Page 16 of The Things That Hold Us

Just then I notice the dog tag around his neck, and a small scar right above it. How did I not notice before?

“Are you still in? The military, I mean.”

His head shakes, “No, I got out this month actually. Just got home a couple weeks ago.”

Oh wow.

“Does it feel weird?”

He looks at me confused, so I clarify, “Being home.”

“Ah.” he says, then adds, “Like you wouldn't believe.” his hand reaches up to the dog tag, and he gives it a squeeze then lets go. I suddenly feel extremely guilty for not remembering his name.

I stop walking. He stops next to me.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

I rub at my forehead, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I have an embarrassing confession.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Ok. Hit me.”

“I can't remember your name. I know I know, terrible. But you see, I work a lot, and my memory is shot, probably from all the coffee I drink, and it slipped my mind and hasn't come back. And I feel especially bad since the bar, and you just told me something personal about yourself, and I’m not even decent enough to remember your freaking name.”

Great, now I’m rambling.

He just smiles, and shrugs. “It's ok. Really. We onlymetthe one time, and the second time you were pretty wasted, so I don't blame you.”

I hold a hand up, “Which I typically don't do. I don't get drunk.”

“So you told me. While drunk.” he teases.

I find myself smiling, and looking away from him.

“Ok. You got me there. But I swear it’s not a normal thing. I hardly ever leave my apartment.”

His eyes drop to my mouth like they did before.

“So what made you that night?” he asks.

I contemplate my answer for a minute.

Do I go with honesty and tell him I was having a sad night and hating my lonely life? Or lie and just say I was bored.

Neither. Let's go with neither.

“I dont know.” I tell him.

He nods his head. “Ok. well, if it helps, you weren't a sloppy drunk.”

I throw my hand into my face.

“Oh gosh.”

“You didn't take advantage of me or anything.” he adds, and I can't help the laugh that slips free.

“Isn't that usually the guy's job?” I say.

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