That delicate balance between weightlessness and heaviness was setting upon me like the sun. Spectacular now was the blurry blend of bar lights emulating a transient sky.
Whether the evening was coming or going did not matter. All that mattered was the comforting buzz in my ears - confirmation of my waning sobriety.
Senses slowing. Breaths lengthening.
Smooth sounds of a piano penetrated the air and a velvety vibration resonated warmly through the room.
Closing my eyes to further immerse in the symphonic sea, I heard the tender timbre of a violin and felt the charming presence of a cello - its nonchalant melody lulling me into a trance.
Inhaling deeply, I detected traces of lime oil from the rind I had squeezed into my Tanqueray and tonic.
I opened my eyes and wrapped my fingers around the perspiring glass until the tips barely touched the cold surface. I strengthened my grip until the chill changed into a freeze that bit sharply at my skin.
I imagined pulling the corners of the glass. Enlarging it until the miniscule ice cubes became monolithic glaciers with tidal waves of Tanqueray washing over them.
The fizzing tonic filling the arctic enclave with hisses and pops powerful enough to unhinge the colossal lime cantilevered above. Spine-tingling tremors thundering beneath my feet as ice melted. Watching the slow, surreal collapse of an ice fortress.
I looked up at the bartender. I didn’t even need to twirl my finger in the air for another round; he gave me a nod as he swapped out my fading fortress for a fresh one.
I gripped the new lime garnish with my thumb and middle finger and squeezed it over the ice, imagining every drop as an essence of life. As I dropped the lime into the glass, I became mindful of the moments passing by.
I prodded the lime remnant to the bottom of my drink with a straw, thinking about all of the depraved, torturous things happening around the world - all that stands between our temporary flesh and souls release.
The visualizations in my mind are so morbid at times, I have to remain conscious of my facial expressions, else random strangers approach and offer consolation.
Spectators pity me, propped up at the bar all alone. Their gazes weighed heavily upon me - until the consumption of a sufficient amount of gin.
I gulped down half of my drink. Tiny bubbles from the crisp tonic exploded down my throat as I placed the glass on the bar.
A sickness flared up inside me as I glanced over at the watered-down drink in front of the empty seat next to me. Fighting back the tears welling up in my eyes, I pulled out my phone, tapped out, “Where are you? I’ve got a seat waiting,” and pressed send.
I looked up and the bartender gave an empathic nod as he gracefully tipped and raised a Tanqueray bottle over his head, preparing another round.
I closed my eyes, desperate to tear my focus away from reality. I wanted so terribly to feel a single moment of serenity, a moment of companionship, a moment of warmth.
Instead, I slipped further away, as if drifting from earth: blackness and emptiness engulfing me, the sickness pulsing in my gut.
The bartender slid another hissing glass in front of me. I doused the lime deep into the glass and took a swig. Blurry bar lights trailed smeary, technicolor beams across the room and the buzz in my ears grew louder.
The piano man struck up a jaunty tune that was impossible to ignore, seeming to course through my veins alongside the alcohol.
Icy geometric patterns frosted the corners of the windows and a stark gust of wind whipped snow through the air. I started thinking of all the fragile snowflakes blustering in the night.
Each of them so rare and fleeting: there for a moment and gone the next. Just like happiness.
Sadness though. Sadness was like a glacier: dense, heavy, and long-lasting. I looked back down at the ice fortress at my fingertips, pondering the analogy. Perhaps my capacity for sadness was more than my capacity for happiness?
Or better yet, consider what a glacier is, I thought to myself. Miniscule, evanescent snowflakes compiled into snow and as the snow lay in the same place year after year, it turns into ice that eventually develops into a glacier.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. My internal monologue was strikingly similar to conversations we shared together in the past not so long ago.
Turning my eyes back to the window, I imagined you were in the seat I had saved, and that the watered-down drink was your third or fourth round. In my mind I heard your voice speak to me, chiming in on the discussion.
“Suppose then, that each snowflake is a moment of happiness: it crystallizes in the atmosphere, falls toward the earth where it is experienced briefly by an observer, settles on the ground, and after a great while, it compacts into ice.”
“Yes, yes,” I responded as I swirled around my last bit of drink, “go on.”
“So each moment of happiness eventually becomes a source of sadness. You see, the snowflakes, light and airy, over time pack into a large, thick glacier.”
I finished my drink and replied, “It makes sense. Considering all of the wonderful times we shared as snowflakes, and how immense this glacier of sadness has become. It’s unbearable.” As I stood up, you uttered a parting remark.
“The immensity will wax and wane over time, but the snowflakes will continue to surprise and delight you.”
I wandered out of the bar and planted my feet mindfully into the snowy sidewalk. Looking up into the sky, I felt the deep purple abyss staring back at my grieving frame and smiled. I imagined you smiling with me, as we often had in this very spot.
Everything you did, everything you said, and everything you left me rang out like a shotgun in my head. And there’s nothing I can say; there’s nothing I can do now.
My face flushed as the icy wind blew all around me. I took a step and disappeared like a fragile snowflake blustering in the night, waiting to land on a patch of snow and become an ice fortress -
strong; stunning; infinite.