What’s The Special?

Thump… thump… thump. My heart is throbbing in my ears, barely audible above the sound of street traffic.

It isn’t a hole in the ground nor a hole in the wall that I’ve been staring at for the past half hour, so much as the ten year old memories of a time when the bar was reputable. I’m expecting familiar disappointment from a routine I gave one last try to –a date with one of my bestie’s guy-friends from college.

Cheer up, Jane. I can almost hear Mom’s voice. This time will be different. Those were her last words to me, before an anesthesiologist miscalculated the dose for a routine surgery.

“Jane Smithson?” The man’s voice is a little higher than I expected. I whirl. Adrenaline –fueled by inner city Baton Rouge –spiked as my heart rate did likewise.

He is probably half a head taller than me, and I’m five foot six and a half –that half inch is important because it puts me closer to six feet tall than five. He doesn’t look inordinately pale, despite being a Goth. That was clear early in our texting history and clearer still on his Tinder profile. His black jeans and well-worn jacket were a little annoying –I’m in a cute dress and spent forty minutes and dollars on makeup –but his eyes made up for it.

“That’s me. Tyler Miller?” I try to smile, my gaze caught on his eyes. They looked blue one moment, but gray the next in the fast-fading light.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” He says. We shake hands.

“Thanks, you too. I’m glad I’m in the right place.” I ask, gesturing at our seedy surroundings. A car drove by, its music somehow audible over the motor.

“Yes, The Plodding Penguin. Shall we?” Tyler motioned to the building.

“Sure.” I’d practiced smiling in the mirror, and I hope it paid off. Tyler smiles back before holding open the door.

“You first.” He says, politely waiting for me. I can’t see anything through the door, it’s too dark and I think smoky.

I tightened my hand around the self-defense blade in my purse, wary of a trap, before stepping inside The Plodding Penguin.

There is indeed a bar inside, not a trap. Smoke or steam almost obscures the low ceiling. The other patrons either sit at the bar or dance to the beat of the music, though I don’t recognize the song. Tables and chairs line the wall around the dance floor.

“Over here.” Tyler says, guiding me to the bar. There isn’t a menu, only papers taped to the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it. Have you been on many other dates?” he asks, leaning against the bar.

“Yeah, I’ve been on a few. How about you?” I ask, turning so my back is to the bar and I’m facing the dance floor. I count a little over a dozen others in here – enough to make me wary but not nervous.

“I’ve not done many, actually. My brother keeps trying to set me up with his wife’s sister.” He says.

“Same. Only it’s my bestie.” I say. I promised her one last try, and if it doesn’t work out I’m giving up dating.

“Oh. At least she should know you well. Are you roommates?” Tyler inquires. His eyes look gray and I can’t see the blue in them any more.

“No, but we used to be. She went to college and I kept the apartment.” I say. A man behind the bar, not much shorter than Tyler but easily twice his size, sees us and lumbers over. His apron is clean though badly stained; his face is round and ruddy.

“Do you know if there’s a bathroom anywhere?” I ask.

“In the back corner. What do you want to drink?” Tyler asks, glancing at the barkeeper.

“A Bloody Mary if they have one. If not, a dark beer.” I say. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

Tyler points me to the only bathroom at the bar, a gender-neutral small room that’s much cleaner than I expected.

The barkeeper actually seems closer to three times Tyler’s size, and the stains on his apron look like steak sauce or old ketchup. It sounds like they’re catching up on mutual friends.

By the time I get back Tyler has ordered each of us a Bloody Mary. I experimentally swirled mine, not quite remembering if the sediment in the bottom is supposed to be there. It tastes right –spicy tomato juice and horseradish –so I shrug and ignore it. There might be words or it might be an instrument to the music someone’s turned up, but I can’t tell.

A band of maybe a dozen adults –all college-age, all Goths –walk into The Plodding Penguin. Some start dancing, others claim a few tables and start talking. I glance down at my phone: 7:06 pm.

“And who’s this?” The barkeeper finally asks.

“I’m Ja–.” I start.

“She’s Jane, my date. Miss Smithson to you.” Tyler says, somehow politely talking over me.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asks.

“Um, yeah, that’d be great. What do you have?” I asked the barkeeper. Somehow I hadn’t caught his name in the few minutes of conversation I’d listened to.

The barkeeper listed everything I expected a typical bar to keep in stock, finally mentioning the special. “Though you smell like you’ve already had some.” He adds with a knowing wink.

“Um, I haven’t eaten anything. What’s in it?” I ask. The barkeeper glances to Tyler.

“It’s kind of like a cross between a burger and a steak. We’ll have it later. Would you just like a cheeseburger? I’ll have one too.” Tyler says.

“Yeah, sounds good.” I say, glancing at the dance floor. It’s probably two-thirds full of people –tonight must be Goth night – all moving to the beat. It actually kind of looks fun.

