“I hate donuts and I’m not much of a coffee drinker. It gives me diarrhea.”
I wasn’t waiting for him to unhand me any longer. My exit was swift as my words resonated with him. By the time I reached the doors of The Balgaria, his voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck and the ones beneath my lasered pores.
“I’m not a cop.”
Yeah, that’s what they all say.
I clenched my walls together, wishing the handsome stranger didn’t smell so much like pork. It would’ve been an honor to ditch my workload for a little fun.
“Ugh.”
My family had been down that path already. I wouldn’t take them down memory lane. Those moments were too unpleasant, too painful, and too real. Our perfect world was snatched from beneath us.
We were handed an alternate one instead. And, for the first three years, I hated it just like I hated almost everything else. But, slowly, I was coming around.
One day at a time. I reminded myself.
“Evening, welcome to The Balgaria.”
“Welcome to The Balgaria.”
“Welcome… The Balgaria is happy to have you this evening.”
Like a broken record, the staff remixed the same line three times. With my lips sealed and my eyes straight ahead, I located the elevators.
Chatter surrounded me, but I was in no mood for words. Greetings. Goodbyes. Or games. I sharpened my shoulders as I stood in front of the doors. I watched them close as a couple expanded the room around them by pressing their bodies against each other.
The intoxicated man halted the door’s movement with his left hand.
“Getting on? There’s room.”
I shook my head, hating the idea of disrupting my thoughts with words.
“No.”
“You sure? There’s room.”
I’d already declined. No further action was necessary on my behalf. As he waited for my response, he realized it was highly unlikely he’d receive one. The doors closed shortly after. A sigh followed.
People.
I was starting to hate those, too.
Seconds later, I leaned forward and pressed the upward arrow. As I stepped back, I flattened my palms against my thighs.
Eyes trained.
Attention undivided.
A melody began to play in my head as the words seeped from my lips.
Slowly.
Lowly.
“Is it bad that,” I whispered, “I never made love.”
Ping.
