A short story
Scotch and Gingerale - A. Nguyen
After a heartfelt conversation with a man whom she felt might be someone very important to her someday, Emily looked outside the large windowpane of a small hip bar where she and Brian had exchanged their last words of affection for each other. He left, not too long ago, for the airport to catch a flight to Seattle where he would permanently reside in. Now, Emily, still situated in the same position and whose mind was full of unyielding thoughts, focused on the empty seat in front of her with eyes of dolefulness.
It appeared that the rain was heavily picking up from the slight drizzle that once gave a soothing effect, now, more violent, it traveled like incessant rounds of firing machine guns. Emily sat there for the next twenty minutes, recollecting her thoughts. She fiddled with the glass half full of scotch and ginger ale, and took a big gulp, leaving an imprint of a deep maroon tint on the rim of the glass. Several minutes later, the drink finally hit her. She rested her left elbow on the table to give support to her head. Tilting it slightly to the window, she centered her full attention outside, and gazed fixedly at the streetlamp. She was drawn to the slow motion effect that the rain had against the city lights. Amazing the way a person is wired. She did not need to visually locate where the glass was, and grabbed for it with her unoccupied hand. Before she took the final gulp, her pensive eyes became embedded, first to the lipstick stain, then to the liquor. She gave it a few twirls, and got entranced by the undulating movement. It was consuming. For the time being, her mind was free from any thought.
Moments later, distracted by the clattering of glasses from the bar, she gained conscious of her surrounding and decided it was time to leave. The check had already been paid for. She came out and felt the trickling of soft rain on her face. It felt revitalizing to her skin that had been warmed by the alcohol. A rush of instantaneous thoughts struck her once again. She imagined Brian to be at the terminal by now, sitting at the gate with a book in his hand, waiting for his flight’s departure in about half an hour. Emily took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the rain seeped into her skin. It was the perfect antidote to her consumptive mind. She wasn’t sad. She was something, which was similar to sad, but the rain and the light and the lingering alcohol and the undulating motion, she observed inside, had helped her avoid the real sadness.
