Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology

by Anthology

  “Paige, hey…”

  I gulp down nothing but air and lift a flat stare to Sean, whose smile normally lifts my spirits, but today I already feel a sense of loss and he hasn’t even left yet.

  Nodding my reply, I drop my eyes back to my neurotic cleaning.

  He hums, as if testing my unusual silence but probably not my natural resting bitch face.

  I wish there was a way I could get a grip on what normal is. This isn’t my style. He knows it. On any other Saturday night, I’d be telling him how my Friday night ended up. Unfortunately, that story he already knows, since he was part of the disaster.

  No matter, I’m the one with the problem. Sean’s smile comes easily because he only knows one mode of operation: laid back. I wish I knew the feeling. Between my profanities, bad decisions and laughter, I’m nothing but a constant current of worry and rash decisions.

  I already know what he’s going to try to do. Sean’s a peacekeeper by nature and has been known to put my erratic temper in check, or hell, mediate my obvious reluctance to express my emotions.

  I scrub harder, my discomfort with the situation coming over my body like a fit of arthritis in my joints.

  To my surprise, Sean simply keeps talking.

  “Weirdest thing happened last night,” Sean mutters, a notable shake of disbelief behind each syllable as he continues his strides inside, and, since I’m not looking at him, I find the slow rhythmic sounds of his boots on the floor a sign that he’s trying to gauge the situation. Good call, because even I can admit I’m acting weird.

  He continues, a funny sing-song tone trailing behind his words as he says, “I had a dream, and you were in it.”

  My head snaps up, and my cheeks heat like the surface of Mars. I’m mute, and I don’t think that’s ever happened in my entire hoodlum riddled life. Not when my Mom found birth control in my pillowcase at the age of fifteen, and not even when the University of Oregon agreed to give me a bachelor’s degree that I knew I’d probably never use. But when Sean Benson suddenly admits that in our two years of friendship that he’s dreamt about me, probably while tangled around his grey jersey sheets that I know have seen many the slutty vixen, it turns me into fricken Helen Keller. I think I blink about a hundred times in a few seconds.

  How did we enter the Twilight Zone within twenty-four hours? Sean is my best friend, but he feels like something else entirely right now. I’d say like a stranger, but it’s so much more than that. He’s a complex entity that’s the epitome of all of my needs, wants and wishes.

  Before the near spontaneous combustion of our friendship that occurred last night, he was someone I was never shy to speak my mind to, that is, until it regarded how I really felt about him.

  Again, all recent revelations. I never thought the dude I’d try to drink under the table while on the clock would ever be someone I pined over. Between his crass attitude and reflexive need to tease me, there was never room for romance. At least I thought so. I must have been oblivious to the signs. I always knew I liked how he could make me laugh, or how easy it always was to relay late night stories of promiscuous shenanigans, but I never feared what it would be like if I might not have that anymore.

  My mind is running a mile a minute and his exasperated groan in reaction to me becoming mute says it all.

  I’d say sorry, but it’s not my style either, and he’d only think I’m being even stranger.

  What I really wish for is that I could tell him that I’ve been having trouble forming words since the last time we talked, and that I’m so rattled by it all that it took twelve attempts to apply the perfect cat-eye with my liquid liner before coming into work tonight, but I’m sure he wouldn’t understand the agony. If only boys knew how shaky, emotional hands and watering eyes are death to a perfect cat-eye.

  “Don’t dream of me, you idiot.” I want to tell him, “You’ll make this weirder. And harder. And more awkward.” Or how about even worse, “What did we do in your dream?”

  My skin radiates heat with my newly formed blush. I don’t wear bashful well. I also hate it when it’s combined with the frustration that flares in my gut when I lock eyes with Sean’s crystal blue ones.

  “Are we still not talking?” Sean blurts out, losing his playful tone and cutting through the tension with his usual bluntness I used to covet, but now could strangle him for.

