"A bar?!" I exclaimed. "I can't drink."
"Then just order orange juice."
It was more of a club than a bar, really. And it was open at daytime, which is unusual for places like that. I suppose I misjudged David's age. With his child-like face, I thought he was my age at best, but he must have been at least 18 if he was old enough to drink in this city. That, or he was lying about his age to get booze. Not that I cared much, either way. The place had a nice groovy feel to it. There were LPs hanging on the walls and collages of famous musicians. Classic rock played in the background, at a reasonable volume so it wouldn't drown conversation. A guitar hanged on the wall behind the counter. It was signed and looked valuable. There was a wide variety of craft beer brands for customers to choose from. I wonder how each of them tasted and if they really were that different from each other. There had to be some differences, right? Nobody would pay $20 on a beer bottle if the liquid inside wasn't at least a little superior to the cheaper brands.
I did order the orange juice, despite my curiosity. Meanwhile, I heard David chat excitedly about Roman god Pluto, ruler of the underworld — a title the little dwarf planet didn't seem to live up to — and then go on and on about Jupiter, who was some sort of leader among Roman gods.
It was kinda interesting, all of that, but I must say I couldn't get all hyped about it the way David got. I mean, those were just some old gods someone invented way back then. Nobody believed in them anymore. I let my attention swing between the ancient civilizations talk and the people who drank at the nearby tables, who were at least just as interesting.
Many of them were musicians and carried instrument cases with them. That bar seemed to be their resting spot in-between gigs, or a place to relax before a long night of work. And surely there were those who were just there for the friendships and the booze. At least they had a talent, a passion for what they did. As for me, I can definitely say that I wasn't passionate about being a cashier, nor did the task require much talent of anyone. I wondered what itwould be like to be one of those. Like those women in their thirties with cool haircuts and masculine outfits.
"Interested?" asked David, noticing I was more than just a little distracted by the brunette with the leather vest and the undercut hair. "They're all lesbians, the ones on that table. Old friends of mine."
"Really?" I asked, a little out of it. That was one subject I knew nothing about and I tend to disguise my ignorance with aloofness.
"Didn't peg you as the type who goes for girls, though," said David, sipping his beer.
The phrase seemed to linger in my brain for a while before the words resolved themselves into meaning, which only made me look even more aloof.
"No," I said, finally understanding what he had meant. "I'm not like that myself."
"Is that right?" asked Dave, trying to disguise the fact that he had a personal interest in knowing which team I played for. "Well, I can never tell with you girls."
"What do you mean?"
"Chicks," he said, "are way harder to tell apart than guys. See the guy with the white tank top? Two tables to your left."
I glanced furtively. It was a muscular guy, the type you usually find at gyms. The tank top looked like an exaggeration on his part. Did he want to be looked at or something? I turned back to David.
"What about him," I asked?
"Totally gay. Has been staring at me for the last fifteen minutes. Not that he would be hard to figure out if he hadn't". I raised my eyebrows. This was the first time I ever had a conversation about guys with someone who wasn't a girl, so I had very little idea of what to say or think about this. David picked up that I was a little lost and started to explain. "That's what I meant when I said girls are harder to figure out, you see? It's hard to know if a girl is gay or bisexual just from looking. Most won't be as clear about wanting me as the guy on that table over there. It's more subtle."
"I guess I understand," I said, not really feeling like it. "By the way, how did this conversation go from roman gods and planets to gay guys on tank tops?"
"Ancient Rome had lots of gay stuff going on all around, if you must know," said David, enigmatic. The look on his eyes was rather odd. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom for a minute, all right?"
"Wait," I managed to say. "I'm confused now. Do you like girls or guys?"
"Yes," he answered. And then he left me.
That was the weirdest conversation I ever remember having.
I didn't have much time to ponder about what David had told me. As soon as he was out of sight, I caught a glimpse of color that involuntarily made me turn my head. It was just in time, as it happens, to notice a layered skirt becoming out of sight at the corner of the street. I knew whose skirt that was. The memory of that morning came back to me, clear as water.
I only saw her for a fraction of a second, but that was undeniably Ceres.
David would have to forgive me for this, because I just up and dashed to the street to chase the colorful woman. I'd leave the bill for him to pay. I just hoped he was having a good time in the bathroom with... white tank top guy or whatever. Well, I assume that's what he went there for, I hope it's not prejudiced of me to think so.
