Chance
I take a long drag off a cigarette I don’t even taste anymore as I stare up at the bar’s sign. I’m not impressed and I hope my bandmates can tell. We rolled into town mid-afternoon but our gig isn’t until tomorrow night. I’ve already had plenty of time to get the impression that, despite the university here, this place is overwhelmingly the bad part of town.
This little street has a weird feel. There’s a fog clinging to the asphalt. It’s the middle of January, almost 10 pm, and my black hoodie and knit beanie are a little too warm. Fucking river towns, man.
“Could you seriously smoke any slower?” Lucky says with a whole lotta whine. He’s practically buzzing. He needs to expend some energy. Long hours cooped up in the van are hard on him. That’s not a space big enough to contain him. I hate that tone and he knows it.
“Fuck off. Why are you waiting on me? Go inside,” I spit. I’m aware that I’m snapping at him and I don’t give a shit. All the driving gets to me, too.
Lucky’s rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels then back again, and he’s watching me sideways. He shoves his hands in his baggy pants pockets and says, “And leave you out here alone in a strange town? Not ever.”
There’s no whine in his tone now. I was expecting him to be an ass, so his gravity hits me like a physical blow from a blind spot. The muscles in my jaw clench. My eyes narrow in his direction. I flick the cigarette at the sidewalk and sigh the word, “Fine.”
The very corner of his lips twerks upward. There’s not much light out here, but I swear there’s a gleam in his pale blue eyes. It doesn’t help that his white-blond curls are coming to life in this creepy humidity and are doing their damnedest to escape the messy knot on the top of his head. He looks like an imp.
I glance past him to Johnny. His expression is the same flat, disinterested set it usually is. He’s waiting for us. That’s also a normal state for him. He catches the eye contact, though, and shrugs.
“Lead the way, princess,” I say.
Lucky scowls but he’s already moving forward, reaching for the door handle. Just before he crosses the threshold he says, “Lighten up, Chance. We might as well make the best of it.”
Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.
Inside is warm and dimly lit. There’s a lot of hardwood, some built-in booths along the right wall and the bar along most of the left wall. There are maybe twenty people here, but the place is so small it feels like a comfortable crowd. Motley Crue is playing on the house system and I try not to cringe.
All bars are more or less the same, especially in moderate-sized towns like this one, which is situated right about the Mason-Dixon Line. The first thing I do is check the demographic to see if we might have problems because our bassist’s skin is the same color as midnight on a new moon. The crowd in general is pretty white and openly watching us, but no one seems instantly offended, mostly just curious. And wary. That’s fair.
If a hundred years have taught me anything, I know that Lucky has zeroed in on the bartender. The charm is on and, if the atmosphere is friendly, said bartender is about to have a really good night. If we’re together, everyone around us will have good fortune. That’s our curse.
The Nameless will be available August 1st, 2023 on Amazon. Paperback and Kindle format will be available.
Aj Elmore, Author 