As I sat down at the bar with him, I fought with all my might against the inevitable anxiety that accompanies a rendezvous with the ex. But we had remained friends, despite any residual emotional grievances, so retreat was not an option. He ordered the drinks and I smiled, thankful that I had the socially relaxing effects of alcohol to comfort me.
The conversation continued without hesitation, as if there were no reason in the world that we should not be at perfect ease with one another, as if this were not the proverbial first love whose loss I was still grieving. I was left with no feasible alternative but to wax casual as the alcohol did nothing to calm my nerves. Relax. You are the strong one. You are in total control.
After our discourse endured a substantial silence, he excused himself under the guise of joining the flock of fraternity men that had congregated around the pool tables. I took the liberty of ordering another drink, one that would more effectively accomplish its intended purpose. I scanned the room, amused by the frivolities of celebratory drinking ceremonies and stumbling drunks. Upon tiring of this particular display, my view shifted to a couple sitting at a table across the bar. Instantly, my eyes became unabashedly fixated on the spectacle that took place as the rest of the world continued its prosaic existence around me.
She was placed firmly in the center of his lap, her legs off to one side and her arms wrapped territorially around his neck. Her contented gaze spanned the circumference of the room, making every effort to imprint upon the foreheads of innocent bystanders the proud claim that she had staked. At regular twenty-second intervals, she would shamelessly kiss him on the forehead, taking an even bolder stance periodically by grasping his face and drawing it up to her lips.
I lit a cigarette to entertain my hands as I watched in a voyeuristic paradox of horror. Finally, his eyes met mine, but they did not stray as I had expected. Instead, he stared back at me in sickening flirtation as the object on his lap continued to implement every available appendage in her efforts to smother him completely. He was not at all phased by my stare; on the contrary, he seemed to be rather enjoying it. He made no effort to return her affections, nor did he attempt to deny them. He simply allowed himself to be consumed, never for a second breaking eye contact with me, until his newfound parasite became cognizant of our exchange.
It was then that the stare down with me changed from his possession to hers. I could have easily alleviated her discomfort by looking away, but my morbid fascination overrode my incentive to extend such a courtesy to a complete stranger. Motionless, we challenged one another in silent altercation neither prepared to yield. Upon realizing that flaming chasms of hatred were not, in fact, being bored into my head by the lasers of her eyes, she opted for a different tactic and engulfed the greater portion of his face with her mouth. Obviously satisfied in her superiority, she regarded me with a devilish smirk and continued with her nauseating public display.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my ex reclaim his place next to me. "Aren't you bored sitting here by yourself?" he asked. I smiled, feeling compelled to thank him for not allowing me to become the girl across the bar. I took one last look at her entanglement of flesh and its horrific opposition of everything I believed in. "No, I'm not bored," I replied. "In fact, I'm rather enjoying myself."