Inexplicably, though she had only been there a few seconds ago, I managed to lose track of Ceres. I looked up and down the narrow lane, but all I saw were strangers going about their jobs normally. No sign of the colorful girl anywhere.
I leaned against a wall and tried to get a grip of what was going on. Why was I even trying to go after that person? She was just a client from the bookstore. What would I even talk to her about if I were to find her there? The weather? Oh, Ceres, I like your clothes. Thank you, they were handmade. That's nice, sorry for taking your time and briefly interrupting your life. Yeah, no. Terrible way to start a conversation. I could think of something better to say. That is, if I actually did come across her by chance—
Just as I was thinking this, I saw the book.
It was lying face-down on one of the tables at a nearby restaurant. I may not pay much attention to who my clients are, but I'll be damned if I forget the books I sold. They were pretty much the only companions I had at the store who didn't bother me by speaking to me when I was busy. I at least owed them some respect in return.
The green-cover book with white and yellow details on the spine was definitely one of mine. And I could bet it was the same title I sold Ceres earlier in the morning. I went to pick it up, but as I leaned over to get it, I hit my head onto something I'm almost sure wasn't there a moment before.
"Ouch," said someone. I had a feeling I knew who it was.
Ceres was standing in front of me, massaging her forehead with her left hand. Then she saw me. She looked at least as surprised as I was to see her there.
"Janis!" she said.
"That's right," I replied. Did I ever tell her my name? "And you're Ceres. And this..." I turned the book face up, "...is likely the book I sold you this morning." The Right to Personality, the title said. I remembered that one. It stood on the high shelf at the corner, where we put books less sought after by prospecting clients. I always thought that corner looked a bit forlorn. It made me happy to see people taking home one of those.
Looking back at it, I guess you can say that I was a freak for caring more about the feelings of books than those of people. Maybe I was, but I don't think any less of my past self for doing so. That's one of the ways I had to find affection inside a work environment which was otherwise completely uncaring.
Ceres fixed her hair. It had gotten a bit messy after we banged our heads together. Although, to be fair, I couldn't imagine her becoming any less beautiful however messy her hair got.
For some reason, I then imagined her with completely ruffled hair. It looked nice on her, as if she'd just woken up in her pajamas.
That thought made me feel a little queasy, but I'm not sure if it was entirely a bad feeling. That was just weird. And stupid. Why was I thinking about these kinds of things? I bet it had to do with that strange conversation David and I had had earlier at the bar. He made me think weird stuff, what with all that nonsense about lesbian girls? And even though I explicitly told him I wasn't like that. If I ever saw David again (which I probably would, considering he wrote down the address to my workplace) I'd have to tell him not to talk about that weird stuff again.
All of that I thought during the one-second interval between Ceres fixing her hair and then starting to tell me about the book.
"It seems I forgot it here," she said, "so I came back looking for it. I'm sorry for not taking proper care of the book you sold me, err... Janis."
It was almost as if she understood how I felt about the lonely books on the corner. She did not need to apologize at all. I told her so.
"Oh, but I do," she said, glancing away from my face and looking embarrassed. When she looked back at my face, the embarrassment was gone. She seemed rather joyous for some reason. "I know what to do. Tonight I'll be performing at a theater — well, it's more of a clubhouse really, nothing like the real theaters around this area. In any case, I'd really like it if you were there too, as my guest. To... you know, make up for almost losing this book."
What she was suggesting really didn't make any sense. She paid for that book, it's not like I or anyone at the bookstore had any say on what she did with it. It was nice of her to worry about my feelings, but come one, it was weird enough already that I cared about the feelings of books, she didn't need to join me there, it was even starting to look ridiculous now.
Despite all that, I found myself agreeing to show up at her performance, just like she suggested. Ceres scribbled the time and address on a disposable napkin from the restaurant and made sure to tuck it in my coat pocket. She assured me that I'd be let in without a ticket if I just told them that Ceres sent me there. I was not used to stuff like that, it all felt strange. The strangest thing of all was that I did not seem to be protesting against any of that. Was I just cool with it? I didn't know that side of me yet.
If I had been smarter, I'd have realized I'd be seeing a lot more of that unknown side of me before the night was over. §
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