  I stand up straighter, tossing the towel onto the bar, shrugging. “I wasn’t aware we weren’t talking.” I find ignorance easier to latch onto, wishing the nightly crowd would hit sooner rather than later. I need a distraction from Sean.

  There’s something in the meticulous making of cocktails and the skillful filling of pint glasses while talking beer-shop with customers that soothes my mind.

  The click in Sean's jaw tells me he hasn’t regained any of his patience since the last time we spoke. Normally I'd find that funny, but not today.

  “I just assumed we wouldn’t be talking since you walked out on me last night. We were having a very important conversation, weren’t we?” he asks.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t have anything more to say.” I stutter, turning redder, knowing very well I couldn’t articulate what I was feeling then, just like I still can’t do now.

  Sean releases a grunt, running a hand through his short sandy brown hair as he moves behind the bar, stepping toward me. “Why do I highly doubt that? Since when have you had nothing to say to me?”

  I shake my head, taking a cautionary step back, attempting to ignore a few of the regular patrons who eye us curiously from their perches.

  “You’re looking into it too much, Sean. I’d have no reason to say anything.”

  His thick brows pull together while his eyes gleam apprehensively, knowing that the only thing we’ve mastered in the past twenty-four hours is being cryptic, which has never been our style.

  “Really?” he chides.

  My tongue peaks out, wetting my chapped lips, finding the subject matter near impossible to conquer. How can I tell him that everything is wrong, and how he can’t leave me in this city for a different life without me in it, even though I have no right to ask him of such a thing? Sean hasn’t kissed me, or made a move, or even talked about me to his friends in any romantic capacity (not that I know of, anyway). Yet here I am, insanely distraught with the prospect that he’s going to be moving onto bigger and better things across state lines. How can I tell someone I’m in love with them even though I have no real reason to be?

  Have I mentioned I just realized all of this last night? My brick wall of platonic best friends crumbled fast, his words acted like a tornado, stripping me to nothing but my foundation: being a stupid girl with stupid feelings.

  Him leaving me in Portland to take the job his dad offered him in San Francisco is all sorts of awesome and awful.

  “Really,” I confirm through a gritted smile, turning my attention back to wiping down the bar.

  Maybe I've been lying to myself all along. Maybe we're actually the masters of cryptic feelings that might've been laced in our normal flirty chatter and I was just completely unaware, or maybe I'm making it all up in my head. It’s getting harder to differentiate between reality and fantasy now. The lines feel blurred, and now there’s no black and white. It’s all grey area. I can't risk looking like an idiot and let my mouth fly as I normally would. He'd think I'm crazier than he already does. Plus, I’m afraid he’d tell me I’m wrong in every sense: my feelings, my thoughts, my reality … what a mess.

  He can sense my uneasiness, but does he have any idea why?

  “You do realize I’m going to get the truth out of you somehow, right? We have the next six hours together.”

  “Our last six hours together,” I reply too quickly. The upward tweak to the corner of his mouth in response jolts my nerves.

  He leans in and I have no idea where my spine went as I involuntarily wince. His smile only grows.

  He licks over his lips before saying mere inches away
from my face, “Ya know, cornered animal doesn’t suit you at all, Paige.”

  My back snaps up straight. My pride, normally a crutch, suddenly saves me from myself. I toss the rag into the sink, and lift both palms up, slamming them into Sean’s hard chest, pushing him away two steps.

  “Stop fucking with me. Maybe I wouldn’t be in such a bad mood if you told me you were quitting forever ago instead of telling me only days before you leave.”

  God, that felt good to say.

  He utters something under his breath, and it riles me up more. I push him again, and he grins wider, little chuckles escaping him as he grabs for my wrists. I attempt to yank my hands way but his grip on me tightens.

  “That’s better. I like the fight in you. Can we please go back to normal now?”

  He lets me go, lightly tossing my wrists back to me. I release a heavy, exasperated breath, and I wish he had anger to meet mine, but he doesn’t. Instead, it’s still the annoyingly charming, dimple-ridden smile that somehow keeps us glued together and always has.

