“Just a quick drink.” Tyler chucked his cigarette and grabbed the edge of the door before it shut. The bouncer turned from the girls but before he could speak, Tyler said, “We just stepped out for a smoke,” and leapt inside. I followed.
Riotous music blasted at us. Bodies packed together into the narrow space, peeling walls slapped in murky black. “This way.” Tyler edged into an opening. Before I could say anything, he shouted an order for two beers. “That okay?” he said, without waiting for a reply. When they arrived he asked for some cash, laughing—“Sorry, I’m all out.” Great, I thought—now I’m buying an underage student drinks. I dug out a twenty and passed it to him. We shoved back through the crowds, the over-full pint spilling down my hand. We found a corner, a high table loaded with empties. Tyler gulped from his glass, draining the half of it. “That’s perfect,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He set down the beer and spun, weaving through the crowd toward the bathroom, leaving me on my own.
Somehow I’d gone from a bad idea—bringing Tyler down to Columbus—to something much worse. I should have just taken us to the car when I’d found him. I resolved: When he returns from the bathroom, I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll head back to Sawyer. As I waited, I looked around. Students filled out the entire space. Guys crowded below television screens, watching whatever game was on, shouting and clapping each other on the back, as if they had achieved something. Girls perched at high-topped tables,wrapped in tight dresses too nice for the setting and not warm enough for the season. I had been to bars like this a few times in college, but not since. There was nothing appealing about it. I felt conspicuous, and old.
I kept an eye toward the bathrooms for Tyler but apparently missed him, because he returned to our corner from the opposite direction. His eyes shone glassy and bright, darting around in the dark of the bar, lights blinking off his pupils. “Sorry, there was a long line.” He lifted his beer and tapped it absentmindedly against mine, head shifting left and right, searching for something. He finished the rest of his drink. I lifted my glass to do the same; I didn’t really want it, but I wanted to get out of there.
Then Tyler called out to someone, waving. A guy in a baseball cap, auburn curls bursting out. He gripped a pint in one hand, balancing three shots in the other.
“Perfect,” Tyler said, passing a shot glass to me and grabbing one for himself. “This is Jason.”
“You know each other?” Panic seized me; was he from Sawyer?
“How would we know each other?” Tyler laughed, liked I’d asked something absurd. “We met in the bathroom.”
“What’s up?” Jason shouted over the din, louder than necessary. At the edge of his nostril, a trace of something white. Tyler, maybe seeing me notice, motioned at Jason, brushing his own nose. Jason wiped it away. Were they doing drugs in the bathroom? They tossed back the shots and, unsure what else I could do, I followed. Tequila. It singed my throat, hitting my empty stomach with a slap. Jason and Tyler got to talking. I couldn’t make out what they were saying and then I stopped trying. Jason looked like any frat boy in any college town, and I couldn’t imagine what Tyler would want with him. I thought of Tyler’s high school photos onFacebook. I had assumed he hung out with that crowd because he was trapped in North Carolina with no better options. But is this who he would choose?
Jason finally left—he said something I couldn’t hear. I turned to Tyler. “We should probably get going.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said, looking around. “This place is so funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone looks exactly the same.”
It was true, they did. Or most of them did. There was a guy, older than the rest, in a button-down and tie, sleeves rolled up, talking with the bartender and looking our way. Beside him stood the bouncer.
“Tyler”—his name felt funny in my mouth, or maybe it was the tequila and beer—“are you ready?”
Before we could move, the guy in the button-down approached.
“Good evening, gentlemen. How’s it going?”
“Fine.” Tyler said. “How’s it going with you?”
“Seems like maybe there was some confusion at the door earlier.” He wore a nametag—MATT,MANAGER. His eyes roamed between us. “Just wondering if I could see some ID?” It was addressed to Tyler, and not really a question.
Tyler looked about to speak, then took his time. “Why?” He chewed on the word, gummy in his mouth.
Matt’s face flinched, in surprise or annoyance. “It’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, it’s not a problem.” Tyler pulled out his wallet and passed him a card. “I’m just asking.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. “I’ll be right back.”
He started to walk off when Tyler spoke again. “Wait.” Matt turned and Tyler pointed at me. “You didn’t ask for his ID.”
“Tyler.”
He ignored me. “Well, you didn’t.”
Matt gave a sharp smile. “I am sorry, sir. Do you have some ID I could see?”
I handed over my license, humiliated. Matt the Manager walked back to the bar.
“Tyler, what are you doing?”
He ignored my question and a few moments later Matt returned. He looked at Tyler. “We have a policy of confiscating fake IDs.” Matt stepped aside, making space in front of him. I was conscious of the eyes around us, tuning into the fact that something was happening. “I’ll need you both to leave.”
