Nuts and Beer: to new beginnings

I wasn't expecting to make a fool of myself like that, I used to make fun of people who danced drunk, and here I was, doing the same thing, surprise! But I had enough tequila to not care anymore. I don't even remember the music that was playing. I have a blurry memory of dancing in the middle of the crowd, with British drunk tourists all around mixed with the locals, on that island. Then I don't know how long after, Dario the bartender took me home on his motorbike. I don't know how he managed it, driving with me at his back, but he brought me home safely. My bestie was also my roommate. Sharing chores, and bills, we had thought why not, we already spent much time together anyway.

"Special delivery", he exclaimed after taking me up the familiar flight of stairs in his arms and ringing the doorbell.

I remember the sound of my friend Maria answering the door,

"Oh my, what did you do?", I was not sure to whom the question was directed. I remember Maria's curly hair looked funny, and her eyes were wide open. Meanwhile, I was on cloud nine.

Then Dario responded "She drank a bit too much, but she is fine".

Some arguing followed, and then I walked in, feeling it was too warm in there. Summer heatwave, with an average of forty degrees Celcius during the day, even the rocks on the ground were warm during the night. Okay, maybe it was also the drinks. Anyway, I started unbuttoning my sleeveless shirt, and then I think Maria screamed to Dario not to look, it was so funny. Or maybe it sounded so loud to me only. With my open shirt on, and bra showing, I went to bed in the other room and fell asleep facedown, door open. I am not sure if I slept before or after my face hit the pillow. I hadn't slept that well in a long time. I had to hear Maria's lecture the next day, but it was worth it, that night was like a dream.

It didn't start out like that though, it looked like any normal evening. I was usual at that bar, in that summer season, I worked at the back of a kitchen. It was a family business, and I was the only employee outside the family. Guess who was cleaning the toilets, running errands, and being the center of attention to make sure I made their money's worth for hiring? You guessed it.

When we didn't have orders come in the kitchen, I had to take a bucket with soapy water and a sponge and clean all the tables and chairs. When this was done, I should have already found my next chore to show them I was busy. I would always keep the fridges filled and counters sparkly clean. When tourists brought sand with their feet, they would call me to clean the mess off the floor. The beach was less than ten meters away from the shop. I pondered the mysterious ways they would bring so much sand in one trip, enough sand to resurrect the Sandman himself. I bet it was those damn sandals, they all shop them from the same store? Same fashion sense and I bet those were expensive too. Ugh.

Meanwhile, the brother of the shop owner was constantly draining the beer and any alcohol supply from the bar, attending to his low-life friends, and treating them for free while watching videos of Shakira dancing with a disgusting look on their faces. Whenever I would approach to do a cleaning chore or go to the kitchen, they would make all sorts of comments: first compliments or cat-calls, and then those would get ignored, and they would quickly switch to insults and threats. "You're a lesbian" or "I know some people that would sort you out". The brother's wife would come occasionally and do free work and endure everything as part of her being. She was my age, from a local village, and they had a house together and planned to have kids too, what a nightmare.

The shop owner was divorced, his ex was a lawyer, and his two kids would cover waiter and waitress shifts for pocket money. I overheard one day that he was planning a surprise for his daughter to buy her a car. His daughter was smart and beautiful, but she was completely blind to how messed up her family was. His son took after the father's habits and mannerisms. Before his shift, the son would ask me to make him a club sandwich with extra mayo and bacon and I would make it. One time he was feeling full and didn't finish his food, and his father told him "Don't let it go to waste, give it to her". Like I was a dog. I threw it in the trash. Is this how they saw me?

"This shit, it's not worth it, but I still need the money", I often would say to myself, "A few more months and I will be out of here". Away from those animals. Just a bit more work, and then I would go where I wanted. Just in case, I began looking for another job, but it was hard. Timing you see, economic crisis, and in the middle of the "tourist season", so every door I knocked was closed. I kept looking nonetheless just to feel my mind escape from that place.

That was the summer that was trying to save money and go to Germany, hoping for a better life. A person I know visited the shop, and when they saw me, they gave me a ten euro tip, to support my dream and thank me for my service at the shop. The shop owner saw it and claimed the money as soon as the person turned their back and left.

When I asked about it he said "You think we don't pay you enough? You are ungrateful, how dare you, bitch". I was about to cry, but wouldn't give him the pleasure.