  “Are you done lecturing me, Benson?” I retort.

  “Not even close, Erickson. I’d never let you off that easy. I think we both have things to say. It'll just be interesting to see which one of us breaks first.”

  I snort even though I know I’m giving too much of myself away. I shake myself of it, needing to divert the unfolding situation. “Can you stock up on the house whiskey bottles? We’re down. I’m going to go grab a case of Redbull for the white-girl wasted enthusiasts. The band should bring in a big crowd tonight”

  He clicks his tongue, shooting me a patronizing thumbs-up. “You got it, boss.”

  My nerves ratchet into more annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Your anger is better than you acting fucking weird.”

  Touché. That’s something we can both agree on.

  “Careful what you wish for,” I retort, turning on my heels, ready to head the opposite direction.

  “I’m gonna quote you on that, just so you know.”

  My sneakers squeak on the wood floor, halting my strides. I’m on the verge of asking him what he means, but I pull in a deep breath and force myself to keep moving. If this situation has taught me anything, it’s that ignorance is, in fact, bliss.

  My shoes swivel away from the hallway and toward the backdoor instead.

  Sean huffs, taking notice in my change of direction. “Where are you going now?”

  “To have a cigarette!”

  “Those’ll kill you!”

  “You’ll kill me!” I shout back before making it to the outside patio, slamming the wood screen door behind me.

  I pace back and forth under the safety of the canvas awning, shielding me from the Portland rain.

  My breath escapes me in short bursts, making small puffs of mist appear in front of my face.

  I pull out my phone for no real reason other than neurotic habit. I don’t have anyone to call. My evangelical parents have long given up on me from the Midwest. My friends from college have moved on. And the only person I’ve ever allowed myself to get close to since moving here from Indiana is the one person I can’t talk to right now.

  I shove my phone back into my tight black jean pocket then stick my hands out into the night, letting the cold rain fall onto my palms and drip down my forearms, cooling the burn Sean’s fingertips left on my skin.

  I tell myself this is my washing his touch from me. Washing it all away. Leave it here outside to funnel into the gutters to be washed out to sea.

  I don’t need these feelings. All I need is to get through tonight.

  Sean doesn’t need to know I’m aching. He needs to move on knowing he’s doing the right thing. I’d never want to hold anyone back. My unrequited feelings will dissipate and fade with time. That’s how crushes work, right?

  I’m not a teenager any more. At twenty-four I should be able to handle this. I’ve handled much worse.

  I pull my hands from the rain, running them over my face, letting the water refresh my flushed skin and decide to forego the cigarette I said I’d be having.

  One shift. Six hours. I can handle this. I can fake my way through it.

  Sean deserves a fun last shift. He deserves to go off and make his dreams a reality.

  We all work for something. This is his moment.

  Now, what have I been working on in my own life? I have no idea, but maybe it’s about time I figure it out. Maybe I should take this as the chance to take a hard look at the bigger picture once Sean leaves.

  And once that’s figured out that stupid beating thing in my chest can realize she will have no say in the way I function. I banished that old thing years ago. My heart. Why she’s suddenly reappeared is beyond me. She should have learned her lesson. Relationships were never my thing. I’ve only ever been good at short and sweet, which is how I should treat Sean. What we had was fun, possibly flirty, but now it’s time to drop the act and move on, for the better … I think.

  I shake off the thought, not wanting to dwell on the past (and present) and its life lessons. I try to remember my motto of always looking forward, and never back. Live in the now.

  Pshst.

  Turning around, I head back inside. I wave at Marco, the bus boy, as he ties an apron around his waist in the hallway.

  “Some crowd already, huh? Looks like the band will be good for the bar,” he says gruffly, probably determining that it won’t make his job any easier tonight.

  I force a smile and nod, keeping my steps moving to the testing beats of a bass drum starting up as the band gets ready for the night.

