The Devil's Cave

“Wanna go to the Cave this weekend?”

I’m instantly irritated.  Bob’s old hang out.  We haven’t gone even once since we started dating.  You know how it goes.  Covid plague shut the world down.  Life got crazy busy.  He hasn't been wanting to go back out to bars, because he has to have a pool table to play on when he goes out.  They kept the pool tables off limits for months after opening the bars back up.

“Sure”

They have karaoke.  I do enjoy me some karaoke.

Friday rolls around.  Albert comes over.   My soul groans.  

Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy going out.  Just...it’s not my favorite.  I treasure being home in my own cave.  Maybe someday we can get a house with a clean enough basement for our own pool table?

Huh.  The thought occurs to me, “Would he get perturbed if I bring my tablet with me?”

I have a great writing set up now.  Just the right size bag, just the right size notebook.  It appears as if I’m hauling around my purse.  My writing set up goes with me everywhere. I AM in the middle of that elit project…..

I make sure my bag is assembled and bring it with us.  I don’t say anything to Bob about it.

I nonchalantly give the place the once over as we ramble in.  Mostly checking for lurking threats.  Drunk people become threats, but I don’t detect any potential issues.  I’ve never crossed the threshold of the Cave.  I’m happy...a little bit.  I get good vibes.  The atmosphere is neat.  We haven’t gone out in...a cliche amount of time.  I have my project with me…

We order drinks and go and join Albert, who’s already staked out a billiards table and a regular one.  I plop myself in a nice, safe corner.  Unpack my portable writing station.  This rocks.  I can dig it.

Roger and Albert play pool.  I play on my tablet.  I have a poetry project I’m working on.  We’re just hanging.  It’s that kind of place.  A place just to hang out at.

Karaoke starts.  I listen for maybe a half hour.  Not in a rush to get up there and sing.  I let other, more enthusiastic people get their songs in.

When I do go up, I’m not sure what darn song to do.  Inevitably, I pick an easy to belt Shania Twain song.  Cliche, but who cares?  Isn’t that what karaoke is for?

I belt it.  I'm having fun with it.  I’m bouncin’ around like I am somebody. Don’t laugh.  I’ve never met any of these people, and the way life has been during this flu plague...I may very well not ever see any of them, or this place again.  Who knows.

I notice a lady resting her tush on a stool at the bar.  She’s diggin’ the song.  I get bouncier, and sing to her a bit.  She smiles, and the man next to her starts paying attention to me.  Now I’m serenading both of them.  They’re older than me.  It makes it easier to play it up.

I buy another drink and trapse back to my corner.  Bob stops me for a smooch, and I retreat back into the tablet.  He hasn’t said anything about that.  Me working while we're hanging at the bar.  He isn’t giving off ‘I’m irritated’ vibes.  He’s doing his own thing.  I think he’s just happy I don’t mind that.  

He’s outside a lot, smoking cigarettes and socializing.  He’ll say he came for the pool, but I know better.  He loves chatting people up.  Meeting new people.  Catching up with the old regulars from when he was here every week before covid.

I visit him every once in a while.  I check in with Albert on occasion.  He tells me Bob always abandoned him like this.  Back in the day.  It is sorta ‘back in the day’ now.  It’s only maybe a year and a half since they’ve been able to come up here.  Unfortunately, it feels like ten.  Like the difference between the temperature outside and then adding in the wind chill factor.  You gotta factor in the Covid Chill Time.

The lady running karaoke calls my name.  Shit.  I don’t have a song picked out again.  Afraid Bob will take my song choices too personally, I pick a love song this time.  Not too slow, not too fast.  I don’t think Bob ever hears it, or even knows I’m up.  He’s outside.  BSing.  Not a clue.  If I ask him later, I’m sure he’ll try to pretend I did.  

The couple at the bar are paying attention.  Cheering me on.  I sing to them again.  A couple on the other side of the bar are cheering me on as well, so I sing to them, too.  And there’s a woman at a table singing along.  I pretend like I’m singing with her.  It’s fun.  A riot.  I guess maybe I’ve been needing to get out and have a good time more than I realized.  I always act like I don’t need to go out. I never really want to.

Nonetheless, I can tell I needed this.  When my song ends, I go check on Bob again.  Give smooches.  Debate hanging out outside.  Quickly decide against it.  Leave him to his recreation.  

Albert’s shooting billiards by himself.  I consider playing a game with him, yet decide against doing so.  Not in the mood.  I chat at him for a minute instead.  Don’t want to be rude.  Plus, I’m aware he’s been left on his own, too.  By Bob.  The one who wanted us to come here tonight.  But we both appreciate how much he enjoys his ‘social hour.’  As much as he does for other people, ain’t no harm in letting him have his ‘me’ time.

I withdraw to my poetry.  Head bobbing to the beat as I work.  I could write like this all the time and be happy.

When my turn comes around, I already have another love song picked out.  This time, Bob has come in and is over at the billiards table with Albert,  They’re on their second game, I think.  Had my head in my work.  Don’t really know.

He’s back there beaming at me as I sing.  More people have stopped their conversations.  They dance a little.  Sing along.  Cheer.  Encourage.  

Too cool.  I’ve never had people react this way to my karaoking.  I’m relishing all of it.  

When the boys decide it’s time to go home, Bob goes to pay the tab.  I go too.  Just to be next to him.  But I get accosted by the first couple who appreciated my crooning so much.  They want a selfie with me.  What??  Well, okay.  That’s not going to hurt anything.  But I wonder why.  Have they just become my fans?  Do I have fans now?  What if they turn into groupies.  Groupies?  Me??