Page 44 of Until Next Time
Birdie is just smiling at me. Like, all of her attention is on me and it’s unnerving. I chuckle and ask, “what?!”
She smiles softly, and shifts in her seat to avoid eye contact. “Nothing… I guess I was just thinking that you’re a really cool guy.”
That admission makes my heart pick up its pace. Those words make my body feel warm. Birdie’s opinions are quite honestly the only opinions I’ve ever really been interested in.
“You’re surprised?” I ask, feeling a pang of sadness thinking about what her perception has been of me until now.
“No. I’ve always known that, I just wasn’t sure if I’ve ever told you that, and I feel like it’s important to tell people whenever you have a good thought about them. Because otherwise, it’s a wasted thought. Like what’s the point of having any thoughts at all if they’re just going to stay in your brain? Because then if you died, those thoughts would just die with you and nobody would remember you by any of your good thoughts.” She says, in the rambling way she does, and I love every second of it. Her eyes dart back and forth between the ceiling, her hands, and me, like she needs to be in motion for the entire thought process.
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I say, enjoying the way her eyes just shot open, pausing with the glass of cold beer pressed against her lips. She finishes taking a long sip. She sets the glass gently down onto the bar top and immediately starts rubbing her finger against the condensation on the glass.
“Sorry if that was too forward. I just didn’t want to die being the only one to know I have that thought in my head.” I nudge her arm and our bartender returns with our burgers. Perfect timing.
* * *
We’re about three beers in now. We cleared our plates and we’ve been talking about the last great movies we’ve seen.
“It’s like the movie making people ran out of ideas. All they do is recycle the same stories with new actors or they just make sequels of movies that should most definitely not have a sequel.” Birdie says, apparently very passionate about the topic.
“Especially children’s movies. These poor tiny people who are born to use their imaginations are forced to watch sequel after sequel of movies they probably could have come up with in their sleep.” I add, egging her on.
“You’re onto something! Maybe kids should be in charge of the movie industry. I bet they could come up with some real original story lines that kids would actually be interested in. And we could cut out all the adults trying to sneak in their creepy, unnecessary adult humor and subliminal messages!”
“You’re a lot of things, Birdie. Boring isn’t one of them.” I say, with a chuckle as I take the last swig of my beer and signal our bartender for the check.
Birdie turns in her bar stool to face me, knees touching the side of my leg and she pokes my bicep, like a firm poke that actually kind of hurts.
“Why are you saying these nice things to me?”
The bartender slides the check in front of me and I reach into my pocket for my wallet. I take the receipt and slide my card forward and try to figure out what to say to that. Because I don’t know why I’m saying them. Nothing has changed. I can’t have her. I won’t have her. But I also can’t stand not telling her. Maybe it’s the alcohol induced courage or maybe just the circumstances of this day. But I don’t really give a shit. I want her to know.
“Because I’ve been having those thoughts ever since I’ve met you and a wise woman once told me that there’s no point in having a good thought if you’re not going to share it.” Iadmit, and it feels like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. The weight and pressure of keeping my feelings about Birdie locked in tight is starting to loosen, to crack open, and it feels dangerous. Like I’m scared that if I start, I won’t be able to stop and all that will be left is ruin and destruction.
“So let me get this straight. You thought I was cute when you first met me?” Her eyebrows are crinkled and she’s leaning on the bar top, dangerously close to me.
“I said you are beautiful, but yeah. We were in grade school and I didn’t really know a lot about girls, but I knew you were something. In your overalls and cowgirl boots.” I admit again as I’m filling out the receipt, making sure I leave a good tip and make sure all of our drinks and food were added correctly—habit from working the bar at Southbound.
The gears are turning, I can tell, but before she gets another word out, I say, “Alright. You ready? We should probably get some rest. It’s been a day.”
Birdie hasn’t looked away from me, yet her expression is unreadable. She nods and follows me towards the doors.
31
Birdie
“How are things with Max going? You guys seem to be hitting it off?” Dawsen asks, breaking up the awkward silence I’ve put in the space between us. We’re walking back to our room and the rain is still relentless, and I’m still wearing his coat, and I’m a little bit drunk, and Dawsen said I was beautiful.
“Ohh, yeah, totally, he’s really great.” I say, wondering what in the actual hell is going on.
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” I agree, and we finish walking to our room in silence.
The smell of the rain feels therapeutic almost, and the crisp air bites at my nose and my belly is warm from the alcohol. I take a mental note of this feeling, and the way my chest aches with yearning for this man beside me and how he just asked me about Max—the guy I guess I’m kind of dating.
Dawsen slides the key card into the metal slot on the door and as the light turns green with a tiny beep, he pushes it open and does that thing where he wants me to enter first, but the door opens inward, so his arm is held high, pushing open the door, and I have to walk under his arm to enter.
Why is even that hot? I swear. Sometimes my body reacts to the tiniest things that man does for no reason at all.
