Calypso’s Choice

It was locked. Of course it was locked. This was becoming something of a common occurrence lately. I reached for the unfamiliar lump of plastic in my pocket and discovered the culprit soon enough.

Forgive me! You need to socialize with something that isn't your computer. I'll unlock the gate at 8, have fun! - Carol

I shake my head in resignation. Last time this happened she said she was doing me a favor. Something about accepting the consequences of the decisions I don't make, whatever that meant.

The phone was her idea as well. I tried to argue that people had my email, I shouldn't have to actually talk to anyone, but she wasn't having it. Carol was the kind of person that believed that contact wasn't good enough, it had to be personal contact.

"It isn't fair if the only reason why you are right is because you make yourself right," I grumble to no one in particular. I look around for a rock to kick before subduing my own petulant emotions.

As if on cue, the dastardly thing begins to ring. To my chagrin the ring tone ends up being a song about a phone that is also a piece of fruit. Some kind of joke I'm sure. The name "Boat Face" illuminates on the screen. That was Carol's nickname for a former coworker I had kept in contact with. Another joke.

"Do you think I'm too serious?" I ask, before even saying hello. I hear awkward laughing on the other end, but he changes the subject.

"Hey, I heard the bad news, but I've got good news too! The best guy, that's me, is free to sweep you off your feet tonight. I've got two VIP tickets for Calypso's Choice."

"Why do you need tickets to get into a bar?"

"Yes, I think you are too serious. So do you want to come?"

"Sure, I guess. It's not like I have anything better to do."

"As charming as ever, see you at six!" he quips before hanging up on his end. I could picture that stupid grin on his face. Someone should do something about that.

"I'll show you who will do the sweeping," I mutter before heading off.

5:54. Do I really want to do this?

An alluring woman smiles down on me, her chiseled features grown from the stone itself. Her eyes twinkle, as if hiding some secret knowledge that only she herself knows.

I'm standing in front of a building on the wrong side of town. And by wrong side of town, I mean the side where all the social butterflies hang out. It's hard to imagine feeling claustrophobic while an open sky hangs overhead, but I do.

The crowds are suffocating. I need to leave before someone decides they used to go to high school with me or something. And was that a siren in the distance? Not something I want to stick around for. I look back up at the sign.

"Calypso's Choice, huh? Well it can't be any more crowded in there than it is out here," I proclaim before heading inside.

I push my way past the beads obscuring the inner doors and am greeted by a small puff of blue smoke. To my surprise the place is virtually vacant, a stark contrast to the commotion outside. Aside from a solitary figure huddled in the corner, the only person present is a surly-looking mustached man behind the bar.

I don't see Boat Fa... I mean Robert, anywhere.

I sigh and take a seat. The establishment itself is actually fairly ordinary, as far as I could tell. From all the talk, I half expected it to be some kind of tacky themed bar. Everyone loves a good gimmick afterall. Or at least they do up until the point when they don't.

I am interrupted from my musings when I notice the mustached man glaring at me.

"Umm, Hi," I say.

"Hi nothing, what do you want?" he spits back.

"What? That's rude, and none of..."

"To drink, what do you want to drink?" he interrupts.

I blush just a little. "Oh, anything non-alcoholic would be fine."

He obliges by placing an off-off-brand soda down in front of me. "Don't get many designated drivers coming in alone," he remarks.

I reply, "I'm more of a designated walker."

The man behind the bar harrumphs. He actually harrumphs! Well, I'm taking it as a sign of victory. See Carol, I can be funny too.

"Well if you change your mind, I've got a bottle of PissWater here with your name on it," he says. He places a small bottle down in front of me.

"Surely you mean..." I glance at the bottle and frown, "Oh, it really does say PissWater..."

I turn my attention back to studying the bar. Yep, still perfectly ordinary. A few tables even have those wooden peg games you see at family restaurants to keep children occupied while the adults eat. How peculiar.

I turn back to the bartender. "What's it mean?"

"What?"

"Calypso's Choice? What does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

I try to contain my disappointment.

"This is my first time coming here," I say at last. "I sort of thought it might have some kind of theme."

"What are you talking about?" he replies, "of course there is a theme."

I remain silent.

"Didn't you see the blue smoke?"

"Oh yes, of course. I must have forgotten. Say, what's your name?"

"Buddy."

"You don't look very much like a Buddy."

"And you don't look very much like a whatever your name is."

I refrain from further attempts at conversation with this man.

It wasn't the first time I had been stood up, but it was the first time I had been stood up on someone else's request. I'll have to thank Carol for the experience later. Robert can go to hell though.

I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to brave whatever passes for food here when I sensed movement from the corner of my eye. Someone was sitting down.

