The Sweet Taste of Freedom

Frazzled and Frizzy. Why is she even bothering?

Her bitterness matched the weather that day, as she pinched her jacket collar closed to conceal her mouth from its wrath.

She attempted the normal primping required for a first date: the curled hair, the colored lips, the healed shoes, but none were motivating her into the mood she needed to deal with another suitor and potential heartbreak. Her curls were frizzed, her lips were cracking and her heels were screeching on the paved sidewalk as she turned the corner and opened the door to the buzzing bar.

"Hi. It's a party for two, under, hmm, Jerry, his name is, but he appears to be running even later than I am."

The hostess nodded and led her to a corner table while she waited for him to arrive.

While scanning the room, she couldn't help but notice the depthless interactions going on around her. The old couple in the far left were avoiding eye contact with each other, the group of business men were only there for small talk, and the young couple seemed as disconnected as the old, as they quickly ate their meals to avoid conversation.

There was an unsettling feeling of inauthenticity in everyone around. This feeling caused her bitterness to again stir.

The waitress broke her observations: "Can I get ya something while ya wait?"

Her mind went blank for a minute as the waitress put her on the spot; the lights in the bar seemed to intensify, all noise stopped and she felt as if all eyes were on her. She scanned the room again hoping for sudden inspiration. She noticed a black wine rack across the room, with engraved floral design and a spiral side-structure, which kept her attention for a moment.

The waitress noticed her enthrallment. "Ah! You're eyein' the wine I see. I have the perfect red for ya!"

She nodded in agreement to relieve the pressure of the moment.

The waitress returned with the merlot, and her date followed shortly after.

The tardy man said a quick "Hello" and excused himself to rejoin the bitter cold to accept a phone call.

She was elated he stepped out. With him came his bustling energy and an overly brazen ring tone that was, to be so kind, also enjoyed by all the fellow patrons and waitstaff in the bar.

She sighed, and lightly circled her finger around the rim of the glass set in front of her. She hesitantly picked the glass up to take a sip; it has been so long since she indulged in such a treat. It was sour when it reached her chapped lips, but instantly added a restorative moisture and relief from the pricey matte lipstick she imposed on herself to wear. This was a good kind of bitter. That one sip brought her back, into her body, warming her soul. Her shoulders laxed, the buzzing of the bar turned into a more tolerable tone, and the lights adjusted to a dimmer hue. The next sip was sweet. The aroma became more distinctive, and overpowered the chemical scent her suitor left behind in that brief, poor excuse for an initial meeting.

She waived the waitress over and handed her a crumpled ten dollar bill.

"Ya leavin' already? You guys found love that quick?!"

She smiled, "No, better, I found myself."

She leaped up out of her seat, curls bouncing, lips curved upwards, and heels grounding her with every step she took towards the door.

She quickly turned the corner to avoid her suitor, who was still engaged in the phone call.

She was free. The crisp air felt relieving against her warm skin. The sweet smell of merlot lingered as she gazed at the scenery around her and found beauty in it all.