right now, i’m sitting in the high top by the window of one of my favorite bars. usually, i save drinking for the weekends: i had a tumultuous relationship with alcohol and drinking in college (more than the normal college student), so once i graduated, i made the conscious decision to reserve drinking for the weekends, for the most part.
anyway, earlier in the day, i didn’t see myself sitting at a bar playing “when i grow up” by the pussycat dolls on $4 prosecco night. but since the coffee shops in my neighborhood close at five p.m., and i desperately needed to get some writing done, here i am — two glasses of processo deep on a tuesday. (what? it’s $8 after all.)
i wrote in bars in college. i always felt like i wrote better with a substance in my system. granted, that’s not exactly the healthiest mindset to have — and it definitely explains a lot about the habits i had a few years ago — but i also felt more creative in bars. in bars, people lose their inhibitions. people go to bars to blow off steam. to talk to their friends. to forget the rest of the day. to me, slurred words sound like poetry — it’s the most honest version of a person, even if they have liquor in their system.
people-watching is, in my opinion, at its prime in a bar. while i historically love to people-watch at coffee shops, restaurants, and on the biking trail that runs through my neighborhood, i feel like people connect differently in a bar. at coffee shops, i notice how people act. in bars, i notice how people are.
there are a lot of places to sit in this bar. there are high tops by the windows, a large bar with lots of stools (where a group of mullet-clad boys are cheering on a hockey game), and a bunch of tables scattered throughout. (my friends and i claim the center table across from the bar every time.)
however, there is one unique spot in this bar — two green wingback recliners that sit in front of a working fireplace. as a regular at this bar, i have rarely seen people set up camp there. you probably guessed that, right now, a couple just sat down.
i’ll paint you a picture: she’s tall and covered in tattoos. if i make eye contact with her, i think i would turn to stone in intimidation. she’s pretty in a way that makes me fearful, and she would think that my taste in music is equivalent to the my little pony soundtrack.
her boyfriend, however, looks like he just got off of a construction shift in western pennsylvania, with the mullet to match. he’s in boots, jeans, and a well-worn carhartt jacket, and has the same patchy facial hair that most boys in my hometown grew as soon as they graduated high school.
as a couple, their love looks nothing like my own.
their conversation inspired me to close out the novel i’ve been writing and aimlessly type on an unnamed google document. they’re on a bar crawl, and this is their last stop. her feet hurt because she just walked 11 blocks in stompers, and she just realized her drink has whiskey in it.
whiskey in a drink is a big deal to this girl. she hadn’t drunk whiskey since the time she went to her friend’s birthday party at the smiling moose and had to be carried home. he offers to switch drinks with her, or even get her a new one from the bar. instead, she smiles at him and downs it.
she talks a lot. he listens. on paper, and even at the beginning of their conversation, they make no sense, and that only seems to trigger my nebbiness.
if you were to glance at this couple, most would blow it off as an odd pairing. they’d wonder for a moment, “what do they talk about?” or “what do they have in common?” as non-judgemental as we pretend to be, there will always be a part of us that has an idea of what love should look like.
i don’t know these people, but it doesn’t take me long to realize how in love they are. he laughs at every one of her jokes. they debate if bloody marys are just tomato soup with vodka in it (i’m on her side, they totally are). and when he speaks, she listens. just as he does for her.
they’re drunk by the time they leave. he helps her out of her chair and leaves cash on the center table for the waitress. outside, i see them kiss under a flickering streetlight. when i was little, i was told that flickering streetlights are the sign of an angel. it’s like a scene from a movie.
i’m cutting myself off at glasses of sparkling wine, and as soon as i finish this post, i’ll walk home to the apartment i call home and the roommate i love. i’ll text the boyfriend i love, the friends i love, and the family groupchat comprised of the people i love the most in the world. i’ll fall asleep under the duvet i love and wake up to live another day of this life i love so, so much.
i’m known to be a sap, especially with prosecco in my system. but i love love in all forms. i love the love i have for my best friends. the love i have for my family. i love i have for my boyfriend. the love i have for my city. and the love i have for random strangers in love at the bar down the street.
the love between the two strangers in the wingback chairs at the bar is different than the love i have in my life, but that doesn’t matter. it reminded me that love is everywhere. in coffee shops, in bars, and the couples you least expect to see it in.
and it’s just as beautiful every time.
julianna marie 