POETRY
Unfiltered Moments
Oliver and Bethany’s Dive Bar Connection
Oliver sat at a maple
table over a Heineken
in a crowded dive bar.
He moved his head
around people
and looked out the window
as the sun lost its fight
with thick shadows
that replaced the day’s rays.
Groups talked about
good times
and liars lied
about their lives,
impressing no one
not even themselves.
A thick haze of smoke
burned Oliver’s eyes,
so he reached
for his breast pocket
and smoked one.
Oliver returned to his drink.
He took a long sip
and stroked his evenly
trimmed beard, turned his head,
and moved his eyes around.
A DJ played top 40 hits
that thumped through
the speakers,
rattled the maroon walls,
and shook the ground
beneath his feet.
An open sign blinked red
in the large front window.
Bartenders served drinks
and moved white towels
across smooth pine tables.
Oliver looked at his watch.
He fished for an internet date
on a site only to have one bite and bail.
Or did she embrace
a fashionably late
persona as the cornerstone
of her self-preservation.
From our messages,
Bethany hated the judgment
that she received from men
who assumed they had more
right to tell her how to feel.
Oliver left his glass half-full.
“Gonna drink that?” a woman said.
Oliver lifted his gaze. “Bethany?” His eyes eased into a self-conscious glare.
“I’m not always late,” Bethany said. She dragged my eyes to the empty seat. “Mind?”
“America locks up more people than any place on earth,” Oliver said. “But it’s a free country.”
Her neutral expression pinwheeled into laughter. “I didn’t know where you were going with that,” Bethany said.
She reached across the table
grabbed his beer, and sipped it.
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She belched.
Oliver’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.
“Oh.” Bethany blushed. “That came out silent in my head.”
“Really?” Oliver arched a brow.
“You think I’m a slob, huh?” She wrapped her long, red hair around her neck.
“I think you don’t know how to burp,” Oliver said. “If you’re going to burp, at least do it loud.”
“Let’s see you do it, hotshot.” Bethany leaned back and folded her arms, her eyes trained on his technique.
Oliver lifted a finger as the server served him another. He gave her a tip, twisted the cap off the long neck, and drank the bitter liquid of young lust. He lifted his finger again and belched loud enough for others to know.
People turned their direction and whispered amongst themselves,
which is what people did when Oliver came around. He regained his power by giving them a reason to stare him down.
Bethany’s cheeks reddened at the attention.
Oliver winked, thinking it empowering that he didn’t care what people thought about him.
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “Watch this.” She held the beer, lifted her chin, and the bottle to finish the drink. Bethany opened her mouth and released a belch between songs that made everyone laugh.
“Not bad.” Oliver clanked his bottle against hers.
“I’ve cared for so long about what other people thought about me,” Bethany said, as though she meant to say it in her head.
Oliver leaned in and put his hand over hers. “I’ll never judge you.”
Bethany blushed. “Judgment be damned.”
(© 2024 AC)
(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)
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