Touching Scars(8)

“I guess twelve red roses didn’t make up for sleeping with her sister.” He was looking off into the distance while crinkling his nose.

She slapped him on the shoulder. “Slim, you slept with her sister?”

“They were twins. How was I supposed to know which one I was with?”

Roger and Beaver were laughing as she shook her head.

“Oh! Hey, Kat, I want you to meet Nelson,” Slim said, suddenly remembering I was standing here.

Her eyes shifted to where I was and her happy, carefree attitude suddenly went rigid. She straightened her back and gave me a brief nod.

I held my hand out to her just like I had with Beaver. “It’s Timber Nelson. Sorry to crash your birthday, but these assholes dragged me here,” I teased.

As soon as we made eye contact, something about her stirred in my gut. I shuffled through my muddled memories but was coming up blank. She was watching me with weary eyes. Something about her struck a nerve deep inside me. It was those eyes. I swore I’d seen those hazel eyes before.

“Do I know you?” I asked her.

I searched her face for any other form of recognition, but there was nothing. Maybe she just looked like someone else. But her voice became abrasive and she bit out ‘no’. I watched as her eyes darted around the bar, clearly looking for a way out. How odd.

Kat cleared her throat, refusing to give me her eyes again. “Nice to meet you, Timber. Uncle Roger, I don’t mean to be rude but I’m actually really busy with the new inventory, I’ll see y’all later, okay?” She’d never taken my hand, so I let it drop to my side.

“Oh sure, no problem, honey. Didn’t mean to take you away from your work,” Roger said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before she briskly walked back to what I assumed was a storage room.

Beaver leaned forward on his stool. “Wonder what got her butt ruffled?”

“Don’t you mean ‘panties’?” Roger corrected.

“Tomatoes, tomahtoes.” Beaver shrugged, as if that was an explanation for his confusion.

Slim spoke up and said, “Let’s grab a drink, boys.”

With that, the three of us walked to the bar and sat down. Two hours passed quickly and I was definitely drunker than a skunk. What does that even mean? Do skunks get drunk? Do drunk people stink? I not so discreetly smelled my armpits. Nope, fresh as a whistle.

I’d been watching the girl, Kat, serving behind the bar for most of the night. I’d observed her as she spoke easily with everybody in the bar. They all seemed to know her and I assumed she was from around here. She had a certain pull to her. A magnetism that made me want to know her too. But she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Whenever my Crown ran low, she’d get Melanie to come fill me up. At one point during the night, while the whole bar banded together and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to her, I watched as she let go of the stiffness I seemed to have caused her. I found out she was turning twenty-one years old. She seemed to remember that I was still here watching her. I’d caught her eyes peering at me. I’d given up trying to figure out where I knew her from, or who she reminded me of. My drunken fog pretty much banned any coherent thoughts. Well, all thoughts except for the fact that this girl was beautiful, and not in the traditional sense. She wasn’t the type of beautiful that would grace a magazine cover. She was the type that you slowly let seep into your system and take a hold of you. She was the type that once she had you, you would never look at anybody else the same. Her beauty was the end. It was all you’d ever want again.

I shot back another glass of Crown and slammed some cash down on the table. Needing to get out of here and breath some fresh Texas humidity, I told my bosses that I’d see them tomorrow, and not to can my ass if I came in late and hung over. As I made my way out, Beaver offered to call me a cab. Since the idea that there was even a cab available in such a small town was laughable, I told him thanks but I only lived around the corner. He shook my hand again in another crushing hand shake, and I walked out of the bar. After I tripped and swayed my way to my apartment, my body decided that the couch looked good enough to sleep on and wouldn’t take itself the few extra feet to my bed. Thankfully, I had bought the couch for this very reason. A man needs a good napping couch. Mine just serves a greater purpose sometimes — for all night napping. As I closed my eyes, I felt the familiar jarring of my muscles dragging me back into the same nightmares of war.





“DUDE, I NEED YOU TO do me a favor. I think I have a rash on the bottom of my nut sack and I can’t really see it. Could you look and tell me if I should go to medical and get some cream or something?” Holt asked while he was scratching himself.