Happy Hour Special

“Do you want to meet for happy hour @ Bistro’s today? 3:30?” Was the text message I sent at 10:34 a.m. to Andrea; or as my phone says, “Dre Dre.” She replies with “Yea! Sounds good.” Followed with a “see you soon baboon.” “Perfect! See you then” I replied. God forbid I had lost my phone after that minimal exchange; anyone who found and read that discourse, would be found wanting. Such a simplistic text message could misconstrue our friendship to appear vacuous; it’s anything but.
For Dre and I, there is no need to state the obvious. In the few words exchanged, it was understood that I would see her after her shift from Zappos, at three o’clock. Giving her an ample amount of time to drive to Bistro Tuscan Grille, at Town Square. She found no need to ask why Bistro’s? The choice was not spontaneous in as much as it was inspired by passing remarks we made the Thursday prior. Of how my friends raved over the sliced steak with arugula and gorgonzola, or the $2.99 happy hour deal, which Dre and I agreed was a steal. A deal, Dre mentioned, would be taken advantage by others, so it would be crucial to get there early. Thus, it was no coincidence that the time happy hour started coincided with our date time.
Our last-minute get together went as smooth as the text messages we exchanged. We met up in front of Bistro. Dre was wearing her usual work attire, which is minimal, since all her customer interaction is done over a computer. She had on mocassins, sweat pants, and a zappos hoodie. She wore no make-up and her hair was curled up into a bun that took a mere five seconds to do. I was wearing the jeans and button up plaid shirt I wore the previous Thursday when we hung out. She very well knew this since she has the memory of an elephant. Yet, I felt no shame, no need to explain myself, and she had no need to ask. In earlier years, we would concern ourselves about looking appropriate, now we didn’t. It was a testament to our friendship and how we have embraced each other, even all raggedy.
I allowed Dre to order, knowing I would be content with whatever, since she has a keen sense for what I like. We shared a variety of platters, none consisting of disgusting mushrooms, for which I’m grateful. We ate and talked for about an hour and half. From the general formalities of how our weekend went, how work went, to my attempt of explaining why my first kiss was with a girl I had no feelings for. In the end, my answer went from “I have no clue” to bluntly stating, “I was just in the moment.” I felt safe saying it. Did she get it? No, evident by asking me to clarify my explanation. Did I feel I could say whatever I thought? Yes. There was no judgment, mostly she was curious. After, that conversation simply transitioned to me expressing my disappointment over my Baltimore Ravens falling short of a trip to the super bowl. Dre sympathetically nodded her head, even though we both knew she cared very little for the sport and that I had raised this devastating news at least 4 times before. Whether it was good-hearted jousting, to the solemn discussion that in a matter of 3 months, Dre will be moving to Eugene, Oregon to be with her boyfriend; consequently, leaving me behind and rendering our best friend title obsolete. I followed up with a cliché of how life is always about moving through stages and how people come and go though those stages. She said it was cheesy, but I pointed out that fact that she likes cheesy. We laughed about it a little.
After paying, we went outside, where Dre gave a monstrous burp, which smelled like garlic. It was loud, but it always is so I wasn’t surprised. Glad to know after all the sentimental stuff, she can burp it off. We decided to do it again next Thursday, and we agreed we would invite our mutual friends next time. I gave her a hug, and said good-bye. I smiled at the limpid truth that I saw Dre Dre, and that she likewise, saw me.