Find nothing but faith in nothing.

When I am lonely I go to that place, and today I realized it when I was halfway there the way I will realize it when I’m halfway there next time. When I left my house I thought it was because I needed food. When I left it was because I thought I needed a change of scenery. When I left it was because staying seemed too easy, seemed like it could be forever. So 2pm and I peel myself out of bed and put clothes on my body, tuck a book under my arm. I am halfway there before I realize I am lonely. Two blocks to go and I'm stuck in my head, floating through last night. Peanut butter porter and Why didn’t we talk sooner. Afterwards, karaoke and too-bright lights. A dimly remembered recurrence like deja vu. This weekly outing sinking slowly into the realm of habitual. Cyclical time. Luis and Paula playing their usual roles. Paula with her Patsy Cline. Same songs, same drinks. This family they have created. Luis sits at the bar, speaks to me in pretty accented English. Says I sing beautifully. Says I could be one of them. A glimpse into some future I can still turn away from. I turned away. Today last night is just a lingering headache. Tired eyes and sore limbs, a bellyful of bad decisions. Today I walk into the bar with the noise and the lights, wet and cold lingering on my skin. In my hair. Find a booth at the back, go to the bar. Food. Change of scenery. When I am lonely, I go to that place. And standing at the bar, standing between me and a cheeseburger, standing between me and some hours of undistributed reading. Mike. Fucking Mike, with his brunch-drunk midafternoon advances. Mike with his standing too close, with his questions. With his introductions and explanations I didn’t ask for. Mike with his I don’t want to take too much of your time, taking too much of my time. He asks for my name, wants to know what I do. He lives just down the street, what about me? I realize halfway through the truth that I don’t have to give it to him. I don’t owe him anything. But I feel guilty; I don’t want to be rude. So I keep spewing generalizations. Lame platitudes. Conversation enders. Mike sips his Bloody Mary, the straw resting against his cracked bloody lower lip. Looking down at me, asks for my number. I give him nine out of ten honest digits, my heart in my throat. I’m sure he can tell I’m lying, positive he’s going to call me out. But he saves the fake number. Smiles. Says Cool, says I’ll talk to you later and all the while I wonder why I couldn’t just say no. No you can’t have my number, or my time, or my attention. Instead I say Great. I order my food, and a drink, and slink to my booth. I try to read with half my attention tracking his movements. I'm dreading the moment he comes through the doorway, wishing I had closed my tab, wishing there was another bar or a backdoor.

When he finally leaves I breathe easily for the first time since first contact. Watch him stumble down the street through my periphery, unwilling to accidentally make eye contact through the window. Once he’s out of sight I gather my things, close my tab, hoping he doesn’t come back. I leave the bar, turn right instead of left. He went left. He lives just down the street.

Mike, I'm sure you are a nice guy. I'm sure your intentions were pure. I'm sure you saw me walking into that bar and just wanted to reach out. Make a human connection. Dip your toes into the water to see if I was drowning. Or maybe you just liked my jacket. Maybe you were drunk and chatty. Regardless, your inability or refusal to read my body language made me feel vulnerable. You were exercising an ignorance afforded you by privilege I'll never know. Now I’m sitting in my bed thinking about the truth. Thinking about the moment I realized I could be anybody or anything. The stories we tell ourselves. The stories we tell other people. The spaces we occupy. The ways we are allowed to occupy them.

When I am lonely, I go to this place.