Writing Prompt #4: Escape

 Prompt: Create and describe a scene, and situation of said scene.

ESCAPE (DRAFT)

My husband Michael asked me last Sunday if I wanted to go to BrewDog bar, in Franklinton, for artist neighbor Ryan’s fundraiser. A popular muralist, Ryan is painting his cartoony “Space Dog” on a brick wall outside of BrewDog, and is selling Space Dog t-shirts at the bar to support the Humane Society. Alcoholics in recovery, neither my husband or myself had been in a bar in over 6 years. But I wanted to support Ryan. I can handle this, I thought, and hastily put on some lipstick and grabbed a straw hat.

It was a warm, humid afternoon, in the high 70s, hinting that summer is on its way. My husband steered the car out of German Village, through downtown and over the Rich Street bridge into Franklinton, which looked like a sea of new apartment construction, interspersed with boarded up houses, and large dirt-filled lots. The streets were empty. Ghost town? I wondered, then I spied the busy BrewDog. Suddenly my stomach tightened and I became extremely uncomfortable.

Michael maneuvered the car into a spot down the street from the bar. On purpose, I walked slowly behind him towards the entrance and I was tense when we arrived. I first noticed women sitting in clusters at the bar, sipping mixed drinks. I eyed the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar, looking colorful, as always. I found myself wondering who amongst this crowd boozing on Sunday afternoon is a budding alcoholic, yet chastised myself for casting judgement when I, in my 20s, frequented many a place like this for afternoon cocktails with friends. Then I remembered my last drunk, when I was alone drinking at a bar just like this one, miserable, confused, spiritually bankrupt. Suddenly I felt afraid.

Michael spied Ryan out on the patio and we went over to exchange pleasantries. I bought a pair of hoop earrings he had made and a black t-shirt with the Space Dog logo. Ryan, somewhat boozy from the two beers he had, tried to make excuses for his sloppy behavior when he drinks. Yup, sounded familiar. I tried to explain that I don’t drink anymore, I went through that rodeo and retired, but I felt nervous saying it. Why?

Ryan walked away and Michael motioned to me to come join him at one of the tables outside. I noticed they were playing horrible music which sounded flat, repetitive, boring. I sat with my back to the bar, on purpose, looking straight out onto Town Street where all I saw were vacant lots and two more bars, one not-so-wisely called “Rehab” where I spied a guy with a neon green winter hat, drinking a beer. Lonely, this all felt lonely, I felt lonely.

Get me out of here, my mind screamed silently. Why did Michael want to linger here? It was time to go! Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. We don’t belong in this type of place. “Its not safe here for me,” I finally muttered to Michael under my breath. “Take me home.” We located Ryan, said our goodbyes, and I almost ran back to the car. As we weaved our way home, out of Franklinton, through downtown, and back to German Village, I found myself silently doing a Gratitude List in my head, with my sobriety being Number One.

When we parked in front of our house, I was firm. “No more bars,” I told Michael. “That ship has sailed.”