Boomerang
I heard the thumping bass as I drove past the place. The building looked like it was once a house, one of those depression-era homes with two stories, no shutters, and white siding that was scuffed with dirt and mold. It was the kind of place that didn't even look like a destination, just another house along a row of buildings that looked exactly the same, except for a small square sign hanging over the front door.
Five blocks away, I found a parking space. In an attempt to remember which old, white house my car sat in front of, I tried to count my steps. I lost track when my cowgirl boots kept slipping in the snow that still covered the sidewalks. It had been more than 24 hours, why hadn't the neighbors bothered to shovel yet?
I could smell cigarette smoke oozing from the place. Crap, I thought, it’s been years since I've been to a bar where smoking was still allowed. I should have left my coat in the car. And my scarf. And my boots. And myself, I briefly considered last minute. At least I didn't bother washing my hair.
As I walked through the door, I briefly pondered the possibility that I might run into some old friends here. That would be nice; after all, I hadn't visited this town in over a year. I didn't try to make a good excuse for my absence. I simply didn't want to come back. The only attraction this shithole city had, in my opinion, was a handful of friends I missed. As soon as I saw the crowd, though, I knew there would be no possibility of a chance run-in. This was not my crowd.
The place was called Puzzles, but there was nothing about the atmosphere or decor that supported the name. No jigsaws, crosswords, or Sudoku adorning the walls. Just beer posters. My equally out-of-place pal pulled me by the arm through a pack of headbangers, past more than a few evil eyes and judging glances, all the way to the back, where we found the only two people waiting to see us. One friend was preparing to play some angry drums for the next set, so I jumped into a people-watching frenzy with the other friend.
The scene was typical of this town. Fishnet stockings, skull graphics, and tattoos abounded. The women were unfriendly, made-up and dyed, while the men were unshaven, untrimmed, and unwashed. I knew I wouldn't be taking home any of these guys tonight, but it looked like the other female patrons had different ideas. A girl in a leather tube top and red glitter stilettos was on a mission to not go home alone. She was also on a mission to finish the pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of her.
I absorbed second-hand smoke with my companions for awhile. My throat was burning raw with every word I said. I was well aware that my preppy pea coat and Indian scarf didn't belong in this bar any more than the black sweater or North Face track jacket that my friends were sporting.
A large guy with long hair and a blue bandana came through the front door with an attitude surrounding him. I welcomed the cold gust of air as a reprieve from the nicotine steam bath, but I knew it wouldn't come without a price.
Blue Bandana threw the first punch. Soon, a tight crowd of guys formed where the headbangers once were, and the girls stood on bar stools to get a better look. Someone announced that the cops were on their way, and that was my cue to leave.
I crossed the street to avoid the mob standing outside, each one threatening to pummel the other. It’s not that I was scared of them… merely aggravated. The night was ending exactly as I expected, and as much as I wanted to stay out, I needed to remove myself from this segment of humanity as quickly as possible. I slipped and slid in my cowgirl boots all the way back to my car, five blocks that felt like five miles. Disappointed, cranky, and smelling like an ashtray, I drove back to the place I was calling home for the night.
Nearly there, I turned onto the side road. My headlights caught fresh snow on the back street, undisturbed by any tire or foot print. The white street sparkled with the fresh powder. The spectacle was most unexpected, and beautiful: The road was a blanket sprinkled with a thousand diamonds. Mesmerized, I slowed down to make it last longer.
It was the first time all night that I hoped it wouldn't end. Maybe this town wasn't so bad after all.
Five blocks away, I found a parking space. In an attempt to remember which old, white house my car sat in front of, I tried to count my steps. I lost track when my cowgirl boots kept slipping in the snow that still covered the sidewalks. It had been more than 24 hours, why hadn't the neighbors bothered to shovel yet?
I could smell cigarette smoke oozing from the place. Crap, I thought, it’s been years since I've been to a bar where smoking was still allowed. I should have left my coat in the car. And my scarf. And my boots. And myself, I briefly considered last minute. At least I didn't bother washing my hair.
As I walked through the door, I briefly pondered the possibility that I might run into some old friends here. That would be nice; after all, I hadn't visited this town in over a year. I didn't try to make a good excuse for my absence. I simply didn't want to come back. The only attraction this shithole city had, in my opinion, was a handful of friends I missed. As soon as I saw the crowd, though, I knew there would be no possibility of a chance run-in. This was not my crowd.
The place was called Puzzles, but there was nothing about the atmosphere or decor that supported the name. No jigsaws, crosswords, or Sudoku adorning the walls. Just beer posters. My equally out-of-place pal pulled me by the arm through a pack of headbangers, past more than a few evil eyes and judging glances, all the way to the back, where we found the only two people waiting to see us. One friend was preparing to play some angry drums for the next set, so I jumped into a people-watching frenzy with the other friend.
The scene was typical of this town. Fishnet stockings, skull graphics, and tattoos abounded. The women were unfriendly, made-up and dyed, while the men were unshaven, untrimmed, and unwashed. I knew I wouldn't be taking home any of these guys tonight, but it looked like the other female patrons had different ideas. A girl in a leather tube top and red glitter stilettos was on a mission to not go home alone. She was also on a mission to finish the pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of her.
I absorbed second-hand smoke with my companions for awhile. My throat was burning raw with every word I said. I was well aware that my preppy pea coat and Indian scarf didn't belong in this bar any more than the black sweater or North Face track jacket that my friends were sporting.
A large guy with long hair and a blue bandana came through the front door with an attitude surrounding him. I welcomed the cold gust of air as a reprieve from the nicotine steam bath, but I knew it wouldn't come without a price.
Blue Bandana threw the first punch. Soon, a tight crowd of guys formed where the headbangers once were, and the girls stood on bar stools to get a better look. Someone announced that the cops were on their way, and that was my cue to leave.
I crossed the street to avoid the mob standing outside, each one threatening to pummel the other. It’s not that I was scared of them… merely aggravated. The night was ending exactly as I expected, and as much as I wanted to stay out, I needed to remove myself from this segment of humanity as quickly as possible. I slipped and slid in my cowgirl boots all the way back to my car, five blocks that felt like five miles. Disappointed, cranky, and smelling like an ashtray, I drove back to the place I was calling home for the night.
Nearly there, I turned onto the side road. My headlights caught fresh snow on the back street, undisturbed by any tire or foot print. The white street sparkled with the fresh powder. The spectacle was most unexpected, and beautiful: The road was a blanket sprinkled with a thousand diamonds. Mesmerized, I slowed down to make it last longer.
It was the first time all night that I hoped it wouldn't end. Maybe this town wasn't so bad after all.
