So I was leaving the bar Thursday night (this is where, when I relayed the story to my friend Webboy, he shouted, ‘Wait, wait all your stories start with leaving a bar). . .

Ok, so I had just recently left the bar Thursday night, not technically leaving, because I was already in Ruby, my truck (this is where Webboy said, ‘What were you doing on a bar on a Thursday night?’).

So Thursday night after class, I lurked about the Rosalux intruding rudely on an art opening in search of my friend the Artguy. Seeing no sign of Artguy, and having already admired his work, my friend Mel and I happened down to Grumpy’s, where she was to see an artfriend of her own, if the gallery behind Grumpy’s was, in fact, open. Since the gallery was not open, since Mel had to wait for her husband to pick her up, and since I had nowhere to go and nobody to miss me at home, we decided to settle in for a libation or two and chat aimlessly about all stuff related to writing, art, and life. But mostly we just chatted about the cluelessness of our classmates and the hotness of a former writing instructor we shared (in a class, not in a bed, at this point Webboy asked for clarification).

This aimless chatting went on for a few hours and eventually Mel’s husband came to fetch her and I was left to return to my nowhere to go and nobody to miss me. Mel scooted out the back and I scooted down the block and a half to The Loft’s parking lot where Ruby was waiting for me. Since it was a beautiful spring night and since I smelled like the inside of Grumpy’s (which is a delectable combination of smoke, beer, grease, and pool-cue chalk) I cracked the window and sped off towards home.

My speeding off didn’t last too long, because as I turned out of the parking lot, I got stuck at a red light on the corner of Washington and 10th. Since the light is long, I sat with Billy Bragg singing about the great leap forward, and watching the people out and about on the balmy April night. It’s then that I noticed the little man on the sidewalk next to my Ruby. I looked over with the most cursory of glances to discover he was waving. Turning my head to the side, I looked to see if anyone was waving back. Seeing no waves, I turned back to the little man on the sidewalk. He was still waving. I looked at him more closely and realized he was the man who had been sitting at the bar at Grumpy’s. Hmmm.

I wasn’t sure quite what to make of the waving man, so I just sort of smiled and wondered if he could see me in the light reflected from the street and Ruby’s dashboard. Apparently he could, because his waving became more vigorous and his smile widened. I watched with ever widening eyes as he took a few steps towards Ruby. Since he made no ‘roll down your window’ motion, I didn’t. I did, however, check to see if the door was locked. It was. I looked away, blushing, as he dropped his arm. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he stood contemplating his next move. When he didn’t do anything, I looked back over and he started waving again, this time over his shoulder as he headed back to Grumpy’s.

By this time the light had turned green, and I accelerated on my way to 35W south. I passed Grumpy’s just as the little waving man reached the door. He pulled it open, turned to me, and waved again. This time, with the security of motion on my side, I waved back.

As I got onto the freeway, I had decided he was trying to return something that I had accidentally dropped on my way out of the bar. With one hand on the steering wheel, I dumped the entire contents of my bag onto Ruby’s passenger seat. Then, by touch alone, I took inventory of all the junk that I knew should be there. Three Lamy Safari fountain pens, check. One Vintage Book of Contemporary American Short Stories, check. One checkbook complete with credit cards and driver’s license (I had to take my eyes off the road for this one, but I was already on the straight part of 35W so it was relatively safe), check. I went through all the contents of the bag, and not a thing seemed to be missing. My cellphone was there, my pouch full of ink cartridges was there, my notebook, my tin of Burt’s bees lip balm, everything was there.

With inventory taken and nothing missing, this lead me to one conclusion. He had left the bar to find me. ME! Whoever heard of such a thing? I was stunned. Not only by that fact that he had decided that accosting me on the street would be a good idea but that he left the bar in search of me’me, tall, doofy, overweight, generally awkward, lives in her own head, me.

And as I arrived home on that crisp spring night smelling of smoke, beer, grease, and pool-cue chalk, as I arrived home to the nowhere I had to be and the nobody who would miss me, I smiled. A big, fat, superstar smile, because even though I had no idea what he wanted or what he was after, the mere fact that he was there and waving at me, made me feel a little bit like someone who might have somewhere to go and somebody who would miss them.