  Once I make it to the bar and confirm the evening rush has officially started, I pull in a deep breath, welcoming the chaos. I do better when I have to act before given too much time to think.

  I’d work a Saturday night rush any day before answering someone’s questions about how I feel.

  College kids are entering in a slow stream. The plethora of plaid shirts and wool beanies tells me the hipsters are out tonight to see their favorite local band.

  With the sound of a guitar entering the mix the energy of the bar turns electric even before the booze is flowing. It gives me hope. Maybe I can give Sean the last night he deserves, one with laughter and zero weirdness. Maybe, just maybe, I can attempt to see him off with a smile.

  “A little help!” Sean shouts over the slew of drink orders being shouted from the other side of the bar.

  I crack my knuckles, nodding as I approach, flashing a smile to the broad shouldered bearded fellow.

  “What can I get for you?” I croon, licking over my lips.

  “Beer. Any IPA will do.”

  I smirk. “Just any beer? Not sure I trust a man who doesn’t choose his beer wisely.”

  A wide, toothy grin appears under thick scruff. “How about I trust you to choose the best one?”

  My eyes drag across his dark green flannel and I nod, “Okay, handsome. You got it.”

  I shoot him a wink before turning around to grab a pint and head over to the tap wall.

  Walking up to my favorite beer, I grab for the handle and focus on the bartender’s artistic expression of a perfectly poured beer, which includes only a small layer of foam.

  Something boney bumps into me, ruining my artwork as an inch thick layer of foam appears on the pint.

  Sean chuckles as his hip bumps me again. “Whoops.” He winks.

  I swing my hip back into his but I won’t look him in the eye as I attempt to finish off filling the beer.

  On any normal day I might poke and prod Sean, but now it’s strange having him so close. Now his existence seems to buzz when he’s near me, and I can’t tell if I want to soak in it or run from it.

  “This is weird, isn’t it?” he says as he reaches over me to grab for a glass, his skin barely brushing against mine, and I swear I’m so drunk on awkwardness that I think I see our skin spark when we touch.

  I’m losing my mind and it’s all because of feelings. I’m no
t used to this.

  I wipe the sweat that’s forming on my brow with my forearm, wishing I could blame work for sending my body into overdrive, but that beating thing in my chest knows differently.

  “It is,” I reply honestly.

  Sean’s smirk has a sad resolve, and I know exactly why. I’ve never been known for short sentences. I’m the one filled with long-winded explanations and loud laughter.

  I keep my eyes trained on my filled pint, knowing I have to serve the waiting guy behind me.

  “It doesn’t have to be, Paige.”

  I sigh, finally lifting my brown stare to his electric one. “I know.” I exhale, deciding to give this a valiant effort. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

  He grins, and it finally has the power to lift my spirits. “Then, let’s make it count.”

  I gift him a wide smile that I didn’t know I was ready to wield, and you’d think it was his first meal after days of fasting by the way his blue eyes light up when he sees it.

  I elbow him in the side. “Anything special planned for your last night?”

  I’m desperately grasping for normality, and he takes the bait by shifting his stare over his shoulder. I assume he’s already picked a lady target for the night, and he’s going to divulge the details of his next conquest. I tell myself the details won’t bother me.

  “I guess you don’t stray from your normal lumbersexual then, huh?

  I release a hysterical laugh, finding humor where I probably shouldn’t, but hope it’s more palatable than anger, which comes so much easier.

  I lean in, slapping a gentle palm to his strong, angular jaw. “Don’t be mad just because you can’t grow a beard.”

  He snorts, watching me grab my pint and head back to the bearded boy wonder behind me, still snickering to myself.

  I place it on the counter in front of me, managing a tight smile to the customer who is quick to retrieve it.

  “Keep my tab open, will you?” He winks, sliding his credit card to me before briskly turning away to join his friends.

  I nod, grabbing for the plastic and turn around to place it next to the register, and scribble his current order down on a receipt.