I collected my thoughts and my emotions and replied "In the agreement, the tips are mine", it was a verbal agreement, I was young and thought people kept their word. He threw his head back, laughing at my face, and threw a coin of 2 euros to the floor. I had to bend like bowing to him to pick it up.

He turned his back, "You should be thankful, I am so kind and generous". He sounded like he really meant it.

Now, if this was a murder movie, this is when the switch would flip, I would grab the kitchen knife from the counter and give him some good stabs, generously. Or I would "forget" the kitchen equipment and stoves plugged in during the night, causing an accidental fire in the shop; still not as satisfying as the stabbing option. It's not about the money, it's about the disrespect, as the principle. But that would definitely make me the bad guy, so no to the temptation.

Miraculously, I forced a smile and kept my calm. I took a breath and decided to not show up for the next shift- or any other shift after that. I decided to quit, to be announced the following day. It's better to be completely broke and desperate than this.

I closed up the shop with this thought, I would quit tomorrow. I felt liberated and scared at the same time, but I said fuck this.

The city lights sparked under the night sky, the waves of the sea sounded calming, and suddenly the whole world was more beautiful. People strolling by the beach, young, old, couples, families, friends. People actually living their lives, enjoying the moment. That had felt like a luxury to me until then. Now I no longer cared. I breathed in the thick lukewarm air, and strolled in by the beach, taking the longer route to the bus stop. I was not going home. Like every night, I would go to my usual bar, my sanctuary. A hidden gem from the city center. Only for locals and those who know how to find it. But this time, I didn't hurry to go there. I let my hair loose, releasing my ponytail, and let the salty sticky breeze do whatever it wanted with my hairstyle. I didn't care, not at that moment.

I got on the bus, the driver cutting my ticket, and standing amongst other people. I watched the city streets pass by and people embarking and disembarking from the bus. I pressed the button to get out at the next station. It felt like a movie, everything looked full of life and more interesting. I thought of seeing Dario again. We were more like friends, introduced by my friend Maria a while back. Dario was a great company to be around and a good listener. Good guy, respectful. He understood being solo without anyone to support you, paying your own bills, and often being tired and broke. I enjoyed listening to Dario's stories outside of work, but I had noticed that as a bartender, he always let the guests talk more. Sometimes he even let them drink in silence, if that's what was needed. He was good at reading the atmosphere. We often closed up the bar together, and he would take me home because we lived in the same (affordable) neighborhood and he was only a couple of years older, overall we had many things in common.

I stepped into the bar like stepping into a place that felt like home. The minimal tropical decor with a few vintage lamps here and there, and small candles lit laying on the tables in the room. The familiar soothing traditional music was playing from the speakers in the background. A song full of nostalgia filled the atmosphere, as I made my way past the tables with other people to my usual spot, a stool near the corner of the bar.

I nodded to other familiar faces scattered in the room, and they nodded back in acknowledgment. This bar felt like a community, a feeling of connection, but neither felt too close nor too far from each other. Perfection. From my spot I could see both the entrance and the bar, I liked watching people passing by, come and go from my safe spot.

Dario the bartender knew my usual, and by the time I sat down, it was already in front of me. A large cold mug of draft blonde beer with a coaster underneath, and on the side was a small bowl of salty nuts. Perfection. Everything looked normal. I even had a small chat with Dario and another regular, who was a head chef at a nearby hotel. In the past, I had thought of asking him about working for him but never actually did; Dario warned me about working in big kitchens with professional chefs, and about the fact that the chef was quite authoritarian, throwing curses and pans alike if things didn't go his way. So, no thanks to the idea that came and went, plus I didn't want to ruin my hangouts at the bar. Some people took themselves way too seriously, and it was not my dream to work in a kitchen anyway, I only ended up like that because I was broke and needed to provide for myself. No family or no stable home of my own. Like grains of sand in the air, floating from place to place, my name could be Sand. My dream was to be an artist, I know, stupid dream, but in Germany at least I would have a decent salary and life, perhaps from sand, I could become clay, and create something, stay. This bar was a sanctuary, and I didn't want any special connection with any of the other regulars, apart from the present moment at the present place.

