The Bar - Jessica Whitmire

George leaned across the counter, gathering the empty glasses from the party who had just left. Something felt oddly familiar. There was something in the air.

The instant The Woman had entered the bar, George could tell there was something different about Her. She was tall, maybe that was it. 6’4’’, 6’5’’ George would’ve guessed. It was rare to find a woman that tall. But no, now that George thought about it more, it wasn’t Her height. It wasn’t Her fiery red, curly hair that went down to Her waist; it wasn’t Her short, sharp nails that tapped tunelessly on the smooth wood of the bar. It wasn’t Her blindingly white teeth, made even more so by the dark lipstick She wore; it wasn’t even Her piercing eyes so dark they were almost black. Those eyes could see right through you, George thought. No, it wasn’t any of those things. It had nothing to do with Her appearance, even if She didn’t look remarkable in any sense of the word, George thought She would still have that way about Her. It wasn’t anything he could describe, physically. When George tried to describe it to his friends, they didn’t understand. They called him crazy. Maybe he was. But no, everyone else in the bar had felt it too. That… feeling. All eyes turned to Her the minute She opened the door. Conversation stopped, drunken laughter quieted, the music and Her footsteps were the only sounds that filled the bar. Her footsteps were loud, too. Even though She wasn’t wearing heels, there was still that echoing click-clack as if She were. Everyone watched Her approach the bar. She seemed unbothered, as if this were expected, as if everywhere She went She was revered.

She approached the bar, and took a seat in front of George, who stood still behind the bar. He was frozen. He had no thought to move his arm, but if he had tried he would have found it was impossible. Those dark black eyes stared through him. The Woman’s voice was soft and silky, it sounded almost snake-like to George’s ears. But still, comforting. Everything about Her should have felt jarring, but somehow it didn’t. Somehow it all made sense.

“Evening, George.”

George did not wonder how She knew his name. It made perfect sense to him, although he was sure they had never met. Hadn’t they? She felt oddly familiar. Something made him feel he had known Her his whole life. But that couldn’t be true. He was sure he had never seen Her before, no, he would remember if he had. But still…

George suddenly remembered he was expected to respond to her. He didn’t know how long he had been thinking. Was it a second? A minute? An hour?

“Evening, ma’am-” George’s throat suddenly felt very dry. He cleared it. “-what can I get for you?”

She smiled, a look of patronizingly vague amusement spreading across Her face. “You know my order, honey.”

He did. Whiskey, on the rocks. He had known it this whole time. Before the thought could even go through his head, George realized he was already making the drink. He noticed The Woman was watching him intently as he dropped the ice cubes into the short glass. He suddenly felt very cold. Goosebumps crawled up his arms, even though he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt. Or maybe he wasn’t. He could see the bumps on his arms, they were clearly uncovered, and yet he could’ve sworn he was wearing a long black t-shirt. George reached out to touch his arm and noticed his hand was shaking. He remembered, yes, he remembered leaving for work that morning. He had looked at the weather, it was going to be below freezing, snowing maybe. He brought his jacket and a long sleeve shirt underneath. He remembered looking in the mirror and seeing his arms covered in black cloth, and yet here he stood in his white pink floyd t shirt. Hadn’t he donated it months ago? Back in December, he thought, when it started to get cold. He didn’t need it anymore. But here he stood.

What had he been doing?

Yes, The Woman’s drink. It had been sitting there too long, the ice must be melted by now, it would be watered down. She must be getting impatient, watching him stand there while Her drink sat, melting, on the counter behind him. George turned back to The Woman sitting at the bar, ready to get on his knees and apologize. How could he be so stupid? He-

There She sat, calmly, the glass of whiskey in front of Her on top of a neatly folded white napkin that rested on the sleek wood of the bar. The ice made a light tinkling noise in the glass as She lifted it to Her lips. She took a sip, so small that George wasn’t sure She had taken one at all. The Woman leaned forward across the bar.

“I like your shirt, George.”

George looked down. Ah, yes, how could he have forgotten? His pink floyd t-shirt. He remembered putting it on this morning before he left for work. He liked the shirt, he liked the way it fit on him. Plus, it was supposed to be hot out today. High 90s, even that night. That’s just how Arizona was in the summer. George remembered watching a video of someone cooking an egg on the sidewalk last week. It couldn’t have been real, he thought. Yet when the air conditioning in the bar had broken, he had felt just like that egg cooking in the sun. They still hadn’t fixed the AC, despite George pleading with his manager to hire someone who could fix it. George was even willing to sacrifice part of his paycheck for it. He just couldn’t stand the heat.

“Thanks.”

She looked George up and down, taking Her time to admire his shirt.

“You know, I saw a Pink Floyd concert just last month, at Madison Square Garden.”

Madison Square? George hadn’t been there in a long time. He was going to go after work in Fall of 2019 with his friend Adam since the venue was only a short walk from the bar. Adam had been in a car crash the day after they bought the concert tickets. Died instantly. George had to take some time off work after that.

“In concert?”

The Woman nodded.

“Who did they have replace Syd Barrett?”

“Why would they replace him?” She asked with somehow feigned confusion.

He had died, hadn’t he? Syd Barrett. Cancer, maybe. George remembered being surprised. He was in high school when he had heard. He had wanted to see him in concert so bad, but… he couldn’t. Years ago. 2006, was it? Maybe 2007.

George shook his head. “Nevermind.”

The bar had been quiet most of the night, save for the quiet chatter of the patrons. But now, the AC started blaring. It was so loud, George could hardly hear anything else. It had been this way as long as he could remember, he was surprised he even noticed it anymore. George glanced at the entrance when he heard the low chime of the bell that hung on the door.

“Adam!” He yelled to the man who had just walked through the door. “You’re late.”

Adam glanced down at his phone. “It’s 8:01. Can you cut me some slack just this one time? The bus was late.”

George shook his head. “You really need to get a car.”

Adam shrugged. George turned back to the woman. Her glass was half empty.

“Can I refill your drink for you, miss?” George asked Her. She shook Her head and took a long sip of the wine. The light color of the drink contrasted strikingly with Her dark lipstick.

Adam rolled up his sleeves and stepped behind the bar. He clapped a hand on George’s back.

“I think I can take it from here, man. You should go home.”

George nodded. The Woman watched the interaction with interest, Her black eyes never leaving George.

“You taking New Years off?” George asked.

“Of course,” Adam replied. “I can’t miss the start of a new decade sitting in this musty old bar.”

“It’ll be interesting to see what the 90’s bring us, won’t it gentleman?” The woman asked.

Adam grinned.

The 90s? That didn’t feel right to George.

The Woman stood, gathering Her coat. “Well, I’d better get going. It’s quite late.”

George glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:37. It was late.

The Woman gently placed Her full glass on the concrete slab of the bar.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, George.”

Tomorrow…?

George leaned across the counter, gathering the empty glasses from the party who had just left. Something felt oddly familiar.

This was written by Jessica Whitmire.

Photo Credits to Oliver Frsh on Unsplash.