I went to a bar alone. I sat next to a man who I thought was with the two women on the other side of him, because they were chatting nicely, but it turned out he was alone too. We did not talk for several minutes, but his drink looked good so I asked him what it was. We started talking. He was nice to talk to. At first I felt at ease in the conversation because I wasn’t thinking of it as flirting. He was older and I thought for a while that he was wearing a wedding ring but then I realized I had been looking at the wrong hand. And the easy conversation became a not-so-easy conversation and I finished my drink and I decided I was ready to leave, but he was talking a lot so I jingled my keys and checked my phone and shifted in my seat but he was still talking so I crudely interrupted. He said goodbye and, oh, could he get my number. And oh, I do not like confrontation so okay. Nice to meet you. Goodbye. Goodbye. Bye.
Sigh, I went outside and unlocked my bike that was on the curb and a man stepped out of the back door of a restaurant kitchen. He asked me how far I was riding.
“Queens.”
“Oh that’s far.”
“I mean just Ridgewood. It’s not that bad.”
“I used to ride here from Sunnyside. But my bike got stolen. I cried.”
“I’m sorry. I would cry too if my bike got stolen.”
He introduced himself. John. Then he said,
“Well I don’t know if you know but we’re closing for good.”
“Yeah I heard.”
“So I guess I’ll never see you again.”
And with a smirk he turned around and went back to the kitchen.
Goodbye John. I’ll love you forever.
Anne Foster 