WHEN IT RAINS, WE POUR- $2 Pints, says the blue and white square sign outside The Mix. They haven’t been able to put up that sign in a while, I think. I can’t think of the last time it has rained.
I impulsively go inside and order a beer from the sweaty shirtless bear cub with the sparkly navel ring. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I see Rebecca has sent me a text. In the ‘stro. Wanna grab a drink? I text back, @ the mix but not for long, and space out as the little image of the envelope carts my message away. A digital carrier pigeon.
I return my phone to my pocket and watch a plaid and skinny jean-clad Jameson drinker with intentionally ironic Where’s Waldo glasses make his shot, hitting the three into the corner pocket, then high five his mountain man friend. Who high fives anymore?
The phone vibrates again, and I see that it is Jillian inviting me to a house party in the Haight. I don’t text back. The trickily drops have gained momentum outside, and I wish I could just teleport myself to my bed with the blankets pulled up watching Season 2 of Nip/Tuck on my laptop while drinking tea.
I see Rebecca out front fighting with her umbrella, trying to get it to close without touching its wet, red petals. She looks beautiful, wearing a clay blue vintage dress, marigold ribbed tights, and brown boots with gold buttons adorning the exterior sides. She always wears dresses. I don’t know anyone else who always wears dresses.
I take a long drink, trying to make it appear like I am more ready to leave than I actually am. I don’t want to be here with her or there with Jillian. I don’t want to tell her, them, that, though. My desire not to explain myself outweighs my desire to bolt home, so I correct my hiding-in-the-corner posture, rummage through my gallery of facial expressions, find a smile, put it on, and wave her over.