Page 21 of My All American Girl

“Well, we have nothing to lose,” I said, grinning. I was invigorated at the idea. It was something that broke up the monotony of training schedules and rules. “We’ll find it. Maybe it is a myth but at least we’ll have an adventure.”

“It’s better than sitting around here waiting for Captain Davis to breathe down our necks again,” Kylee added. “I say we give it a shot.”

“You know it could all be bullshit,” one of the other guys said. “It could be a hazing thing. Setting us up to look like a bunch of dipshits, like sending us snipe hunting.”

“Do any of you guys have a car?” I asked.

“I do,” one of them said. “I think if we pile up, we can all fit.”

“That sounds safe,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s supposed to be close.” The guy shrugged.

“Let’s go,” I replied.

Getting in a car with strange men from base wasn’t quite the same as hopping in a car of strangers. The car ride was a blur of introductions. When you were sitting on some dude’s lap, it only seemed right to know his name. The windows rolled down to let in the warm evening air as we bounced down the road. Names were exchanged, assignments divulged, and our shared complaint to be anywhere but here.

“Turn here,” the passenger said.

“Dude, there’s nothing down there but darkness,” the driver muttered.

“That’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

“How would you know?” the driver shot back but he turned down the road anyway.

The dirt road was only dimly lit by the pale glow of the moon, bordered by overgrown trees. It seemed to stretch on indefinitely, a path to nowhere. We continued down the unsettling road, the car’s headlights cutting through the darkness like a dull knife.

A normal person would think this was a really bad idea, being in a car with four guys we didn’t know from Adam going deep into the woods. I was pretty sure it was the premise of a horror movie I once watched.

“This is where we’re supposed to find a haunted oak tree?” the driver muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his voice filled with skepticism. He turned on the radio to break the eerie silence. A soft melody played through crackling static.

Suddenly, up ahead, a lone building stood out against the backdrop of trees, its neon sign casting an eerie glow around the area. Fly Trap, it said, bright as sin in the darkness.

“Looks like a dump,” I remarked.

“It fits right in,” one of the guys quipped.

There were a few motorcycles, a pickup truck, and a couple of cars around the area. None of us moved. We could turn around and leave or see what the stories were about.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Sarah,” Kylee hissed. “Look at this place.”

“It’s a dive,” I replied. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“You’re out of your mind,” she muttered.

We all piled out of the car and made our way inside, curious to see what it was all about. To our surprise, the interior of the Fly Trap was much nicer than its name suggested, though it was clear it had seen better days.

The walls were covered with faded posters and old photographs, relics of a bygone era that spoke of the bar’s history. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The exact smell I knew would turn off a lot of potential customers.

Despite its worn appearance, there was a sense of warmth and familiarity about the place, a feeling of belonging that washed over me as I took in my surroundings. It may not have been the fanciest bar in town, but it had a charm all its own. This was exactly the kind of place I was looking for.

With a smile, I turned to my new friends. “Well, what are we waiting for?” I exclaimed, gesturing toward the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

We moved forward as a group, the floorboards creaking under our weight. The man behind the counter, a grizzled, middle-aged guy with a silver beard looked up at us. The older man’s eyes were as sharp as the jagged scar running across his cheek, but they also held a sort of welcoming warmth in them. He wasn’t a man I wanted to meet in a dark alley.

“First time here?” he asked, setting down the glass he was cleaning.