At the far side of the bar, sitting on a stool with his back against the wall observing everyone was a local legend. As he exhaled, cigarette smoke hovered around him, making him a mystery figure. He had a glass of gin lemon on his left hand while he kept the other one in his pocket. Officially, he worked in security and had a network of people working for him. Nightlife was his mistress, he waited patiently for the sun to set and his day to start. This was also his sanctuary, I saw that he brought his family once or twice. Going to this bar for years had become a part of him. He always started off his night there, greeting and chatting, sometimes just drinking and being silent. He always drank the same gin with lemon, with consistency. I admired that man the same way a kid admired Batman. He would pay and disappear without saying goodbyes. He once said goodbyes are bad luck. His skill of seamlessly leaving impressed me, what a skillful exit. Dario and I heard some of his stories at nights like these, stories of his old life, like movies full of crime and action.

Another song was finished, and another song started. Life huh? I was on my second or third beer. I had another serving of nuts, I was eating them like a small mouse, making Dario give a spontaneous laugh. I liked it when he laughed like that.

Then a group of tourists showed up at the door. Were they lost or something, I wondered. Most of them were girls, around ten in number, and when they saw me by the bar talking and drinking, they came to the bar and made their orders. They were quite pale, others pink, some were sunburned and others wore a lot of shiny makeup. My face felt shiny purely from the sweat, it was quite warm. Their whole appearance and way of being in the space, their presence, felt foreign, standing out.

The locals looked surprised as well, and some had a reaction that a little boy would have if a girl came to play with their sand castle "No, mine!", I could almost read in their faces, their bar. There was a reason this bar didn't make an effort to advertise online. For regular customers, the best advertisement was word of mouth. This was a hidden gem for people to unwind.

"Serve up tequila for everyone, whohooo!" a blonde girl screamed, her voice so loud, her cheeks red.

The other girls whooped and cheered in support. The gin-lemon mystery man at the back made his way to the exit while everyone was paying attention to the newcomers. The head chef stood his ground, in place, staring passive-aggressively. The girls didn't observe the shifts and changes around the room. They were way too focused on having fun, and they did. They tried to start a conversation around them, but without many results, people would refuse to talk to them, especially in English. I was there, so they talked to me, and of course, Dario who made their drinks.

A few rounds of drinks later, they were asking me if Dario and I were dating. It was a common question lately we got from a lot of people. I was shaken, and as I was lightheaded, I said a theatrical "Nope, no, nahhh". We laughed. I remember talking to many of them, but their hair color and faces were kind of a blur.

"But why?" one asked me, making puppy eyes. I don't know which one of us was the most drunk.

"We are just friends, of course," I claimed

"Would you say then that you see him as your brother?"

"Eww, no way!"

"Then would you mind if I went for him?"

I crossed my arms and looked away.

"It's none of my business what he does".

The girl said "Dariooo! I like you", and another girl said, "I like you too Dario". Then another one "Me too, you're the best!".

It was funny, yeah, but at the same time, it was getting on my nerves. I bet it looked ridiculous. Well, it was not my business whom he dated anyway.

Then Dario said "Thanks, I appreciate that. But my heart belongs to another".

I panicked for a moment there, was there something I didn't know, another person perhaps? I looked at him and he looked back at me, and then the girls made an "Awww" sound.

That was the biggest part of the conversation I could remember.

And leaning my head on the back of his broad shoulders on his motorbike, going slowly up the road. It was almost morning, and the sky was amazing. Then my friend's place. He carried me up the stairs, it was so dreamy. He didn't make a move, he was a gentleman. Even more attractive, instantly.

When I woke up, I felt dehydrated and realized I'd been drooling as well. I had a mark on my left cheek in the shape of my bracelet. I had a mark and my boobs hurt from my bra, sleeping face down. I showered, cleaned up, drank a couple of glasses of water, and got some grapes from the fruit bowl on the table as a snack. Maria was already awake and out. "How late is it?" I wondered. It was twelve noon. My head was heavy, but I was in a great mood.

When Maria came back with her tote bag full of groceries, I was making coffee and emptying the dishwasher. We had coffee together on our small balcony, sitting on the white plastic chairs, the back of my thighs and the back of my neck were feeling sweaty already. There was an awning saving us from direct sun exposure, but it was so humid and hot. The sun was bright, reflecting on the surfaces, blinding. The street was quiet, we could only hear ourselves and the cicada on the surrounding pine trees. Maria gave me a lecture, and I realized she was worried about me. Then she asked me what I planned to do.

After a pause, I responded:

"I plan to be happy".