Abe's Misadventures 8
Unraveled
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Diane unraveled Abe’s fantasies in three-word bursts.
"I'm so sorry. I just can't. The timing's bad." Rat'a-tat-tat!
Abe was still asking about the visit stage, saving the more involved dreams for unveiling later, in a more romantic setting than a table at a tavern.
"You don't have any vacation time? I thought the university had regular breaks," Abe babbled, mind reeling.
"Yes, they do. But I need the time to get ready for a new job role. I've been promoted. It's a big step."
"OK, then, maybe after you get settled—" Abe floundered, drowning, grabbing at stray thoughts to keep afloat.
"Abe— it's complicated. I'm— seeing someone." Pow-pow-pow! Three hits apiece, all center mass, heart pierced, lungs disintegrated.
"What? Who?" he blurted out stupidly, wounded, unable to catch his breath. "Sorry, forget I said that."
"I'm so sorry. I should've told you earlier."
"No, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Abe said, raising a hand, eyes averted to hide his jealous rage.
Diane covered her eyes, "I've made a mess of this."
"I’m making it worse. It was nice talking with you. Let's make like the rest never happened," Abe said standing, needing to move, "I'll get the tab."
Abe walked to the register, fighting the urge to storm out in a juvenile huff, not noticing Diane following him.
"There's an impromptu reunion forming in the back. Let's join them. It’ll be a good time."
"I need some air. You go ahead. I'll catch up later."
"Please forgive me."
"It's all right. Don't worry about it."
Abe turned toward the entrance and departed in longer strides than he wanted but he had to get out before he screamed. He kept up the pace as he rounded the block, not wanting to be followed. He spotted another bar, a run-down dive, the perfect shelter.
Abe grabbed a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and stared holes into the wall. His beer arrived just as a gravelly voice addressed him.
“Dykstra? Abe Dykstra?” the voice croaked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Abe said, looking up.
A young man with shaggy hair and goatee, roughly dressed, stared at him with a crooked grin.
“Damn, I barely recognized you without the hair, man. How the hell are you?”
“Surviving,” Abe replied, not yet recognizing his former classmate. “How’re you doing?”
“Hangin’ on by a thread. Do you remember me? Doug Peters,” said the man.
“Doug? I didn’t recognize you without the leathers,” Abe replied, extending a hand.
Doug clasped Abe’s hand with enthusiasm and a grip of loneliness. “Let’s get you outta here man, you stand out like a flame to the moths.”
“I just left the tavern up the street.”
“Forget that place, I’m not hangin’ with the preppies and jocks. Let me take you to a place I can smoke you up.”
“Sorry, I can’t indulge. I have piss tests.”
“Alright, I’ll smoke, you drink, we can catch up.”
The two strolled to an even rougher establishment, Abe wouldn’t have noticed it without Doug’s escort. They talked about old times and present times. Doug talked about the Grunge scene, something Abe knew nothing about. Abe described Navy life as Doug shook his head.
“Look me up when you come back next time,” Doug said as they parted. “I’ll be around.”
Abe headed home, half empty from his failure to woo Diane, half full from his reunion with Doug.
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