I Still Miss Someone

My Week #19 Submission

The cold wind blew leaves into the door when a couple entered, obviously sweethearts Johnny thought, as they passed by the bar on their way to the back patio.

He raised his glass and nodded to the bartender for another one, then drained what was left before he slid it over towards him.

The bartender didn’t speak, he’d seen a million Johnnys over the years. He just dropped another chunk of ice, then added bourbon until it floated. And instead of putting the cocktail straw in the glass, he added it to the pile. He’d noticed after the second-one that they were for keeping track, not stirring.

Johnny just sat there — staring at the ice in the glass like it held the answer to why she’d left.

I could go out and find a party, he thought, then remembered that’s why he was at the bar now. And instead he’d found the darkest corner of it to sit — he just couldn’t shake the thought of never seeing her blue eyes again. They haunted him, flickering on and off in his mind like the blue neon of the Coors Light sign that hung above the bar.

Johnny blinked the image of her away yet again, drained the glass and motioned for another — the bartender hit repeat, and tossed another straw on the stack.

There were two chunks of ice now, one on top of the other. A shiver ran over him — Johnny took another sip of forgetting, or was it remembering? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Would he ever lie in her bosom again — would he have her arms wrapped around him? He wondered if there was any chance that she was sorry for what she’d thrown away — for leaving what they’d begun?

Johnny looked over at the barfly briefly thinking, there’s someone for me somewhere — then drained his glass and motioned for another instead.

And I Still Miss Someone…

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Photo by Emerson Vieira on Unsplash