the end/ This is where

Sunday was St. Patrick's Day, number one on the list of holiday aggravants. Drunks yelling, requests for green beer, puke. Why would someone want green dye added to an otherwise nice and effervescent beverage. how stupid can people be? Pretty fucking stupid.

"We've noticed," began a man whose compatriots were affecting airs of importance and supercilliousnesss, "that you have a lovely voice" He sounded like he should be drooling, but no saliva seemed to be escaping his mouth. There were no compliments without barbed hooks around here, and I kept my smile affixed with a brace against whatever came next. Cheryl's wisdom about remaining unsurprised had influenced me. The less shock one registers, the better equipped to respond with a witty rejoinder that won't cost one the tip.
" How about singing Danny Boy?" he asked, face scrunched up into a cartoony leer. What could possibly be the point of this? Sentimentality? Harrassment? Drunkenness? The decision
was simple. Selflessness demands that one be uninhibited enough for anything. I dropped into David Bowie impersonation. The bigger fool the better. I only know the first two lines. Camping it up, but still confident, because hell, I can sing, I launched my musical boat into the gaping waters of dinnertime: OOOOoooohhh DAAAannyBBooyyy the PIIIIIIpes, the Piiipes are CCCCaaallliing...exit into the kitchen to the chorus of raucous applause. I'm insane, but it's a crazy world.

* * * * * * *

When I first saw Tami, I got one of those flutters you get when the teacher calls your name, or when you hear the screeching of tires behind you. Time slows down, every second takes an eternity, your heartbeats pound one beat per hour, low and long like a big bass drum.

It was at the Christmas party. She was talking in the low light, her features catching a candle's glow, music so loud it was impossible to hear, but so crucial it was impossible to miss.

She was Andy's girlfriend. Andy was basically my only friend at the restaurant I'd been working at for three weeks, and she was his mysterious girlfriend. At least I'd never seen her, and now here she was, beautiful, funny, kind, taking the time to talk to me when I knew practically no-one at this party.

She told me she was leaving for Spain in the morning. For how long I shouted over the dance grooves flailing beneath us as we leaned on the balcony rail. Nine months she said, her lips pressed to my ear so I could hear.

I heard all right. I heard my heart stop, my blood rush to my mouth, the smell of warm red wine curling from her lips into my nostrils saying drink me, drink me now, take me into your mouth and swirl me around let me consume and be consumed by you, pull me from this stupid room and go somewhere we can talk, laugh, drink and love.

At least that's how I remember it. Then she was gone. I saw her and Andy leaving, a huge crimson slash down her blouse, an unfortunate slurp of Cabernet, probably.
She and I didn't see each other again for a year and a day, when she showed up in main hall, dressed for work.

Have we met she said when I greeted her. My name's Tami.