The Bar Villian

After my second divorce, I started going to a little neighborhood bar, A LOT. I would sometimes be there with friends but, more often than not, I was alone.

One day, I met this handsome blue collar man and we hit it off. He ended up spending most of the weekend at my house.

We got along so well. Nothing felt forced or fake. It was easy. He was strong, smart, funny and sexy as hell. When the weekend was over I absolutely believed I would hear from him again, and I was excited about it.

The first week he didn’t call I chalked it up to just being busy. Life can be crazy, you know.

The second week, I felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed for me to send a little hello text. No response.

The third week, I sent one more text. A quick hello, how are ya, hope you’re well text. No response.

The fourth week, I thought it must’ve been me, and went about my life.

A couple of weeks later I was back at the bar when a “friend” came in. She sat next to me, ordered her drink and then asked me if I knew the man who ghosted me?

I told her yes, but not really. That we had a weekend and I haven’t seen him since.

She proceeds to tell me that he is married to a woman who is super well liked and who comes to the bar often. She then asked me to not see him again.

I damn near fell off my stool.

I stood up. Grabbed my things, and asked for my tab. With tears in my eyes I told her I didn’t know. I assured her he ghosted me and there would be no more contact, there hasn’t been anymore contact.

I started crying as I left the bar.

I couldn’t believe it. He was married? So many thoughts raced through my head. I felt ashamed. I felt embarrassed. But more than that, I felt awful for his wife. Who fucking does that?

Flash forward two months.

My phone rings.

I don’t recognize the number but I answer anyway.

There was a male voice on the other end. I sort of recognized it but I couldn’t be sure. He said, “Ali? It’s so & so. Do you remember me?”

oh. Oh. OH. “Yeah. I remember now.” I said, flatly.

He asks me how I’m doing. Apologizes for taking so long to call. He’s been “out of the country”.

“Out of the country? Right. How is your wife?” I asked. He’s suddenly very quiet. In a somber tone he asks how I found out. I ask him if “it FUCKING MATTERS?”

I was furious.

Angrily and through tears, I explained how horrible he was to do this to his wife. That I had cheated and been cheated on, how much it hurt to be hurt, and how much it hurt to do the hurting, and how I had SWORN to myself I’d never engage in that behavior again.

I further explained that he had made me an unwilling participant in a marriage that wasn’t my responsibility, and how absolutely grotesque that made me feel.

To his credit, he was extremely apologetic. I did appreciate that.

But, I told him it wasn’t my forgiveness he needed, and hung up the phone.

I have never forgotten this. I don’t think I ever will. It’s one of those things that’s etched into my memory, and not in a good way. I’m still deeply ashamed.

I didn’t think villians felt shame, but here we are.