Of all the places to be out late on a Sunday night, I don’t think that the Old Hornet tavern makes the top of the list -- or the list in general. As its name suggests, the tavern gives off a more aged feel with its torn and rugged leather bench material, and wooden stools and structure. The majority of people in this town wouldn’t set foot in the place while there are more modern places to get a drink, but here I am anyway, sitting alone at the bar and on my second beer of the night.
The rest of the people here are in their older years, all of them having come in groups. They’re regulars, seated in their usual benches against the wall, their presence a usual greeting whenever I feel lousy enough to come here. The loud conversations and booming laughter they emit make me feel even more empty inside. If only these past few years had gone differently, maybe I’d feel the same as them and be with friends of my own.
A series of violent curses prompts me to look up as the barmaid gets off her phone long enough to shut the few windows the tavern has in defense against the sudden storm that already has rain flowing into the building in thick waves. Several men laugh and comment at her frustration to get the windows closed without getting wet, but a witty retort from her causes me to give a slight grin at how quickly the men shut their mouths. It’s typical for Darlene to leave people speechless.
In the year that I’ve been coming here, she’s been the only constant barmaid. A snarky, middle-aged woman, Darlene is quick to diminish disputes with her sarcasm and humor. Although her banter is almost never-ending, she’s also a good listener and has tolerated my conversation and occasional rambling throughout the time I’ve known her. As far as I know, she leads a happy life with her three children and loving husband, and though her job may get tough, she enjoys the community here in the tavern.
Once she had shut all the windows, Darlene scuttled back to her side of the bar and turned her attention back to her phone.
I sit silently for awhile, lost in my thoughts, until the bell at the top of the front door rings loudly, signaling someone’s entrance. I can hear the wind violently howling and the rain pounding against the street before whoever walked in eventually gets the door shut. I hear footsteps approaching me, and with a huff, a young woman sits at the bar next to me.
I’ve never seen the woman here before, but she looks to be familiar to Darlene, who gives her a smile and nod in acknowledgment.
The woman smiles back, though out of breath, probably from having to run to the building to avoid getting too wet from the rain. She leans an umbrella against her seat, but considering how drenched her coat is, it seems that it offered no protection from the storm.
“Hey, Darlene, make it a double,” she says, lifting a hand in a friendly gesture to the barmaid. “It happened again.”
Turning my head slightly to get a better look at the woman, I’m intrigued to find that what I originally thought to be a black coat is instead a shade of purple, darkened from its dampness. The woman also wears a crocheted scarf, the random uneven stitches and knots at each end suggesting that it is handcrafted, and an antique feminine hat with a flower shape designed bow. Even more remarkably, the woman holds a jungle printed carpetbag in her lap, and her polka-dotted leggings are neatly tucked into her paint-splattered, white combat boots.
I wonder what a woman like this is doing here and find myself unable to resist asking the peculiar woman, “What happened again?”
Author Notes: Hey! Hope you enjoyed reading this! Expect the part 2 from Avianna, and then part 3 from Phoenix. We're gonna keep going back and forth to continue the story until it ends... or gets too weird... or we die. Also, I'd be grateful if you could tell me where/how I can improve with my writing! Thanks, and love yaaaaa! <3
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United States • 18 years old