Just Breathe

It’s a full house tonight, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still sitting by myself. The stool to my right is empty and my eyes linger on it for a moment longer than they should; a sharp pain hits my chest and it’s all I can do not to break down. The bartender sets down a glass filled with beer in front of me, giving me a nod as he takes note of me. I’m the only guy he knows by name; I’m a regular customer, after all.

To the naked eye, I’m sure I look like the guy that was just dumped by his girlfriend.

“It’s on the house,” the bartender says, his voice gruff. He’s a pretty big guy, but I think his appearance is only that - an appearance. He looks tough but I’m sure he has a daughter that he spoils on weekends with his tip money. Thinking that, I slip him a tip, anyway, and carry on drinking until my blood is intoxicated.

It’s the last night I’ll be coming here.

To be honest, I hate myself more and more each day. The bar - our bar - makes memories seem like that’s all that they are anymore. And I’m not ready yet.

I’m not ready to let you become a memory.

Letting you become a memory is the equivalent of saying goodbye. It’s like giving up and letting go and I’m not strong enough to do that. I can’t do that and even the slightest thought about it brings me to my knees. The wound you left in me is far too great to stitch up and expect to be okay. All I have are pieces of my shattered heart, shards of words that taste bitter on the tip of my tongue and promises that were never kept.

My body feels numb most days now. It’s like an automatic defense system that my brain sets off - emotional break down coming? Here, let me just turn off any and all emotions you have. And it does. I’m so numb that I think pain would be better than this.

God, anything would be better than this.

I come to our bar every night, mostly just because I’m convinced you’ll be here. You’re just running late, like usual. It’s a Friday night and you had to work a little later than you were scheduled, but you always called and told me. And I always promised to wait up for you and have at least one drink together.

Those were the only promises I ever kept for you.

Maybe I deserve what happened as a punishment for all of my empty words. I never really thought about things before I said them, especially not with you. Mostly, with you, it was word vomit. It was just that you always made me so damn nervous - it didn’t matter that we’d been together for years.

“I think I’m gonna head on out,” I tell the bartender as I set my empty glass on the bar top. The empty stool is too much to handle tonight - it weights down my heart like an anchor. “See you around.”

“You’re not coming back?” he asks curiously, taking the glass and putting it down in the sink behind the counter. I give a careless shrug in response and he seems to understand and only nods. “Good luck, buddy.”

I turn on my heel to leave the bar - our bar - and am greeted with a unusually chilly breeze as the front door opens. You’re there, a smile so wide that I’m sure your cheeks are in pain. But it’s a smile just for me, and your green eyes squint and you just look so damn cute.

You take a step toward me and then you’re gone.

My heart pounds against my rib cage; the alcohol playing it’s pesky tricks on me. Except tonight is the last time I’ll allow for it to do that to me anymore. No matter how badly I want to see you, seeing you and knowing it’s not real makes it harder to heal. Time can’t come in and fix the wound if I don’t let it.

So even if I’m not ready yet, I have to let you become a memory. I have to let go and try to move on because I can’t live any other way.

“Hey, Austin,” the bartender says, pulling my attention back to him. “You can forget. It’s okay for you to forget now.” My eyebrows pull together in confusion and he glances down at the empty stool where you would have sat; my heart gives another painful throb. “It’s okay for you to forget because I’ll remember for you.”

I swallow back tears because crying in public, in a bar, is not exactly at the top of my bucket list. My jacket pocket suddenly feels heavy and I let out a deep breath, knowing that he’s right.

My fingers dig into my pocket and pull out the small, velvet box. Inside is a special engagement ring - the one that I was going to present to you that night. The night that you didn’t show up.

“Go on and live your life, man,” he continues. “You deserve it.”

I open the box and stare down at the silver diamond ring inside for a moment. I’d imagined that same ring on your lovely finger for so long. It had burned a hole in my pocket for months as I waited for the perfect time to finally present it to you.

“Thanks,” I say as I set the box down on your empty stool. “Later.”

As I start for the doors again, leaving the ring behind on your stool, you appear before me again. You’re smiling as if you hadn’t seen me in years, and you know that I waited for hours for you. And I’m sure I was smiling, too, at just the simple sight of you. I’m sure my heart was racing in anticipation of our next kiss, of you going home with me for the night. Of just holding you in my arms as you slept soundly.

Before you can disappear, I step through you and out the doors to our bar.