Another Round by Lisa Thornton

 

Where would you go? My drunk friends discuss over pints. If you could travel anywhere in time, past or future?

 

Medieval, sips Barrett, his face smug. Clearly imagining himself the knight upon black steed.

 

2502, announces Marie, describing hovering shopping malls and glamping trips to Mars, not saying Jack would be with her but we all know. Jack blushes.

 

Not to stop the energy I assume, Jack blurts Right now a little too loudly and then blushes again and says he likes his life the way it is. Marie smiles into her IPA.

 

But no one asks me. They know where I’d go and no one wants to talk about it. It’s hovering on my turn so Barrett prances to the jukebox and plays Every Rose Has Its Thorn. My favorite. An offering I don’t miss.

 

But I know we all see him. At the head of the table. A Guinness in one hand and a cig in the other. Cracking us up so we are doubled over. Begging for mercy. Our stomach muscles cramped and aching.

 

He winks at me and it’s last year. The snow gathering in the corners of the windows. Paradise City on the jukebox. Two hours before the train from Springfield to St Louis hits a little red car going home from the bar. One survivor, the driver not so lucky.

 

I tell him we should walk home. I tell him he’s had too much. He laughs and punches me in the side. He never listens.

 

Dance with me, Jack offers me his hand and I’m back. I slip my hand in his and we waltz across the sticky floor, twirling in the now. Dancing further and further away from the past.