The Last Call

The last call of the night was always accompanied with the same song at my college local bar for the Thursdays Ladies Night Special. Doors open for girls at 8pm, no cover and 25 cent drafts. 

I didn’t like beer, but I drank it anyway. I could push through the bitterness until it made me feel better. Drinking always made things easier. Talking, laughing, being part of things without overthinking every word. The place was what you’d expect—dim, crowded, a little run down, a mix of music that didn’t quite go together. There was a DJ that played a mix of country, hip-hop, and rock that paired well with the smell of cigarettes, beer, and sweat. 

Doors open to the guys at 9pm with a cover and regular priced beer but primed targets. LOL. 

By the time they played the last song, most people had paired off in some way. Not always intentionally, just the way the room shifted.

It was closing time was signaled by playing “King of the Road.” by Roger Miller. An odd choice. Slow enough that people treated it like a last dance.

A guy came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance. I said yes. I didn’t know him. He was a friend of someone I knew. That was enough.

We danced. And then, just like that, I was leaving with him.

I didn’t question it.

I thought: he likes me. That was the part that mattered. (eyeroll)

We went back to his place.

I don’t remember much about it—the layout, the details, anything specific. Just that I was there, in his bed, going along with what felt like the natural next step.

Like this was how it worked.

Like this was how you got someone to choose you especially for those of us that had no positive male role models or father figures to help us.

The next morning, I left.

I assumed I would see him again. Through friends, another night out, something.

He didn’t call. I didn’t ask about him.

I let it go the way I let most things go.

A few months later, I saw him again.

Not at a bar.

At the college cafeteria. He was behind the counter.

I saw him first, but before I could decide what to do, I heard him.

He was looking straight at me, talking to someone next to him.

“Have you ever met a girl that was a complete slut and take her home? The night was great but you don’t ever want to see her again?”

They laughed.

I turned around and walked out.

I didn’t say anything to him.

I didn’t tell my friends.

I didn’t defend myself.

I just carried it.

Soon after that, I moved back home and enrolled at a local college.

But that moment stayed with me.

Not because of him.

Because of how easily I had crossed my own boundaries without even realizing they were there.

Because I thought that was what it took.

Because I didn’t know another way. 

At the time, I didn’t have language for any of that.

I just had the feeling.

And the shame that came with it. 

I would like to say that was the first and last time but that is not true.

Musical Memories:
Insane in the Brain by Cypress Hill
Boot Scootin Boogie by Brooks & Dunn
King of The Road by Roger Miller