Life Beyond the Bar Scene: Apologies and Other Useless Utterances18
Posted In All Things SG,Blog,Booze,Food & Drink,Love,Relationships,Sex,Society
by Laurelin
I was sitting at the bar tonight with a few friends, waiting for my boyfriend, like always. He said he might come out, but I knew he wouldn’t. It was his birthday, and he wasn’t coming. We had had a great night out the night before, but still, I always said a relationship can be measured by the amount of time I spend looking towards the door, waiting for you to walk through it. With him, I do it a lot. In the beginning he would always come, now, not so much. I’m lonely a lot; I spend most nights alone, missing him.
It’s always the nights that you’re most vulnerable that something odd happens, and tonight was no different. My ex boyfriend walked though that door and I could have cried. All I have been thinking lately is how even though he and I were wrong for one another, he was still always there for me. Every night he eagerly came home, and, even after we knew we weren’t in love with one another anymore, he still came home and held me, still wanted to be around me all the time. We were best friends. Part of us will always be just that, no matter how much time goes by.
He had been drinking, I could tell the second he motioned me to join him at a table for two. He hugged me for a little too long and then leaned over. “I’m leaving soon, —-” he said, calling me by our pet name for one another. “I’m moving to LA, and I’m going this week. I’m not telling anyone but you, because you’re the only person I’ve ever cared about.”
A million things run through my mind before I can answer. I can’t imagine this bar scene without him. It’s true, I have created my own name in Boston, especially in the past year, but parts of him linger everywhere I go. “Bittersweet,” I think. We don’t talk much anymore, he and I. But I know that I will miss him impossibly once I know he’s gone.
He grabs my hand and leads me to the jukebox; he always wants to monopolize the music when he’s been drinking. “What do you want to hear?” he asks, and starts punching in letters before I can even answer. “I know,” he says. He plays Pearl Jam’s “Black,” Tom Petty’s “Even the Losers,” Adele’s “Right As Rain,” and Eddie Vedder’s “Hard Sun.” My songs. I look towards the door and glance at my cell phone one last time, knowing my boyfriend isn’t coming, wondering about this guy I’m with who knows me better than I know myself. I know I’ll walk home alone and sleep alone again tonight, and I know my ex has nowhere to stay until he leaves for L.A. I wait until the last of the songs play, and I go to leave.
“This might be the last time we’re out together,” my ex says.
I manage a smile. “Don’t say that,” I say. “I’ll come see you.”
“I hope so,” he says, his hand resting on my waist for just a moment. “Goodbye.”
I leave, alone, and don’t look back. I walk home slowly, and I linger on the pedestrian footbridge overlooking the city lights. Boston is glowing, and everything falls silent. I want to cry but no tears come; I don’t know how I got here, or where to go next. I could stand here and watch the skyline for hours, but I don’t. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my boyfriend, saying he’s going to bed. “I’m sorry,” he says, for what seems like the 100th time.
“I’m sorry too,” I think, before turning away from the city lights and heading for home.
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