The Usuals

Stephen was slouched on top of the stool. He looked down at a mostly empty gin and tonic, tipped the last bit down into his mouth. He looked across the bar at a girl who he had seen before—she looked back, and Stephen grinned in acknowledgement.

The band was on stage a few feet away, and several dozen people were packed into the dim little space. A lot of them were usuals doing the usual thing: they sat in the usual corners; guys and gals talked cordially while waiting for their turns at the bathroom doors. Five or six people stomped and twisted and bobbed in front of the little stage where the band was playing a groovy little melodic piece—a “pretty cool little jam band from Springfield.” That’s what Stephen had texted his buddy a little bit before.

“Come hang out.”

Stephen ordered another drink and looked around at the girls that he really wanted to know. He took a place beside the stompers and bobbers and stomped and bobbed. He lit a cigarette and puffed at it correctly. He closed his eyes and thoughtfully enjoyed the sounds that filled he bar; he let his hips and shoulders accentuate his dancing.

He looked around at the girls some more.

Stephen convinced himself that there was not any real rush—he was only 24, and there was plenty of time to fall in love with all of these people that he was already in love with. It was a Tuesday night in June, and the cool thing about being a 24 year-old school teacher in June is that you don’t need much of an excuse to get drunk on a Tuesday night.

Stephen bobbed some more. He got more drinks. He grinned more acknowledging grins at people that he has talked to before. He talked to Kristen for a short time; he made sure to force some lingering eye contact, and he smiled cutely when he made a flirty joke. Kristen looked back, and she smiled cutely as well.

The night became more exhausted. Stephen took a seat next to Callie, and they talked. They talked about their favorite bar. They talked about the music festival that they had apparently both attended the month before. They talked about their love for pot. They talked about work, Callie lamenting that she had to be in a half hour earlier than usual because of a meeting. She had a desk in the admissions office at the college where she got her degree. Next week was her 31st birthday.

And later on, she would invite Stephen to come home with her. It was 1:45, and everybody was getting kicked out of the bars—it was a Tuesday night in June next to a college campus, and the street was mostly quiet. The band was shuffling cases and instruments through the little door, and a few people were making hopeful, last-minute conversations. Callie and Stephen talked cordially with the people that they had talked to before. They talked to each other too.

“I’ve got a little bit of weed left,” she said to him. “You can come over and smoke if you want to.”

She lived 6 blocks away in a little duplex. They walked together and talked. The town was quiet. The air felt warm.

Callie’s house was clean, and she had a nice cat that sat in Stephens lap and purred. Stephen filled a few glasses of water, and Callie played good music from her laptop. They smoked weed out of a cute little glass pipe that Stephen admired. They sat a few feet apart and talked about the music. They moved into the back yard to smoke a cigarette, and they talked more. Callie sat the laptop on a nice little table that her father had built and played with a hula-hoop because that was her hobby—she spun the hoop around her arms and waist. Stephen grinned a grin and watched.

When it was time for bed, she invited Stephen once more.

“I have another room that’s empty now,” she said. “You can sleep there if you want.”

“Or you can sleep in with me.”

Stephen removed his shoes, and they got ready for bed in the usual way. He laid himself beneath the covers, and she turned off the light and crawled in too. He clutched her close and kissed her cheek with soft little movements. He kissed her neck. She rubbed his hand.

“I’m sorry that I’m awkward,” Stephen said. “I’m not used to this. I like you.”

“That’s okay.”

More kisses. “Is something going to happen?”

“Well, I’m not going to have sex with you. I want to sleep.”

“Oh. I’m not very tired.”

When it was decided that he ought to just leave in stead, Stephen crawled out and put on his shoes. He apologized a lot. They hugged cordially, and Callie closed the door behind him.