An Open Letter To The Last

Lianne needed a drink.

The moment she stepped out into the street, she nearly laughed at the cruelty of the sky. Of course it started to rain, of course, because everything that could have gone wrong that day did. A botched presentation, a dropped lunch, a coffee-soaked notebook, and a forgotten umbrella, all weighed on her mind and bothered her like the water in her shoes.

The last conversation with the bartender still rang clear in her mind. Ya just gotta get out there and do it, he had said. It was like a dagger was placed in her hands, meant to kill the ugly beast of shame that had taken shelter in her, but the more her grip tightened on it, the more it hurt her instead.

She really, really needed that drink.

Her friends had been badgering her for ages to come and join them again, but the idea of being in a stuffy room with pounding music and an equally pounding headache was less than appealing, however. She couldn’t even fathom how she used to handle all of that before her Friday night’s plans changed.

There was always Helena. Lianne could cross the street in no time, pop by the mini mart in her apartment building, and buy that cheap rosé they both loved. She would still be quite dry by the time she got there. Helena wouldn’t hesitate to open her home and arms to her; it would be far from the first time. But the idea of receiving comfort from Helena only made the dread seep through her system much faster. She shut down the idea before the dread turned into guilt.

The Bar was 15 minutes away by foot. Conditions were hardly ideal for walking, but it was the best choice. It always was. She didn’t know why she kept thinking of alternatives. She always knew where she’d end up at the end of the week.

With one last sigh, Lianne shrugged her jacket over her head and made a run through the night, blurred by the downpour.

By the time she reached the final turn, the rain had stopped, but she was already sopping wet. Of course she chose that day to forgo the contacts and wear her glasses instead, now covered in droplets she couldn’t wipe off with her wet clothes.

101 ·Aya Domingo

When she turned the corner, something felt off.

The first oddity she noticed was the absence of the red neon of the sign bathing the alleyway. The area was also completely void of any sort of activity. There were never a lot of people around, especially since no one really knew about the area, but there would usually be a regular or two smoking outside and shooting the breeze. This time, the place felt hollowed out with silence. Another peculiar thing was the square of white on the door. She tried to rub at her glasses with a sleeve, but she still couldn’t quite tell what it was from where she was standing.

Upon closer look, she realized it was a sign. Taped onto the door was a white sheet of paper, and she had to squint to read the words written in purple marker.

Closed Indefinitely.

No, she thought with a panic. That couldn’t be. Lianne jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She rapped on the door with a shaky fist, hoping someone might have locked it behind them by accident, or that the bartender would appear and tell her this was all a joke, or that he forgot to remove the sign. Then he’d laugh and he’d make her a drink and she’d go home and have a good night’s sleep. “The usual,” he’d say with that ever-present grin.

The only thing that greeted her was the deafening quiet.

A sick feeling bubbled up inside her, coiling her stomach into knots. Without the drink, she’d have to see that dream again. She’d have to wake up simmering in her own guilt again.

For two months, The Bar had been a place of solace, where she could quietly sit in peace and enjoy the moments of solace with herself. There was nowhere else she could go at this hour—at least nowhere she wanted to be.

The only person she could go to, the only one who’d take her in without hesitation nor question, was the one person she could not bear to face. She couldn’t stand to be on the receiving end of a sweet smile or a warm touch, not when it would only end up feeling sour to her.

heights Seniors Folio 2022 · 102