"You've got a lot of nerve you know," I start. "Oh, you aren't Robert."

"Good ol' Boat Face, huh?" The person who had been sitting in the corner earlier had moved closer. Their raspy voice marking an unwelcome but unsurprising presence.

I squint at them suspiciously. "Have you been peeking at my phone?"

The stranger puts up their hands, as if to beg forgiveness. "I couldn't help but notice such an unusual name. What did poor Robert do to deserve it, if I may ask?"

"Actually, I don't know." I can sense the next question already and get annoyed. "Look, can I help you with something?"

The stranger apologizes for real this time. "I'm sorry, let's start over. I was tired of drinking alone, and figured you might be feeling the same. Am I wrong?"

I shrug and take another glance at my new companion. I wouldn't describe their appearance as ragged, but they did have a dejected demeanor. As if they had recently been in some struggle and ultimately given up. I can sense them looking back at me and I turn away. Something about this person made me feel decidedly uncomfortable.

"Suit yourself, but I won't be here much longer," I say.

"Fine, fine."

For awhile they sip their drink in silence and I begin to wonder what the point of all this was. Before I can stop myself I blurt out, "So, do you come here often?" I thought I would die of embarrassment, but they don't even seem to notice.

"No, actually. First time. Figured I would try something new and exciting. It was new at least." Amused by their own jest, a raspy cackle escapes their lips.

The silence returns. After a few moments, they interrupt it with a cliche of their own.

"So, what do you do?" they ask, a self-satisfied grin appearing on their face. I ignore it.

"I suppose I don't do much of anything. I used to have a job, but got tired of answering the phone." I think about my secret aspirations and the computer Carol hates so much, but I keep them to myself. "You?"

"I like to think of myself as a writer. In fact, I'm your favorite author."

"Narcissistic is what you are."

"Something I suspect we have in common."

Before I can determine what to make of that, they change the subject.

"Oh stop nursing that baby's bottle and crack open that PissWater already," they exclaim in seeming frustration.

"I don't drink..."

"Everyone drinks eventually. Go on, I'll help."

I relent, if only to shut them up. I pour myself a glass and then pass over the rest. After a few moments I work up the courage to take a swallow and nearly spit it back out.

The stranger laughs, "So what do you think? Is it everything you thought it would be?"

"Worse," I choke. I take another swig anyway. The beer is having a remarkably unpleasant effect. I continue drinking it.

"Are you drinking because of me or because of Boat Face?" they prod.

I ignore the question. "How do you do it? Write I mean. How do you start?"

"What do you mean 'How do you do it?' You just do it."

I wrinkle my face at this.

After a few minutes they continue, "You know, I really hate that about you."

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"You are so convinced of your own brilliance, and yet you don't have the courage to make your own choices. Have you written a single line?"

I sputter in shock and anger, but nothing coherent actually comes out.

"What's wrong? Are you afraid that other people won't love you as much as you clearly love yourself? What a joke." Even in the dim light, a clear look of disdain covers their face.

"That's it, I'm leaving!" I get up to leave, but not before lifting an accusatory finger. "You don't know me."

The stranger smiles sadly and says, "Carol isn't going to let you in early just because she feels sorry for you, you know."

I could feel myself shaking. I choke back angry tears and ask, "Who are you?"

"I'm you."

"Excuse me?"

The stranger points at the beer. "You're allergic."

The world was spinning. My throat burned. I told myself I was just drunk. The stranger's story was ridiculous. I look around for Buddy but don't see him anywhere. "I've got to get out of here," I mutter.

The stranger ignores my distress, but makes no move to stop me. "I can't believe you didn't notice. Did you think that feeling was normal? And you just kept drinking it!"

They, I, laugh a malicious laugh. An all too familiar laugh. I feel sick. I try to get another look at their face, but the patterns elude me. Is their skin swollen, or is my vision just blurry?

"It really is quite impressive," they say, scorn dripping from their voice. "I never would have imagined someone conspiring to spend eternity with themselves. You and I are perfect for each other."

They laugh again, but I'm no longer paying attention. Could this be a hallucination? Something in the beer? No, this started before I drank the beer. Maybe the soda?

I feel numb. Would Carol miss me after I was gone? More importantly, what would she do with my computer? Would the prompt blink eternally on an empty page, no words ever given light? I guess the stranger was right, I really am a narcissist.

More people begin to enter the bar, but I'm no longer there. I can sense a vague commotion, and move out of the way without even thinking about it. I hear another siren in the distance. Or maybe it's the same siren? Doesn't matter. It doesn't have anything to do with me.

After what seems like an eternity, the bar quiets again. I shake myself from my stupor and look up. A single person is making ineffectual small talk with the bartender.

I smile