Blog DirectorySegment 12: The Man in the Truck Stepped into a crowded bar drinking a ‘Roman holiday’ (sweet vermouth, maraschino cherries, soda water, rum, bitters, paper umbrella to top it off), and I bumped through a bunch of girls till I made my way through the front to hear the music without earplugs. Sheedy was supposed to arrive any minute and I looked back on and on at the back door where she was supposed to be coming through, combing my hair back from the when it smelled too much like cigarette smoke and pot. We’d hot boxed it in the bathroom of the basement downstairs from the gym during an assembly that Sheedy didn’t feel like going to and during a pep rally where I didn’t care about seeing my sister do flips in the air. The guys gave us a real run-down of their first play and I put one sneaker on the other while I tried to play back the song I’d heard earlier that day before shaking my glass full of ice and no water left and going back up to the bar to get another one for free. Sheedy showed up late, real late back behind the stage with her hair cut short now and black mixing with people she didn’t’ know till she could make it up to the bar for shots. I was on my third drink now, swinging back and forth on a stool, playing with my Minnie mouse scarf and untying the red threads and wrapping them around the chipped nail polish of my first finger counting down time till she said something. She asked me if I wanted to come back and sit on a black box back stage so we could drink Handy margaritas but I’d been making eye contact across the bar for a while and I wanted to up my chances that in another drink or so I’d go up to him and he’d take me for someone who he’d wanna spend time around. It was cold in here every time someone would open the entrance door and I seemed to be sitting right by it when people came through looking for people they knew in the crowds.
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