I gently closed the door and stepped out of the house. The night was chill, and the street lights illuminated for a distant view as long as my eyes could reach. I walked down to the bus stop. Though the road was sloppy, I could bet my steps were slow. I waived down a taxi that took me to Oxygenation Club; it has been my favorite spot to chill, look at anything interesting worth checking out, and drink some liquor to clear my head of the constant hurtful thoughts of Michael's sudden exit from my life. I've searched endlessly to the ends; my mind could fathom how Michael, the man I loved with all my being, would leave without saying goodbye. I had many questions that remained unanswered, and rather than drowning in them, I chose the ecstasy of amensia and perhaps euphoria.
The clubhouse was scanty when I arrived, even though the disc jockey (DJ) played some hip-hop music, blasting the speakers in strategic parts of the wide, spaced dance floor. I walked up to the barman. I was a regular, and he knew what I liked: a glass of tequila, and my favorite and probably only spot was at a corner, which gave me a quick view of the club, a welcome distraction. However, my usual spot was occupied by a stranger, a middle aged man in his late thirties who could not be older than me by about three years. I could only see one side of his face as he held onto a glass of alcohol.
"I tried to reserve your seat, but he was adamant, and from his looks, he really needed to be left alone." Mr. Chuks, the barman, said to me. I raised an eyebrow and nodded my head as though I consented to what he said. I walked up to the man who sat in my seat and paused right before him. He looked into the glass cup in his hand as though he were waiting for a message from it.
"Can I share a drink with you?" I found myself asking him. I wasn't sure if I knew what I was doing, but at that instance, I wanted to offer him solace in his grief; perhaps his wound was fresh compared to mine, which has become an impossible-to-part companion.
"Leave me alone." He replied coldly.
As much as I wanted to oblige him, I felt an awkward attraction to him. "Mr. Chuks, kindly give me what he's taking; I'll do my regular on another day." I said that and waived to the barman. I dragged a stoll close by and sat some inches apart from him, close enough to smell his reek of alcohol. He must have downed quite a couple already at such early hours of the night. We both sat at the bar for about five minutes, neither of us initiating any further conversation. I slipped the liquor Mr. Chuks brought for me—not my best, but this was my way of showing solidarity. As much as I wanted to spark up a conversation, I pulled back and waited, hoping he'd show some willingness for a talk and companionship.
"I did my best, but she left anyway." The stranger said eventually, breaking off the silence. My guess was right—a woman had broken his heart. I got a better glimpse of him as we sat close to each other. He was dark and handsome, with an admirable body built like an athlete. He smelled nice, other than the alcohol, which was not unusual for me.
"Mr. Chuks, another shot for him, please." I said it loudly, which caused him to turn and stare at me with a look of surprise.
"Trust me, friend, you'll need extra shots." I nodded as though I spoke from experience. "Everyone leaves my friend; it's just a matter of time." I said, took my shot, and gritted my teeth. "This is strong! I'm sure I'll walk back home with a very light head." I said with a tease as I emphasized the 'light head'.
"Have you been down that lane?" He asked, his eyes still fixated, as though he waited for a revelation.
"Number one in the lane." I replied, taking another shot. He shook his head sideways and grabbed another shot the barman had brought.
"I'm Greg, and you are?"
"Katherine." I replied with a stretch of my hand for a shake, which he took gently. His palm was soft and warm, and our hands hooked for a longer time than usual before we disengaged.
"You're interesting and humorous, Kate. How could you end up in that lane?" Greg said.
"Well, sh*t happens. Care for a toast?" I asked.
"Ah ha, why not?" Greg replied, raising his glass cup. "To a future without heartbreak.". He said. We both burst out laughing. I wish it were as easy as he said.
"To a life with fewer hurts." I said as we both made a toast with our glasses. Greg became more relaxed, even though his face had sadness written all over it. Greg revealed to me how he showered unconditional love on his supposed fiance, Tracy, only to be shocked by her refusal to marry him. He spoke for well over fifty minutes, and rather than interrupt him, I listened to him. As much as I wanted to point out some red flags he should have taken note of, I knew better than to trade blame.
Soon, the clubhouse began to fill up, and the noise started to deafen our conversation. We suspended our conversation and distracted ourselves by activities such as dances on the floor.
"Care for a dance?" Greg asked, stretching out his right palm for me to take.
"I hope we're not too tipsy tonight. I replied, smiling and staggering as I stood up, taking his hand.
We hit the dance floor, and there, I saw an euphoric Greg, perhaps under the influence of alcohol. The night quickly passed, and dawn beckoned. We were exhausted yet, but we had a fun night together. He ordered an Uber for us, which took me first to my house as the day began to break before zooming off to his.
The following days were often spent either talking over the phone with Greg or catching up physically. Greg came around often and played with my son, Daniel. I felt elated and always looked up to seeing Greg.
After barely six months together with Greg, I began a new chapter of love with him, one I carefully nurtured and hoped would never break. Thankfully, it has been my best decision even two decades later, and Greg has been the melody and comfort in my heart.