“Anyway, Jane,” Tyler draws my attention back to himself and our eyes meet. We talk for probably a half-hour, eating and drinking and getting to know each other. I still can’t decide what color his eyes are, even when practically staring into them. He seems soft-spoken, his voice very gentle. Gentlemanly gentle.

Tyler tells a funny story, something about his dog. I lean on my chair and throw my head back to laugh and fall.

I black out for what can only be a second or two. When I open my eyes, Tyler is crouching beside me. I’m lying on my bruised back and my head feels a little loose, like my brain is turning to tapioca pudding. Hm, tapioca.

“Do you know what tapioca pudding tastes like?” I ask, still breathless. My head pounds in time with the music as he helps me stand.

“No, I don’t. C’mon, let’s get you up.” He says.

“Can you stand on your own?” He asks, keeping one hand around my back. My weight keeps shifting like it has a mind of its own, but my feet are steady on the floor.

“Yeah, I think so.” I say. He doesn’t answer right away, instead helping me sit back at the bar. I’d ask for some water, but the barkeeper’s disappeared again.

“So is it, like, Goth night or something?” I ask. My crimson dress stood out from the crowd like a blue tulip in a bunch of black baccara roses. They’re all so pretty.

“Something like that. A lot of us normally dress like this.” Tyler shrugs, glancing at the dancers.

I reach for my drink and take a sip. It doesn’t taste right, it’s too thick and salty and oddly metallic. The aftertaste is viler than rotting corpse smell.

“What are you drinking?” I put it down –it was Tyler’s drink.

“It’s the appetizer.” He says.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ll see. Here, this should wash the taste out of your mouth.” Tyler sips his drink and hands me mine.

I imagine listing baccarat roses as my favorite color, only to the tune of that song from that Julie Andrew’s movie. It’s on the tip of my tongue, something about kitten’s whiskers and copper kettles.

“What color are your eyes?” Tyler asks, finishing his drink and setting it down. It’s left a stain like a maroon moustache around his mouth.

“Blue, I think. But some days they look brown. What color are yours?” I ask, taking another long sip of my drink.

“I’m not sure. What color do they look like?” Tyler turns to me, parallel to the bar. I stare at his eyes, but my focus keeps slipping and they look like they’re changing colors. Gray one moment, blue the next, and then almost green. A disco light turns on so my eyes track the rainbow of colors on his clothes.

“Would you like to dance, or would you rather leave?” Tyler asks as I look back up at his face, determined to find the color of his eyes. I consider his question for all of two seconds.

“Let’s dance.” I say.

The dance floor didn’t seem near so full earlier, but Tyler pulls me to the middle of it. I let him lead me, half-running to keep up to him. I can’t count how many people I bump, but no one reacts.

Darkness floods the room as the lights die, only to be replaced by ultraviolet lights. Tyler smiles and I find myself staring at his white perfect teeth. They glow like falling stars in a clouded night sky.

The music pauses and a new song starts –I haven’t recognized any of them, I realize belatedly. Oh well. There’s still a beat, I can still dance.

The new melody almost sounds Hispanic –or is it almost satanic? –but whatever it is, the crowd likes it. Tyler pulls me into a sort of line-dance, and they kick and step in time. The moves aren’t difficult but I can’t quite get my limbs to do what everyone else is doing. They repeat the same sequence, everyone going in a circle around the room. Somehow I’m on the innermost part of the mass of bodies.

The floor shifts like gravity has realigned itself. Or maybe I’m just feeling the way the earth is tilted on its axis and hurling 67,000 miles an hour around the sun.

I stumble over my own feet, falling hard. Tyler’s fingers dig into my shoulder and he pulls me upright. Around me the pattern continues; Goths dance manically and twist maniacally around me.

“Tha –.” I try to say, breathless, to Tyler. He doesn’t answer, instead pushing me away into the circle. I’m drunk and dizzy and disoriented, emotions numbed and yet over-bright all at once. Wild eyes meet mine; leering faces like a fever dream crowd my vision. I’m buffeted from person to person, each time stumbling my way to the far side.

One sound rises above the rest and I’m facing Tyler’s impassive face again. The music stops and I realize the sound is coming from him. It’s like he’s singing –or maybe shouting –the high note that floats above and drowns out every other sound. Time freezes; the crowd is frozen around us. His eyes glow green and I know I can’t run from him.

“Please.” I move towards him, begging mercy from whatever is about to happen. The spell breaks and his voice fades; his blank face turning savage. Hungry.

I fall as I step, but I don’t hit the floor. Hands grab at me –my clothes, my hair, my skin. I feel starbursts of pain everywhere, permeating my being, and finally realize it: I’m the special.

A pounding beat starts up again; I can feel it in my chest. It gets louder and faster and harder and deafening, a roaring throb in my ears and chest that overwhelms all else for longer than should be possible until, finally, I don’t hear anything at all.