."
I pushed him aside and went inside the bar.
I went through an old wooden door and then down a set of stairs, as the bar itself was below street level. As I descended the stairs, I saw all the familiar bar elements, the same here as nearly any bar in Avalon, nearly any bar in America. Smokey interior, faded neon over the bar either as a joke or advertising brands of beer, the smell of spilt alcohol, and out-of-date radio singles playing on the jukebox. The club wasn't full by any means, probably because of the iffy weather, but it wasn't empty. We could get a table pretty easily and not find ourselves in a remote, uninhabited corner of the bar. And contrary to Szandor, I did see a few attractive women in skimpy outfits, even a few attractive men, which meant Lem had lied too. Why? I walked down to the bottom of the steps, wondering what had made my friends so reluctant to be here.
And then I knew why. It was in the moment my boot stepped off the last step onto the tacky floor. My vision which had passed over the room, taking it all in, ambiance, tables, and dating possibilities, had fallen on one last figure. A head of blonde hair. And then I realized exactly what my friends had been protecting me from.
There was something familiar about that hair. It would always be familiar to me. Even if she changed the style, even if she changed the color. Somehow I'd always know, somehow it'd always be familiar. I don't know why - call it fate, call it chemicals, call it energy. I'd always know.
As I saw that familiar hair, she turned her head, as if she felt the weight of my eyes upon her and knew to turn. While realization was dawning on me, her gaze fell upon me. I was out in the open. Nothing to hide behind and an exposed stairway my only retreat. I had caught sight of her just a split second before she saw me. I couldn't hide. And as our eyes locked, neither of us could turn away and pretend we hadn't seen each other. No escape, no hiding. We were locked in the mutual gaze and mutual acknowledgement regardless of what we wanted.
Did I want this? Did she want this?
The universe sure wanted this. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, a tightness in my heart, and something resembling a panic crawling up my spine, I looked upon the former love of my life, gone some months now.
This was my ex-girlfriend Carly.
I don't really know how to discuss Carly. How do you really tell someone about the past? You can
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