Vagabond dreamin' takes me through the night

“Listen, I think it is time you go out and meet some people! You’ve been living on your own for a few months now and I don’t want you to get too lonely.”

“Well it’s not exactly easy. You go out into the world and you have to cover your face with a mask, you try to make a little small talk and your glasses get foggy. I’m telling you, nobody wants to talk to anybody… a pandemic doesn’t really breed an environment for social hours.” 

“Espi, I think that is a little dramatic, don’t you? It’s Friday night, go out and put yourself out there. You’re triple vaxxed and you’re not getting any younger. When I was your age, I was out dancing all weekend. It’s how I met Adam…” 

“Yes, yes, and how I became the aunt of three babies, yatta yatta. I’m hanging up now. You’re just sinking me in a sandpit of anxiety, depression, and a sprinkle of OCD…”

“Push yourself out of your comfort den babes. Get out there tonight. Have one drink! And if it’s shit, just come home and know that you saw and maybe didn’t conquer.” 

“You’re the worst. Love you.” 

“Love you too, get out there sis. Bye.”

I clicked end and threw my phone back into my nest of duvets. It’s not like I wanted to be a horrendous hermit. I had every intention to live my life. I didn’t want to be a mom that had no previous adventurous life. When my kid asks what I did in my 20s or what my bachelorette pad looked like, I wanted an arsenal of weird details: lava lamps, collection of adventurous fridge magnets, maybe a few drunken escapades that would make me blush in approval when I’m in my forties. I wanted it all, which is why I moved to Portland, Oregon. 

At the time, it felt like a big step. Leaving my childhood town to a place where I didn’t know a soul. The first month was exhilarating, until COVID hit and I was pulled into lockdown. Then my germaphobic tendencies and obsessive nature to read statistics accelerated. Let’s just say the first six months of living on my own amounted to too much time reading Marvel fanfiction and ogling Harry Styles in Google images. 

But Emily had a point. There was never going to be a good time to go out. There were going to be COVID cases for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t hermit anymore. I guess if fate wanted to take me already, the loose shower head faucet could have brained me by now. I just need to dip my toe into the waters as they say. Who am I kidding, I was screwed! 

At 8pm, I drank a cup of coffee to break past my bedtime routine and put on my favorite leather ankle boots, the ones that pushed me past six feet tall. I applied heat to my hair for the first time in months and I was out the door. I would go out for one drink, then I could come home.

I decided on an underground McMinnimon’s bar downtown, only a few miles from Portland State. The bar's website said there would be live music, I couldn’t remember the last time I heard anything besides Spotify. 

When I entered the bar, I flashed my ID and vaccine card. It was already packed inside. The thrum of people socializing left a lump in my throat. Have people been out here connecting this whole time while I’ve been in bed envisioning Robert Downey Jr. as Tom Holland’s father in Iron Man / Spiderman mashup stories? I needed a drink stat. 

“Hi, could I please get an aviation cocktail?” I read about it online, it was a lavender cocktail with gin. Sounded sophisticated enough. I watched as a man dressed as a lumberjack with beautiful locks pulled into a man bun mix me my potion. Portland men were a different breed. 

“I’ll keep your tab open, yea? Here you go, enjoy.” He slid the grey martini glass across the sticky bar top.

“Thanks, you too. I mean, ugh well thanks.” GOD. Why was I left outside again? I took a swig, gave him a thumbs up, and escaped into the crowd. There was a large room to the left that was dark, only lit by lanterns in the corners. On the stage, a group of folk artists strummed on banjos.

100 miles an hour in my head. Vagabond dreams take me through the night. Sipping whiskey by the river…

There was an empty little table in the corner that I quickly claimed. As I sat there, I took in the moment. Letting the music wash over me, the cocktail quieting the anxiety coiling under my skin. Pride bubbled from that pit of anxiety. Here I was, living that 20s dream outside of my comforter cocoon. 

Stretching my feet from the small table, I smiled as the banjo player strummed wildly. I let my eyes slip close and just listen to the sound of people loudly chatting around me. 

Suddenly, I felt an ache on the top of my foot and heard a clamorous crash. Oh no, oh no. I opened my eyes to the sight of a man scrambling for his footing.

“I am SO sorry,” I leaned over to help the man stand up. He was a lanky guy wearing a yellow and blue striped shirt, springy curls that were ruffled during the fall. 

“Oh that was all me, I forgot how to walk in tight spaces during quarantine.” He smiled warmly at me.

“And I forgot that I’m not spread out on my couch. I’m really sorry about that.” He pushed some of his curls off his head, and woah green, green, green. “So um, can I maybe buy you a drink?”

His eyes met mine and my heart swelled. Maybe it was because I hadn’t talked to another man in months. Maybe I was full on desperate. I’m not really sure, but suddenly I felt a spring of confidence. He was cute, and I had my cute boots on. 

“Ah, I can’t imagine my boyfriend would love that.” His eyes twinkled, “He’s the jealous type.” There goes that, just when you put yourself out there.

“Ah well, you got everything to gain and nothing to lose I guess.” I shrugged and looked him over again, “You’re very cute, you know?”

“Aw babe, I love you! Why don’t you come have a drink with us? Instead of sitting in this corner alone? You can escort me to my table so I don’t fall again. These damn heel boots get me every time.” Indeed, he had black boots similar to mine, maybe an extra inch. The heels were bedazzled. 

“Sure! I’m Espi by the way.”

“Evan. Come on, let’s go get another drink, Espi.” Evan linked his arm with mine and led me back to the bar. 

The remainder of the night was a little strange. I met Evan’s friends and we had our fair share of gin. And when the night ended, an uber took me home, I ate some tortilla chips, and I crawled back into bed.

But this time, my bed felt different. It welcomed me back, instead of feeling like an entrapment. For the first time since moving to the city, I felt pride. Sure, I lived in solitude for the start of this life chapter, but I got out. I got out! And for me, that was enough.