1
Pacey
“One more drink,” Amanda said, but she was so drunk that it sounded like she had mashed potatoes in her mouth.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I warned. “You’ve already had plenty.”
“Plenty? Come on Pacey, we are here to celebrate! We deserve it after how amazing our concert went. We’ve been practicing all year for it.”
“Well, I’m pretty tired and pretty tipsy. So it’s enough celebrating for me tonight.”
“You’re lame,” she said. “The bartender is totally giving me the eyes.”
I looked over at the young man behind the bar, dressed in a black dress shirt that hugged his biceps and pecs. He was looking down counting bills beside the cash register.
I looked back over at my best friend, Amanda. She was doing some kind of weird, drunken wink at the bartender—who was definitely not paying any attention to her.
She wasn’t always this weird, Amanda was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. And in her defense, we had been drinking a lot that evening with the Symphony Orchestra. A bunch of us went to the bar after the first performance of our new show, Requiem.
The night started with ten of us at a bar down the street. Then, dwindled down to just me and Amanda at this bar. It was one that we went to a lot during our college days.
The large warehouse windows of the bar looked out into the dark sky. A cold draft of air seeped in through the pane of glass, making the hair on my arms stand up.
The thought of my warm bed on this cold evening made me want to get the hell out of there. I wanted to be back in the comfort my new home. One I bought shortly after landing this gig. I was also excited to see my dog, Cadence, after such a long day.
I’d been struggling as a songwriter for two years before I finally found this job with the orchestra. For once in my life, things were actually going pretty well.
“I need to take you home to save you from embarrassment,” I said. “And from ruining yet another nice bar that we can’t go to because of something you’ll regret in the morning. Come on, let’s go.”
She rolled her eyes at me and tossed her ginger hair back over her shoulders in a sassy way. Her hair swept past my face.
“Fine, it’s your fault that I’m still single and not going home with him,” she said.
She finished the rest of her drink and stumbled while getting off the bar stool. I caught her so that she didn’t completely fall on her face. As funny as that’d be to watch, I didn’t want to attract the attention of the remaining few people in the bar.
I helped Amanda put on her jacket and handed her the purse that she would have forgotten had I not given it to her.
I took my beige wool overcoat draped over the leather bar stool and put it on. Then, smoothed out the collar and buttoned the middle of the three buttons.
As we were leaving, I gave a shy head nod to the bartender, and Amanda did some weird E.T. wave to him. He gave us a nice smile and wished us a good evening.
“He totally checked you out,” Amanda said as soon as we left the bar.
My glasses fogged up from the cold and I cocked a brow at her. “You’re out of your mind, he was just being nice.”
“Pacey, why do you have to be so modest all the time? Aren’t you sick of being single?”
I took off my glasses to wipe off the condensation with the underside of my overcoat. Then, glanced at both ends of the streets looking for a taxi. “I don’t mind being single. It’s nice. It gives me time to practice the harp.”
“I think that’s why people love you. Because you play the harp—isn’t it the instrument of love? I always thought it was cupid’s instrument.”
I adjusted my glasses and shrugged. “I think we need to get you home.”
“No, seriously, Pace. You always try to change the subject when we talk about this.”
Only the people who were closest to me called me Pace. She tried to lean up against the windows of the bar we left but ended up almost falling down on the sidewalk. The people sitting inside looked at us and I gave them an apologetic smile.
“Tell me what it is, all these guys that flock to you and nothing ever comes of it. I’m just so confused,” she said, regaining her balance.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. People don’t flock to me.”
“They do! You just never notice and it’s a shame because if I got even half the attention you get, I’d be so over the moon.”
Amanda started digging through her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then, she dug deeper, presumably trying to find a lighter.
I reached into the inner breast pocket of my overcoat and lit her cigarette for her.
“Amanda, you’re only twenty-seven and the associate principal second violinist. You’re going to be okay.”
She took a drag from her cigarette and closed her eyes. “Maybe you’re right. We are pretty young still. It’s just that I can’t help but think about having babies. My biological clock is ticking and it’s all I think about nowadays. Would you be the father of my babies if I’m thirty-five and still single?”
“Sure,” I said sarcastically.
“Really? Because we’d have really cute babies. They’d be so musically gifted. A violinist mom, and a harper dad. If we have four, we can have a quartet.”
I looked at my best friend who obviously knew I was gay.
She was the first person I came out to my freshman year and she had stuck by my side. Amanda has been on this journey with me since we started college studying music.
Now, we were by far the two youngest members of the Symphony Orchestra. I was the youngest at twenty-four.
Music had always come naturally to me. I was made fun of a lot growing up for playing the piano. So I switched to the harp in college because I’d always loved how beautiful it was.
