ONE NIGHT AT BOBBY'S

Am I pathetic or what? Never mind. I'm pathetic. Here I am at Bobby's on a Saturday night.

Bobby's. The last resort of the hopeless and desperate. It's the bar where people go to when they don't care who they go home with. When you're so lonely that you're two steps away from being close up and personal with razor blade, you go to Bobby's.

And hope you find someone equally desperate.

Yee gods! I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the bar. Is that me? Can't be. My eyes aren't that haunted...are they?

No. I don't belong here. I'm just observing.

As an anthropologist in training, that's what I do. Observe. Yes, that's why I'm here. Just over the legal age to get into Bobby's so the bar scene is all quite fascinating, you know.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm here because I can't stand the silence any more. The silence of the library where I bury myself in books to preserve the illusion that I have a life. The silence of my room that comes from too much music and no conversation.

Yes, those are my eyes I see in the mirror. God, that's a depressing reality.

Depression. Ok, maybe if I understand why I'm depressed. Lots of college students get depressed. There's help available for that. All I have to do is call or make a visit.

Right. The so-called anthro-genius is cracking up. Yep. That little tidbit of knowledge will get me a spot on the next field trip.

Hmm...am I depressed because I'm not on the expedition to Bolivia? Actually, no. I have to admit that I did a little happy dance when I wasn't chosen. The official reason was that I was under 21 at the time. The unofficial reason was that I'd shown up too many of the anthropology professors for them to even consider choosing me.

I would've just gotten the grunt work anyway.

The good news is they'll have to find another official excuse. I turned 21 earlier this week.

Yee-haw.

Happy Birthday.

Now, why would that depress me? After all, I am now legally able to do just about anything...even if I've probably already done it illegally. No, upon due reflection, I'm not depressed about turning 21.

Never mind. I'm going home. The bar's getting too crowded, and the desperation level has tripled in the last hour. I mean, if you can't pick up somebody at Bobby's on a Saturday night, you are completely pathetic. A real loser. Doomed to be alone for all time.

Screw this. I can be pathetic at home. At least I'll be pathetic on my terms and not someone else's.

I dump a few bills on the bar and twist around on the barstool to get to my feet. Just then, I bump my knee into the thigh of the man trying to get to the bar. I glance up in silent apology.

My god...what beautiful blue eyes.

The man briefly nods, accepting my silent apology. He edges closer to the bar then looks at me again. "Hi," he half-shouts over the music and noise.

"Hi." I lean closer and smile wider when he leans down in response. "Can I be a complete dork and use the old line of asking if we've met before?"

The man chuckles. "Sure. Give it a try, Chief. You never know."

"Have we met before?"

The man studies me for a few moments. "No. But I don't see that as a reason to stop us from getting to know one another now." He holds out a hand. "I'm Jim."

I take his hand and hold onto it. "I'm Blair."

OK, so maybe the night's not a total bust after all.


September 2004
 

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