Gotta Write

     “Michelle,” he said.  It was more of a statement than a question.

     “Tim,” I responded.  I didn’t know what else to say.

     “I’m sorry,” he said without missing a beat.  “I wasn’t trying to freak you out.  I went way past any boundary that I should have went –”

     I didn’t want to hear it, so I interrupted him.  “It’s fine,” I said.  “We can forget all about it.  I just want you back in my life.”

     “What took you so long?” he asked.

     “I was a little busy leaving my husband,” I replied.

     He was quiet for a brief moment and then he spoke: “Where are you?”

     “Driving,” I responded.

     “Pull over,” he said.

     I didn’t even question him.  Instead I pulled the car over and put the parking brake on.  “Okay,” I said, “I’m in a parking lot.”

     “What parking lot?” he asked.

     I glanced outside.  “I’m parked outside the karaoke bar on Third Street.”

     “Go inside the bar.  I’ll be there in ten minutes.”  Then he hung up.

     I wasn’t going to argue.  I walked into the bar and sat down in a far corner.  The table was sticky.  If I had a diaper bag with my I would have pulled a wipe out and cleaned the table, but a mom who didn’t live with her kids didn’t need a diaper bag on her shoulder at all times.  Instead I just glared at the sticky mess and waited for Tim to show up.

     A waitress stumbled up to my table and just stared at me.  Her face indicated that she was waiting for my drink order, but her body language told me she could really care less what I wanted to drink.  She looked like she was around my age.  I quickly said a silent prayer of thanks that I wasn’t a waitress anymore and then asked her for an iced tea.  She turned and walked away, not acknowledging my order but instead calling out to the bartender, “Where’s Wendy?” I didn’t know who Wendy was, or what that had to do with my drink, but the intrigue of the situation was soon gone when a singer bounded onto the stage and started fiddling with the microphone.  He was entirely too eager to sing.  He kept smiling out at everyone scattered throughout the bar, nervously awaiting the part of the song when the lyrics would begin.  He was probably cursing his decision to sing a song with such a long instrumental introduction.  It was obviously a favorite of the karaoke DJ though, because she yelled, “Yeah!” and the singer yelled “Yeah!” in return.  Then the singer started to dance a little, and then seemed to suddenly realize that he wasn’t a rock star but instead was a middle-aged man singing karaoke in a crappy bar on a Tuesday night.  That took the wiggle out of his hips.  The DJ yelled, “Woo!” but this encouragement didn’t get the singer dancing again.  He just stood there, uncomfortable and waiting for his turn to sing.

     I watched him weave his way through two songs and then he left the stage.  He joined his friends at a table and they gave him a standing ovation.  From the stage, the DJ yelled, “Hot!”

     Tim walked in the door and scanned the room with his eyes.  He spotted me, walked directly to the table, and sat down.  We looked at each other for a moment and then he spoke.

     “Do you want a drink?” he asked.

     “I ordered an iced tea but the waitress hasn’t brought it yet.”

     “I’ll get you an iced tea,” he announced, and then made a break for the bar.  I sat there watching him and marveled at how awkward this situation felt.  Tim and I used to be so comfortable around each other.  Now everything seemed like protocol.

     He returned to the table and sat back down, scooting his chair a little closer to mine.  “They’re going to bring your tea over,” he said.  We sat in silence for another moment until another singer walked onto the stage and handed the DJ a CD.  The DJ took a look at the CD and popped it into the equipment.  The song started up and the singer started dancing as though he was an unenthusiastic stripper.  I couldn’t look away.

     “You let me violate you…” the singer began.  He looked very serious about the whole thing.  His body moved as though he had no choice but to move.  His face made him look as though he was in pain.

     “You let me desecrate you….” he continued.  I glanced over at Tim, and he was as amused with the whole situation as I was.

     “You let me penetrate you….” I couldn’t help it.  I let out a laugh just as Tim moved to cover his mouth to hide his laughter.  Luckily the music was so loud that the singer couldn’t hear us.

     “Is this guy serious?” I asked Tim, who wouldn’t move his hand away from his mouth.  He only nodded furiously while trying to compose himself.

     I looked up and the singer was pretending to dry-hump the microphone stand.  The DJ was swaying to the music.  I swore I was in a Twilight Zone episode.  I had never seen anything so bizarre.

     The singer continued.  “I want to bleep you like an animal! I want to feel you from the inside!”

     I leaned in closer to Tim.  “He wants to ‘bleep’ you like an animal? What does that mean?”

     Tim took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to stop laughing.  “It’s a Nine Inch Nails song.  This guy changed the lyrics so that he doesn’t sing the naughty words.”  Then Tim covered his mouth again and laughed even harder.

     The singer was really into it now.  He threw his hand in the air in a triumphant pose and sang, “Help me become somebody else!”  This was apparently more than the DJ could stand.  She ran up to him and started dancing with him while he continued with the song, careful to replace any naughty words with “bleep.”

     “Do you think he knows the word isn’t actually ‘bleep’?” I asked Tim.  We were both laughing so hard that other people were looking at us.

     “What the bleep do I care?” Tim said, and we both roared with laughter.  Tim was actually slapping the table because he was so amused, and I had tears rolling down my face.  Just then a different waitress walked up to our table with two iced teas.  Her employee tag said “Wendy.”  Another mystery was solved.

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