There were two taxis idling at the nearby intersection along the narrow, quiet street. I waved to signal for the driver to come get us. The taxi driver pulled up.
I opened the back door and helped Amanda step into the car. I grabbed the cigarette from her hand that she would have mistakenly taken into the taxi, and ashed it for her.
“Are you sure you’re okay to get home by yourself?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. You’re always so goddamn worried. Have a great evening, Pacey. I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal. Actually, let’s grab lunch or something after and catch up.”
I nodded and smiled, gently pushing the door closed, and watched the taxi drive off and turn the corner.
Frost blue Christmas lights draped between lampposts on the quiet street. It was just a bit past two in the morning on a Tuesday.
There was a burst of laughter coming from the people in a dimly lit bar across the street. They were sharing pitchers of beers and looked like they were having a great time.
On the second floor of a house further down, there was a window that framed a living room. A couple wearing knitted sweaters were putting up lights on their Christmas tree.
There was a bittersweet feeling during the holidays that I’ve grown to love and hate at the same time. I’ve always felt this underlying emptiness during this time of year. But I think I’d always felt this way regardless of the season, and the holidays somehow made it more apparent.
I took in a breath of the icy fresh air into my lungs. The slight burn of the cold air rushing into my nose reminded me of accidentally eating too much wasabi.
When I looked up, I noticed white specks falling from the dark sky. It was the first snowfall of the year after an incredibly hot year.
I reached my hand out and let a snowflake parachute and land onto my finger. I studied its beautiful texture and glittery details before it quickly morphed into a boring drop of water.
As I was looking down at my hand, I noticed a man laying down in the alleyway in my periphery. I glanced over casually and kept walking. There was a huge problem with homelessness in this city, especially during this time of year.
But as soon as I walked past, it registered in my head that the man laying down wasn’t homeless.
The black leather jacket he was wearing was far too nice. He was wearing white sneakers that were obviously brand new.
I glanced around to make sure it wasn’t some set up to mug me. There was no such thing as being too careful.
But the streets were calm and peaceful without another soul in sight.
“Sir?” I called out into the dark alleyway.
I could see that he was leaning against the brick building and he wasn’t moving.
I took a step closer, still anxious about approaching a complete stranger in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice quivered from the cold and my nervousness.
He was still not moving. I assumed the worst, which was something I did often.
I thought he was dead and made me panic even more. I had never seen a dead person before.
I reached into my pocket for my phone. I thought about calling Amanda who must have already arrived at her house. She was too drunk to help anyways, and probably already passed out on her bed. I thought about calling 9-1-1 but I wanted to see if he was actually dead to make sure I wasn’t overreacting.
I glanced around, there was still no one nearby and I was still too scared to approach him.
There was something about alleyways that terrified me. Coupled with the fact that I had crippling social anxiety, the thought of talking to a complete stranger in the dark made my stomach churn—even though I knew he was unconscious.
Okay, maybe I should call the police. I pulled my phone out, and as I was dialing the three digits, my screen blinked black.
It died.
What was I going to do?
I couldn’t just leave this man here who was obviously not homeless, but possibly dead, and let someone else find him there.
I watched enough of those documentaries on YouTube about the bystander effect. When someone on the street was in desperate need of help, no one ever stopped because they assumed another person would step in.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and I inched baby steps into the dark alleyway.
As I got closer towards the man, I heard him breathing heavily. Okay, that confirmed that he wasn’t dead. Probably just passed out drunk.
Should I leave him?
It wasn’t a freezing cold evening, but still cold enough that it was snowing. By now, there was a thin layer of white snow on the ground. Even though it was warmer in the alleyway, I doubt he’d make it through the night.
“Sir?” I called out again, as I took another step closer.
His face was turned away from me, and I could now see his tattoos that covered his neck and hands.
I kneeled down and hovered over him, poking his arm.
I took in the distinguished smell of leather from his jacket. Then, whiskey on his breath every time he exhaled in a loud grizzly snore. His chest rose and fell as if he was in the most peaceful sleep, probably oblivious to the fact that he was in an alleyway.
He was put together, with his hair slicked back and to the side with a few pieces that dropped to the side of his face. A thin layer of snow had already covered the top of his hair.
I couldn’t let this man stay here, he would get mugged or he’d die in the cold.
And why did he look so familiar to me?
I couldn’t exactly make out his facial features in the darkness. His face was turned away from the light that was coming from the street.
But as soon he turned his head in his sleep, I knew instantly who he was.
All at once, I was brought back to a time ten years ago, when I had first met him.
He looked different now, a lot more muscular, and tattoos covered every visible inch of his body.
My heart raced and feelings emerged—feelings that I thought I’d buried a long time ago.