Lone Memory

So it's back. The pain of my regular life. My hands are aching and numb. My back hurts. I had to get up early. I had to make phone calls. I have to run errands. I just want to lay on the couch and stay on holiday. I guess the only thing that never left was hunger. I never got rid of my yearly turkey craving.

This weekend marks an interesting anniversary of the beginnings of how I got here. A year ago, I worked in a sports bar. I hated it. More than most people usually hate their jobs. But I was there, working during the after Thanksgiving football onslaught. I went to the bar to pick up my drinks, and there he was. Sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of testosterone drenched men and women wearing jerseys and bad haircuts. His Guiness cast a dark shadow against their Bud Lights, and he sat quietly. Not our usual clientele.

I debated whether or not I should talk to him, but finally decided to rescue him from sports bar hell. It was awkward, but nice. I knew he didn't come for the beer or the football. It was for me, even though he meekly offered "would you believe I was in the neighborhood?"

It was the first time he made my fingers all tingly. Not the last. Because I knew that he liked me like I thought he did. And I liked that. I often think back to that day; what would have happened if I had left him to his beer. Where would I be now?

And does he ever think about it? Did he look around him yesterday and think, one year ago I went to a nasty sports bar to see a girl? A girl that was intriguing and alluring then, but not now. I presume that I remember these milestones alone. And sadly, it is only one of the first of many that will run me down in the near future.