I looked up to a pair of glistening dark eyes staring back for a brief moment, before its owner reverted focus back to one of my drinking partners for the night. Eyes of which, belonged to a young woman who wore a dress so fitting that it flaunted her small but yet hour-glass shaped figure; that a single skim through of her attire would immediately send suggestive thoughts down the brain tunnels of more-than-just thirsty clients at this very mature adult bar.
But being a young, and by young probably the youngest patron at the bar itself and on top of that-being served by hosts who happened to be my father's old reunion mates ; I merely shrugged at her sudden intrusion to an old men's drunk party. Don't bother questioning how I landed myself there, that topic is besides the point for this story. I want to write about the girl.
Now that I try to recall back, memory of her face masked with a thick layer of foundation and heavy mascara clad eyelashes still could not hinder the suggestion that the young woman seated next to me might have been only a year or two older. Hence making her a "girl" instead. Behind backs of patrons, she whispers to another young woman dressed in an attire notably similar to herself in a foreign language I cannot recognize. My wild guess would be Burmese or Thai.
She holds the hand of my father's old school friend who would later pay for the night's bill and be deemed as the main host of the night. It turned out the friend was a regular drinker. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and shares her whispers with fellow men drinkers within vicinity and all shook hands. She smiles vibrantly at every turn of a stranger's handshake.
As she returned to her seat, she turned to look me in the eyes again and raised her glass, "Wow, isn't she cute?" Turning his head in my direction, the friend jokingly introduced me as his daughter. The young hostess looked shocked.
"You are so old?", she remarked towards the man over her shoulder. By memory, I seem to recall a hint of amusement but also mild disappointment in her voice. Reminiscing back, I now understood why. Her every move initiated fondness of a genuine kind for the middle-aged businessman who is a father of daughters himself.
You see, I've crossed paths with many people. People of whom I would assume to live lives that stray not so different from the wavelengths of my own. By the surface, most things would look the same- we share a pair of functional bright eyes gleaming the essence of youth and thirst for life.
But a flashback recalled an image of a silver Diet Coke can sitting next to my glass of single malt Indian-whiskey. And traces of fizzy gas bubbles illuminating a faint light from bar ceilings from a glass containing a familiar looking drink from childhood memory made me realize-
That the slightest possibility of that very young woman having to cozy up beside middle aged patrons at a mature bar being similar to me in more ways imaginable, is there.
