Page 41 of We Drank the Dawn

“You good?” She whispered.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Which way?”

She paused, probably looking around for it. “Uh, okay, it looks like you go to the wall on the right side and follow it around to the back. Want me to go with⁠—”

“No.” I answered too quickly then slowed. “No, I got it.”

“Okay.”

I made my way through the tables to the right wall, struggling hard to listen to the echoes made from the metal tip of my cane. It seemed like there were tables and chairs on both sides. In a crowded space, the echoes I depended on for navigation were harder to track, but I figured it out, locating the bathroom doors and legally required signage. Doing anything in a new space took one hundred percent of my brain’s ability and not a drop less. By the time I exited the bathroom, the reason I left the table in the first place came rushing back.

I didn’t want to go sit by Sarah.

But did I have another choice?

Not far to my left was a swinging kitchen door, a rubber thap-thap sounding every time an employee emerged. Like a portal to another world, the open door ushered in shouts and dishes banging, the kitchen crew fully engaged in the dinner rush. Applause floated above the racket as Bea finished another song. Her voice lifted. “Now, I’ve always sang indie folk and swore up and down that I didn’t like country music. But then I married a cowboy, and I won’t lie to Texas—country twang is growing on me.”

I lingered by the bathroom door so long that I garnered attention.

A chipper female voice, emerging from the bowels of the restaurant, said, “Can I help you, sir?”

I hesitated. “Yeah…”

“Mm-hm?”

“Is there a bar here?”

“Oh, yeah! We have a bar. It’s right over there.” She was probably pointing.

I lifted my cane, ignoring the tingle of humiliation at the base of my neck. “You might have to give me directions.”

“Oh!” Realization dawned on her. “I’m sorry!”

I waved her off. “Don’t be.”

Sometimes, I wished I looked blind. According to what others had told me, my eyes hadn’t changed at all and they even moved around as if I was visually engaging with the world, so it was easy for people to mistake me as a seeing person. A few acquaintances from rehab wore dark glasses as a social symbol to kind of “let people know.” I had a pair, but I didn’t like wearing them.

Her voice turned away as she explained the path. “Well, it’s kind of around that wall right there. It’s separated from the…uh, well…” She turned back. “Can you follow me?”

“Yeah, thanks. That would be great.”

She graciously took a slow pace and I was able to follow her footsteps around a wall to a bar that seemed to be U-shaped. One side closer to the music, the other further.

I sat down on the far side, flopped my elbows on the cool counter, and put my head in my hands. For a few long minutes, all I did was breathe, breathe, breathe. Applause erupted again.

“Now, something that most people don’t know about my husband is that he is incredible with words.” Bea laughed into the mic. “He’s over there shaking his head.” She laughed again. “He’ll deny it, but as long as we’ve been together, he’s been helping me write my songs.”

I should’ve been over there, supporting her.

“This one is about a kiss. One that’s bitter and sweet all at the same time. A Kiss Like Molasses is my first country original, written by me and my husband, Tag.”

Slow, heartfelt chords began, the restaurant quiet as Bea held them captive.

“Hey, what can I get ya, man?”