The bar stool was uncomfortable but I slowly didn’t notice. It’s one of the kinds where the seat is made of rubber or some kind of plastic, so you’d stick to it as if it was afraid you’d leave at any moment. There was no back to it, so I had to lean forward and prop myself on my elbows, my spine now a letter C.
Is it still a bar stool when you’re in a bar, or is hat redundant? Well that’s where I was. I think it’s called “CJ’s,” but I don’t really know. It’s not the first bar I’ve been to tonight. I like it here better than the last one, the PNA. There the bartender was pretty old, and irritable. Seemed very impatient to get the placed closed, and not the remotest effort in hiding it. The bartender here was a lot friendlier. She was only a handful of years older, so we knew some of the same people. I think I recognized the name of her boyfriend, maybe someone my parents taught. As she walked by she asked if I wanted another rum ‘n coke, which I accepted. She filled that glass with ice, the filled what space was left with the rum from the bottle and coke from the house simultaneously. I took a big sip from the little straw in it. It still tasted like coke which I liked. Not like making them at school, where the ration was more inclined towards getting you drunk than making an acceptable beverage.
I took another sip and turned back to the television that hung in the corner of the ceiling. This was another thing that was an improvement from the PNA. They had a TV there too. Several actually, but they were all turned to different sports games. I never got into sports, since it wasn’t really present growing up. My dad used to insist that basketball was pointless, since the ball was just going to fall out of the hoop every time you got it in. Instead of some sports game, here they had Ghostbusters 2 on the TV. As the statue of liberty marched through the city I polished of the last bit of my drink. I had seen this movie enough times that I didn’t mind the music playing in the background. It cycled through a variety of pop songs. These weren’t the pop songs that are popular now, the songs that I’ve even heard of since I don’t listen to the radio at school. They tend to make the differences between my home life and school life that much more apparent. These are the songs that were popular when I was a kid, still growing up in the area. It makes the time apart seem smaller.
I yanked myself off of the rubber seat and walked over to the bathroom. I didn’t stumble or anything, but there was a conscious effort to gain solid ground with every step. I pushed the swinging door open to enter the little closet sized bathroom. It was clean, or at least as clean as my standards required. I turned toward the John and looked out the window that was awkwardly at the same height as my face. It was left ajar, so a cool breeze blew through. I might as well have been right outside. Through it I could see the lit Christmas tree in the lot next door. It was a very odd reminder that Christmas had only been a couple of days ago, this view of a Christmas tree from a cramped bathroom of a bar. I had been in Los Angeles for Christmas this year, visiting my Aunt’s new house. This didn’t make it forgettable, but with the warm weather and the distance from home, it wasn’t traditional. It was a pretty awesome vacation that was unrelated to the holiday. I turned to the sink, washed my hands and went back out.
When I went back to the bar, there was a girl sitting in the chair to the left of mine. I couldn’t see her to well, as the only light in this part of the bar was coming from the inside of the mini-fridge behind her, through its glass door. Beyond the silhouette this left me, I could see that she had dark hair that went down only to her neck covering a large portion of her face, and an old scarf that she would probably wear even when it wasn’t necessary. I got another drink, introduced myself and shook her hand. Honestly this was simple to fulfill what I assumed was some basic social expectation, so as not to come off as being rude. She had tight grip with a single movement down the up. Very official, like how they’d teach you in high school for interviews and the like. I got the impression that she met new people all the time to refine this skill. This was particularly noticeable in contrast to how soft her hands, which made me self of how not mine were. Between the dry air of the season, and the manual labor of hauling wood for the fire-place earlier that day, I might as well of had scales. Whereas she felt so delicate she could have cut herself on said scales.
Her name was Jenny. She told me so in a friendly enough manner that we might as well start a conversation. I asked where she was from since I didn’t recognize her from anywhere despite living in the area for my whole life, having at least several friends who had one to different high schools, an unimpressive but existent social life, and a very good memory for faces. “Everywhere” she stated simply, in a matter-of-fact kind of way. I couldn’t tell if she was being aloof or trying to kill the conversation, but after however many drinks that night I wasn’t’ in much of a mood for a cryptography project. “How can you be from everywhere?” I asked, maybe a bit more forcefully than I would have a few hours earlier, or any other time.
She turned to me and said “I come and go as I please. Whatever place I want to go to, I go to that place. Sometimes a few places at once. No limits.” She had a kind of smirk as if she was just a few moves away from winning a chess match. I didn’t understand what she was saying in the slightest.
I looked her in the eye with suspicion and said “how can you be in more than one place at a time?” She had a full smile now that said “check mate.”
“Well you’re in two places right now” she said. “You’re here, at the bar you went to on the night of your birthday, and your also back at school in the library writing this story.”
I stared at the screen, and the words I had just typed. I looked at the black vertical line blinking next to the word “story.” I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes, taking a small break from the continuous view of the monitor. I looked back up and the words were still there, the words that I typed but didn’t think about typing or choose to type. After the multiple moments of aw passed I got curious. Was I simply going crazy, developing a second personality that communicated through reflexive typing? This would probably be more likely, or realistic but also too simple. There seemed to be more to it than that. There was only one way to find out though. I had to talk to her again. I tried to reclaim my memories of the bar, and where I had left off in my story. Bartender, Ghostbusters, old pop songs, Christmas tree, and all the other details came back.
I walked back over to the bar in the back, past the jukebox. I sat down again at my uncomfortable rubber seated stool. I looked down and saw that under the drink I had left was a note written on a napkin. I picked it up, took a sip, and examined the note. Written in a slanted cursive were the words “It was nice meeting you.” With that was the signature “Jenny Everywhere.” I leaned back, took another sip of my drink, and pressed ctrl+s on the key board.
The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition. This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.