Boulevard of Death

Queens Boulevard. The Boulevard of Death. Scattered across this beast of a street, lies yellow street signs with the words: CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE". And yet, among the many times I stumbled across this six lane death way, not once have I came close to being one of those unlucky fools, forever immortalized in a traffic sign. I thought of this as I left the 7 train and crossed the boulevard into The Gaslight Pub. I turned around at the door and pictured a traffic sign with the words "CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE" outside the bar, but instead of that traffic man walking, he was sitting at a bar, beer in hand. "Perhaps the city would bury me under it..." I thought somberly, as I pulled the door open.
It was an early fall Wednesday in Queens, and the Gaslight had become the after work, "a few more before I go home" spot for my Wednesdays. "Aye, Lad. Pint of Guinness?" the bartender asked, as I pulled up to my usual seat at the bar. I nodded. This is why I came here. It’s quiet. The Mets are always on (and losing) and every third Guinness was on the house. And it was the same and as predictable as ever for a Wednesday. Until I turned to the sound of the door opening to my right. A beautiful brunette with a wool sweater and jeans, black flats and a half smile entered the bar. I was not the only one to take notice, as most of my unspoken-to bar friends were men in their late forties. She sat two stools away from my left. Instinctively, I looked into my beer, taking a generous swig. I was caught off guard. A beautiful woman never has walked into my Wednesdays of solitude. "Guinness, please" she said to the bartender, with another flash of her half smile, peering over to me. Nervously, I peered out of the corner of my eye at her. She must have seen, because as I rapidly made eye contact with my beer, she chuckled. I sat there silent for 10 minutes, though it may have been an eternity. I watched her drink her Guinness out of the corner of my eye. After she had taken the last sip, she thanked the bartender and rose from her seat. Still intently watching her out of the corner of my eye, I saw she smiled at me. But by the time I mustered the courage to turn and do the same, I barely caught that long black hair turn the corner before the bar door shut. "Better luck next time." the bartender said as he put another Guinness in front of me. "This one's on the house."
The next week was a blur. Nothing eventful transpired. I went to work. I slept. And any free moment I had, I spent thinking of the brunette from last Wednesday. Her half smile, the way her lips carefully caressed the pint glass right before her first sip of Guinness. I worked and slept as much as I could, just so it could it be Wednesday again. And soon enough, it was. I jumped off the train anxiously, jogging across the boulevard. I needed to get my usual seat at the bar, though I was certain it would be there. It was. I ordered my Guinness and paid faint attention to the Mets game. And then, on schedule, came in the wool sweatered girl I had come to think about for some time over the last week. Only today she had a portly, smug blonde with her. The brunette sat two seats away from me, thankfully with the blonde on the other side. "Ughhh...." the blonde said to the bartender,""Vodka Tonic." I cringed in disgust. Surely, the girl from last week was not this type of girl. She couldn’t be. And then with another half smile, she politely asked the bartender for a Guinness. I pretended the smile that came across my face was for the Mets pitcher striking out the batter. I sat and ordered beer after beer, waiting for a moment that I may intervene in the constant slop that was coming out of the blonde’s mouth.
I had only heard the brunette utter two words, "Guinness, please", but I was certain that she held more depth than the blonde headache sitting two feet away from her could have in her lifetime. But that moment never came. The pointless drivel that seemed to take refuge outside of the blonde’s mouth never stopped. I paid more and more attention to the game the Mets were currently losing, enough that I didn’t notice the blonde had excused herself to the bathroom. And just as our relief pitcher gave up a ninth inning homerun to lose our lead, I heard the word "fuck" simultaneously muttered with my voice. I shot a glance to the left, where the brunette's eyes had been waiting for mine. "Bad game" I said, as we still locked eyes. "Bad season." she replied. She put on her jacket as the blonde walked back into sight. "Ughh, I need to leave." the blonde said, heading towards the door. I watched as the brunette stood to leave with her, but instead of catching the long, black hair of last week, I caught her eyes on mine, half smiling as she turned the corner.
The rest of the week went faster than any week I remember. I smiled at work. I barely slept, and when I did, I dreamt of her. Wednesday came easily that week. I smiled all the way home on the train and on the walk across the boulevard, as I walked into the bar. "Thirds time’s a charm, huh?" said the bartender, as I took my normal seat at the bar. "I sure hope so." I replied. I ordered a Guinness. And another. "On the House." I don’t remember how much time had passed, or how many times I had heard "On the house", but she didn’t show. That I remember. I stumbled out of the bar and remember looking at the boulevard. There was that sign I had thought about weeks earlier. "CAUTION: A PERSON DIED HERE". And there was that traffic sign guy, beer in hand, looking as lonely as I did just seconds before. I stumbled my way across the six lane monstrosity, into that same familiar blackness that I was used to. This truly was the boulevard of death.
I went back to Gaslight the next Wednesday, not with hope of seeing her, but just out of routine. I watched the Mets blow the first six innings. I drank my Guinness. To my right, I noticed a fifty-something year old lady drinking a wine spritzer, alone. I turned to her as I finished my last sip. "Beautiful night in the greatest city, no?" She didn’t even look up. "Not one with the ladies I see. Another Guinness, on the house?" asked the bartender as I stood up. "Not tonight" I said. I went to the bathroom and washed the day’s work off my face. I stared at myself for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. I walked back to my seat with head down. As I looked up to say goodbye to the bartender, I saw her. She was sitting in the seat next to mine. My eyes widened, as I slowly slid back into my seat. "Can I buy you a Guinness?"She asked, with the half smile creeping across her face. I sat there, eyes open in amazement, when she said, That is, if your girlfriend doesn't mind", her head motioning to the fifty-something on my right. "No, I think its okay," I said, as my own half smile crept across my face. And it was. And I thought of a new sign they should build outside of that bar, on the boulevard of death. "CAUTION: A PERSON FOUND HOPE HERE." maybe they'll bury me underneath that one instead.