Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Settling In.

I took a seat at the bar, near the cash register where Amy could see me, and noticed the same old regulars hanging out playing pool. 


“Abs! What’s up? How you holdin’ up?” Amy asked, as she made her way over to me.  I asked her to make me a double vodka tonic as I proceeded to explain how I’d spent my day informing various mutual friends of the termination of my relationship with Micah.


“It’s just like…I don’t know, rehashing the whole thing over and over again,” I complained.  “It makes it harder than it has to be.”


“How’s it gonna be living at Chris’s house?” Amy asked.  At first I had been appreciative that Micah had taken the high road and had offered to move out, but the reality of staying in a house owned by his friend was still sinking in.


“We shall see,” I muttered. “He already thinks I’m gonna poison Meg and convince her to leave him.”


“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Amy said.  “The fact that he’s a complete assmunch should convince her to well enough without having to drag you into it.  You know what you need to do?”


“What’s that?” I asked, throwing back the last of my drink.


“Get out there, date again,” she urged.


“Ha! Last thing I need is Chris, like, spying on me or something,” I joked.


“Aw, come on.  I’m sure he’s got better things to do than that.”


“Have you met Chris?” I asked.


“Good point,” Amy conceded.  “Hey, watch the bar for a second.  I have to run upstairs and get some change.”


I walked behind the bar, running my hand along the inside bar rail.  It had been almost a year since I had been behind that bar, yet it felt like I hadn’t missed a day.  As I took the scenic route on my little trip down memory lane, a scrawny, dirty-looking local called me over to order a beer.  When I returned with his drink, he looked at me intensely, puzzled.


“Aren’t you a waitress? What are you doing behind the bar?” he asked.


“Dude, I haven’t even worked here in over a year,” I retorted, walking away.  I wondered how long it would take him to realize the irony in my statement.  Amy returned to find me giggling to myself.


“Dare I ask?” Amy asked, carefully placing her change in the register drawer.  She had always been slightly neurotic when it came to cash, for some reason. 


“It’s nothing,” I laughed. “Alright, I’m out of here.”


When I got home that night, Taco greeted me half-heartedly.  Micah and I had adopted Taco from a local shelter, where she had been brought up from Puerto Rico.  She was our baby; Micah was her dad, and now he was gone.  I hoped she didn’t blame me…did dogs know how to place blame?


We walked down to the pier, where I sat to quietly smoke a cigarette.  Taco and I had spent many an early weekend morning during Micah’s late slumbers down at the pier, just taking in the quiet of the morning.  I supposed I needed to find that peace in this new, different setting, but I struggled with how to accomplish that.  There were so many things in my life that were heavily integrated with Micah, so many changes and adjustments to be made. I felt completely overwhelmed, yet at the same time, I looked forward to being able to call the shots again – to make my own decisions without having to report in to placate someone’s jealous nature. 


I went to sleep that night with a strange feeling of excitement that almost felt as if it were Christmas Eve and I was twelve years old.  Abigail Harris was back in control of her life again.


October 14, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,


  1. This is good.

    Comment by van | October 15, 2008 | Reply

  2. This is a familiar story, yes…

    Comment by niccie | October 15, 2008 | Reply

  3. I shouldn’t be, but I’m a little amazed at the writing skills you’ve been hiding all these years. I’d love to know where you’re at with this in terms of piecing everything together.

    Comment by Mike | October 23, 2008 | Reply

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