Happy Hour (a.k.a. An actual, whole conversation!)

It was the proper etiquette. I knew him and had always really gotten along with him, so it would have been rude not to say hello. So I stood in the main room at 111 Minna talking to Steve, Doug’s friend, who looked lost in a sea of people from my office; people he didn’t know. Doug had stepped away to get them drinks. A couple of minutes later, when a hand reached past me and placed a glass of beer in Steve's outstretched fingers, I realized Doug was back, and that I was now standing between him and Steve. After an awkward minute or two, there was nothing I could do but turn around to face Doug.

Me: Hey Doug. How are you?

Doug: I’m good, Uzma. How are you?

Me: I’m doing really well, thanks. How’s the writing going?

Doug: It’s going ok. I’m doing Playground again.

Me: Oh yeah? What month are you guys on?

Doug: This will be the third month. We’ve had two topics so far. I thought my last play was really good and was hoping it would get selected, but it didn’t.

Me: Oh, I’m sorry.

Doug: How about you? Are you still working on the novel?

Me: No. I’m writing a lot more poetry. And also working on some non-fiction stuff, trying to be funny. I always wanted to be a funny writer.

Doug: But you’ve always been a really funny writer.

Me: You think so? You mean the e-mails?

He gave me a blank stare and then nodded. I guess I had ventured into the territory that was too raw, still. The e-mails were the foundation of our relationship. The funny, long, ranting, raving, mad, philosophical discussions about poetry and literature and Stein and the idiosyncrasies of writing dialogue and how many syllables there are there in ‘hour’ or ‘iron’. The trespass ended the conversation. There was nothing more to say in a bar full of people. I casually turned around, after a minute, and walked away.

Later, I saved Steve from death by boredom when our weird new IT guy was holding him hostage in a conversation about rats and chickens. Steve had given me a look across the room, which screamed, “Save me!” When we got to talking again, Steve told me I looked really happy.

“I am,” I said, smiling. “I am really happy.” And with that I said goodbye and walked out of the bar.