I’m getting old.
So, I have this ritual. Well, ritual is kind of a strong word. More like this thing I do. Whenever I can manage it, after work on Tuesday evenings I go to a bar. Alone. Some people may have an issue with drinking alone, but I’m not one of those people. And the point isn’t really the drinking, anyway. It’s a therapeutic experience.
(Really! This isn’t some ploy to mask rampant alcoholism, I swear!)
The bar I go to is a gay piano bar complete with all the things you’d expect when you imagine a piano bar: sophisticated cocktails, dimmed lighting, mirrored walls and leather chairs. You feel like you’ve stepped through a time portal to the 50s when you walk in, and really you might have; Tavern on Camack is –I’m pretty sure- the only piano bar in Downtown Philadelphia with live piano playing every night. And the man who tickles the keys on Tuesdays is especially fantastic. The vibe is really relaxed during the week, and absolutely perfect for winding down after work.
Not to mention the piano player will let you sing with him. I’ve perfected my rendition of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” at this place. Really, I pretend like I’m on the balcony and everything.
It has sort of become my Cheers thing. I don’t go every Tuesday, but I really look forward to it when I know I can manage it. I go, have a drink or two (at most), and allow myself to stop thinking about the things I have to do, or worrying about the future I’m still not too certain of. And I really don’t mind that I go alone; it’s one of the few things in my life that’s a simple pleasure and all about me. My own personal escape. I allow myself a few hours to get out of my head, listen to live music, maybe sing a few songs, and be inspired by the total strangers around me.
And now I’m not sure I can go again.
You see, I wasn’t kidding when I said it was one of the few things I allow in my life to be all about me. For a few hours on Tuesdays I don’t think about family, friends or coworkers. Heck, to be truthful I don’t really think about myself. And I definitely don’t think about guys, though it is a gay bar and I’ve been hit on a few times. I’m just not there to think about boys or dating or relationships. I’m not there to think at all. It’s me time. I just sit, sip and listen.
But then two weeks ago I met a guy.
I had seen him at the bar before, but it wasn’t until I overheard him trying to defend Bill O’Reilly that I engaged him in conversation. Before I knew it, I was noticing how genuinely intelligent the guy was, and then how attractive he was. I then noticed that he was also checking my out whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention. That’s when I started flirting. And he flirted back. It was the fun kind of flirting – the kind where you go tit-for-tat, trying to get a rise out of each other while knowing it’s completely harmless. He called me handsome. I told him I really liked the color of his skin. At the end of the night we said goodbye without breaking eye contact.
We didn’t exchange numbers. I think we both realized that exchanging numbers would have broken the completely casual spell we had weaved.
Work the next Tuesday couldn’t end quickly enough, and before I left the café I spent at least 10 minutes in the restroom making sure I looked as cute as I could manage in my work clothes and smelling like coffee grounds. When I got to the bar I got my usual drink, sat in my usual seat at the piano, and listened.
Only I wasn’t really listening. My attention was on the door, and every time I heard it creak open I’d quickly glance over…before remembering to be casual because creepily staring at someone the second they walked into a room was probably not hot.
It was two hours later when I realized he most likely wasn’t coming.
He didn’t show up the next week, either.
I wasn’t sad that he didn’t show up. We’d only spoken once, after all. It wasn’t as though I’d planned our marriage, the names of our three adopted children, the colleges they’d attend, the wedding gifts I’d get them, and the amount of tears I’d shed as I gave his eulogy praising the terrific husband and father he was, all after one conversation.
…honest.
No, the best way I could describe it is the disappointment we all felt at some point, typically around junior high, when the guy or girl you had a secret crush on and liked to stare at in 5th period wouldn’t show up to class. A very shallow sadness.
And at some point last week, when it became apparent that he wasn’t showing up again, and that shallow sadness started creeping up on me, it hit me that I’d let my special thing stop being relaxing. Without realizing it, I’d let my little Tuesday ritual stop being about me and become all about a boy…and another source of stress, however small. He doesn’t show up, and I spend the night paying more attention to the door than I do the pianist. And, if I ever do run into him again, I’ll probably feel too awkward to act natural.
And I know I’m being a little dramatic, but part of me feels like the whole experience has been ruined. I think I need to find a new end-of-the-work-week-thing-I-do, and exercise a bit more discipline. Having been single for three years now, boys are on my brain enough. I need something in my life that supersedes thinking about them or anything at all.
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
Start taking piano lessons. That can be a thing you do, that's all about you and having fun and relaxing, and it will also build a healthy, fun, skill that you can share with others, and if the spirits will it, make some money. Importantly, you're unlikely to find an attractive, young, male teacher. You'll likely be taking lessons from a wrinkled little old lady full of piss and vinegar.
Haha! A valid suggestion, Robert.
I joined a gay chorus recently, and I honestly do enjoy it. But it's a challenge, which is a good thing. Just not what I would call relaxing just yet. Not to mention, it means that every Wednesday I'm trapped in a room with 100 other gay men, most of whom are attractive to some degree.
Maybe I'll just go sit by the river and knit.
By the way, surprised you read my blog. Thought it'd be a little too gay for you
See you tomorrow.
I read it occasionally, not super often.
And yes, picking up piano wouldn't be relaxing at first, but it would pay off in the long run in a variety of ways. People who play instruments tend to be healthier and happier, in addition to it contributing to math, reading, and general language skills. I highly recommend picking up an instrument, even if it's just buying an ocarina and teaching yourself. Trust me, it will be worth it.
And yes, see you tomorrow.
brandon, I'll go out with you any tuesday you desire! I suggest the Ranstead Room, as I've never been there. But I can totally relate to you in this post! We need to catch up. And figure out how to stop boys from ruining our lives. <3 miss you
This post is uncannily relevant to my life right now. Those moments sneak up on you… moments when you go, God damn, how did it all become about sex so quickly? I also had a moment recently when I realized how much of middle school was spent looking forward to seeing some girl in class. Most of us have done it, but it's still a crazy feeling to realize just how much energy gets spent on that stuff.
Also, sitting in a bar has got to be one of the best ways to sit down and watch the world go on around you.
And good call on joining the chorus. We've all got to have something like that, I think. Sometimes I think the reason we obsess about sex so much is because sometimes it's the only thing in our lives where we can see obvious results. There, of course, are tons of other things to pursue- it's just that, when we don't have anything immediate, we seem to automatically flock to sex.
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