Perception Spring 2023

expectantly. He shifts closer to her–mirroring the movement.
“Apparently,” she slows, “they can’t be trusted.” Her friend
nods quietly in agreement. I look back at her: exposed shoulders
slumped as she leans back to passively observe the two’s
conversation, decorated fingers fiddling with the straw in her drink
boredly.
“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” Aiden gasps, clutching
his chest dramatically. Audrey’s chuckle morphs into a considering
hum. She takes a slow sip of her blood-red cocktail, shiny pink lips
pursing upwards around plastic, before responding.
“No, no, no,” she tuts. “Not necessarily… I’m just saying the
universe says I shouldn’t.” Aiden raises an eyebrow.
“The universe doesn’t know shit, then.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, don’t believe that crap. You can trust me,” He
reaches his hand out towards her wrist, and when she doesn’t pull
away, he wraps his hand around it, staring intently at her. “Promise,”
he adds, so seriously no one could actually take it so.
Audrey is grinning. Her pearly white canines glow in this
lighting; she moves her unclasped hand to rest atop Aiden’s.
“Okay, I suppose I could give you a chance.”
“You’re too kind.” Aiden smiles back at her.
My beer hasn’t been touched for the last five minutes, but
that doesn’t stop me from pushing away from the table, my chair
scraping loudly against the floor as I do so, and muttering an excuse
about needing a new drink. No one seems to notice, and I’m heading
toward the bar too quickly to decide if I care.
It’s a college bar on a Friday night, so the counter is lined
with the unfamiliar faces of my supposed peers. I squeeze between
two people, both turned towards different conversations. To my left,
a girl with straight black hair and freckles dotting her uncovered
back is complaining about her economics professor and his inability
to follow the schedule on the course syllabus. To my right, some
dude who hasn’t fully tucked in his shirt is raving about how well
his cryptocurrency is doing on the market. As my eyes linger on
his ducktail, I reach behind myself to prod along the waistline of my
80 | Perception
own pants where, thankfully, no loose fabric seems to be hanging
embarrassingly.
The bartendress is mixing some obscure drink, the gold
bangles on her wrist rattling as she shakes the container. I watch her
for a while until we make eye-contact, and she approaches.
“Ian,” she nods in greeting. Georgia bartends on Fridays, so
we’ve become well-acquainted over the past few months.
“Georgia,” I nod back. “Fancy seeing you here.” She rolls her eyes.
“Where’s your friend?”
“Oh, you know,” I tilt my head backward in no specific
direction; she understands anyway.
“What can I get you, then?”
“Ummm,” I haven’t thought this far ahead, coming here
mainly for a change of pace. “Another beer I guess. Something cheap.”
Cheap alcohol for cheap conversation, I think as she slides
me a bottle of Miller Lite.
“I’ll add it to your tab,” she winks, then she’s talking to
another customer before I can even say thank you.
I turn my back to the bar and begin to scan the room when
I notice our table and can’t hold back a snort. I grab my bottle and
weave my way back through the high tables littered with half-full
plastic cups and people crowding around them. Three empty seats
plus a fourth filled by a dejected twenty-two-year-old, wait for me.
He is currently emptying a glass–my glass.
“Oi,” I kick Aiden’s chair, “that’s my beer,” I tell him. He looks
up at me and smirks.
“So what? You got a new one anyway.”
“Yeah, but this is the shit shit.”
“Sucks to be you, then.”
“What’d you do this time?” I ask, gesturing to the missing
company. Aiden lets out a short laugh and wags his index finger at me.
“Hey, now, don’t assume it was me. Her friend had, like, an
emergency so they had to go.” He pulls his phone from his chest
pocket and shakes it in my face. “Got her number, see?”
“A bust is a bust, my friend.” I pat his back consolingly.
His only button down shirt is soft from all the wear, but the space
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