Dave, What I Did the Rest of the Night

Valentine's night I bought a small bottle of Canada Mist whiskey with what little cash I could dig out of drawers and dirty jeans, and headed to Starbucks to grab a tall house blend with room for "cream and suger." I stared intensely at the man sitting directly across from me reading YSA Today, willing his paper frozen in place. Then I left quickly with the bells and said a sweet 'thank you!' to the barista who had tried to sell me the new skinny latte.

I walked across Bradley campus to the library, looking for my old friend David. We said hello, and I offered him a sip of my Irish coffee. He said, I'll do you one better and we'll go to my house for a few cold ones. So we went. David offered me his best Flying Dog pint, which left him with Hamm's in the can. Such a gracious host, who filled me in on our beloved faculty at Bradley's intimate English department. We both looked longingly into the night and wondered what each of our most fuckable profs were doing at that moment. I wonder if Dr. Swafford is still happy in his marriage? Have you heard from Dr. Worthington? God, she's amazing/he's amazing. 'You should stop in to say hello to Dr. Vickroy and Dr. Craig,' and 'You should tell Dr. Palakeel hello!' Irish coffee in one hand, pint glass in the other, I felt serene for a moment. Thank you, David. I felt my eyes go hot coal, shine like they hadn't in a while.

But I wanted to trapse over to Mike's Tavern. You had to go back to work. To fill you in, Mike's wasn't too lonely. There were friends there, asking me about New York and what the hell happened to that boyfriend I had. There were drink chips, free beer, lots of opinions. There was flirtation between me and Krysta, Greg's fiance, but that was imagined. Then I went to the Owl's Nest, where there was fliration with the Scuicide Girl tending bar, also imagined. Her boyfriend lent me cigarettes, and she told me that artists will always break your hjeart. I figured she knew, she had so many tattoos. Then I called the girl zone (I needed a loan, you know what I mean, but then you hate that album.)

Carrie D, the butterfly of the girl zone came to my rescue. Turns out she needed conversation herself. So she took me under her lovely wing, and I felt like a real valentine after all. We flew from one hot spot to the next, you know, those bars, where everyone is in love with everyone else. And I remember standing outside on the back deck telling everyone about the first person who had taken me there. Then I said to a young nursing student something to the effect of, "You can change the world! This is the revolution!" Carrie insists I said this to the heat lamp. Too much smoking, Dave. Too many shots. Too much laughter from a girl that's bleeding and bleeding and bleeding.

No one wants to go to New York with me, though, not really. But I had a good night. Thank you for your fire escape, and for mentioning the psychic and our friend Dave MacDonald's place. Thank you for the good beer.