Little Girl Blue - 𝐖𝐋𝐖

𝐈. Ludus- One

They were small—the glasses that slammed onto the wood—with an odor that congested my chest in one whiff. The bartender had done me a solid by sliding me the drinks, leaving with a wink once he finished polishing the counter.

On the stage there was a woman singing a song. With the way the words left her lips you could tell it was her own, or at least she had made it to be that way. Swaying her hips, occasionally stopping to sip a beer or purse her lips to prevent a drunken burp.

For awhile I listened. I watched her every move as she danced around the stage, wrapping the microphone cord around her bony fingers and parading around in a purple, sequin dress. When she would belt out a note, her chest inflated and lips made a thin line, the crowd watching intently as she barked out the blues.

I didn't know what time it was, but the same bartender came back with a plate of french fries and another drink I decided should go untouched. The singing woman had gone home, leaving the floor clear of any dazed patrons. Everyone left seemed to have respective corners and retrieved to them, occasionally waving a hand for a refill or lighting a cigarette. I flicked around the stale potatoes, most of which had grown cold and lost their golden hue over the hours.

"Good evening, Jane!" He shouted.

"It's almost two in the morning, Nicky." The woman slung her purse over the counter just a few stools away. As she sat down, it seemed, she brought the cold air with her, a harsh chill coating my bare arms.

"The usual?" Nicky leaned against the counter, wiping a towel on the inside of a cup.

Beside me I had my bag, full of junk I managed to gather in a rush and dug around to find the hoodie, throwing it over my sunken shoulders.

Across the bar Nicky was making an elixir, some juices and more alcohol than I knew the name of.

"Did Greta perform?"

He hollered over his loud shaking, flashing another toothy smile. "She knocked the crowd's socks off tonight!"

Pouring the contents into a martini glass, he carefully slid the drink across the bar. With open hands, she accepted greedily. "She sang Frank tonight. You would've love it." I scoffed at the conversation. The two were obviously acquainted, maybe friends—I doubted more. Every gummy smile or wink Nicky threw her way, she dodged, too busy to be invested in a small town bartender, finding more of fascination in her drink than him.

A laughed bellowed from her throat as she started to peel off layers of clothing. First a beanie, then a scarf, eventually a jacket. "That's my girl!"

I shoved a fry into my mouth. Two men with bellies spilling over their belts had moved to one of the pool tables while a saxophonist serenaded the scene. The sound of glass clinked and clanked but everybody seemed to be mute. I refocused back on my thoughts and realized that after much thinking and indulging, I had come to no conclusion.

"Are you alright?" My head snapped from the crook of my arm. The woman with many layers and who drank from a martini glass had spun around on the stool, revealing herself.

"Yeah." I stuttered. "Yeah...yes. I'm fine." A pause, "Thanks." I had never really been good with words.

She moved closer and carried her glass along the way. Her eyes flickered from my fingernails to the bottom of the stool, then to the the shot glasses.

"What are you drinking?" Her arm lifted to the counter where she placed her chin in the palm of her hand.

I wasn't looking for conversation but I thought—how foolish of me to do—it wouldn't hurt to distract myself for awhile. I saw the tiny brown glass and studied the taste. It smelled of acetone and something spoiled. "Vodka, I think."