Bar Fright

Had we already started "going out" -- i.e., had I slept with her? I think so, because I remember the nervous, crazed feeling. She'd rejected me, and now I wanted her back. There were four or five of us in a booth in a bar near South Station. It was crowded (restaurant people like us, artists, musicians, townies) and it was smoky, late -- the Boston "after hours" scene, such as it is. A group of three or four white boys, leaving the bar, walked past our table, and one of them scooped up a dollar that was lying there.

I don't even know if it was my dollar, but I followed the guys out. You have to understand, this was before therapy, before Model Mugging, before any kind of assertiveness training whatsoever. I was shy, introverted, depressed, with the self-esteem of a bug. But I wanted this woman: I was wild, madcap, capable of all kinds of fun. If only she knew. On the sidewalk I said, "Hey." They stopped. "What?" one of them asked. "I want my dollar back." One guy grabbed me by the sweater, another guy cuffed me on the side of the head. They tugged at me and pushed me around a bit and then walked off. I went back into the bar, my sweater ripped, and sat down.

"That was pretty stupid," she said.

Later, we started going out again. Three years.

| Where Did Our Love Gogh?| Under Where?| Thank Heaven for Little Girls| Doing the Right Wrong Thing| Aw, Shoot| Submitted for Approval| Liar, Liar| All Night Long| Hello, Sailor| Sign of the Times| Queasy Rider| Tripping the Lights| Bar Fright| Circles of Love|