On king street

JC Wagner

Prayer by the creek, my phone on silent, staring at a “Where r u” on the lock screen. I stand up. The sun is down. The girls have started dinner without me. I come in. There’s margs, but I don’t do mixed drinks. I pull an Fat Tire from the fridge and sit down. Shrimp Tacos. Red cabbage and salsa. They’re pretty tipsy already. I nurse my beer, and tilt the dregs when I finish.

They go away to get ready. I go to the piano, and hear them laughing in the next room. I should catch up. I go to the tequila bottle and take a shot. Two. Three. That should hit in a few minutes. I go back to the piano, play a song. Jenna comes out with the pitcher: “There’s enough in there for a glass.” It’s mostly ice and limes, but I take it anyway. Mixed drinks, amiright?

The Uber is taking too long. María has new boots. I zone out at a page of F. Scott Fitzgerald that I dog-eared for some reason. Arielle is next to me: “I’ve never been out before.” I say I can take her back whenever. It’s not a problem. “I liked the Bible verse you sent me.” I’m glad. One of my faves. The Uber is six minutes away. María reaches for the tequila bottle. “One more.”

The shots are hitting, and I come out of my shell: “I’m actually so hyped for this.” The Uber driver glances at me in the mirror. The girls are enthusiastic. We are talking about our favorite concerts ever. I wait my turn and start name dropping: Rush. Kansas. Stevie Wonder. Christian McBride. Should I go on? Oh no, please tell me more about when you saw Glass Animals. Were they good? I’m sure they were good.

“Here is good. Here. Yes, this is perfect. Thanks.” We get out. The Uber driver says something and drives away. We are on King Street. I think I would have named it King Street, too. “So there’s four places we were thinking about.” Four? Four places? What? “But we need to choose like two or three.” Oh. Two or three. Hmm...

The first place we can’t get into. It’s twenty-three and up. My fake is the only one that would work. The fat bouncer is chill vibes, though. “First time in Charleston?” First time. He gives a few recs and maps out a hypothetical Friday night. He points across the street. “You could start over at Republic and work your way down.” That’s what we should do. That’s exactly what we’re doing. “Have a good night, y’all.”

The girls go in ahead of me. This bouncer is tall and skinny and doesn’t give a damn. Doesn’t even look at my fake, just waves me in behind Jayla. The deejay is fire, but nobody’s dancing. A few girls on the patio seem to be in the early phases of a strip tease, but that’s about it. We drift over to the outside bar. “Mule? Mule? Three mules? Five mules?” When they come I try not to gag. Straight vodka. Hint of lime. Ginger beer: absolutely nowhere to be found. I make quick work of it, and order a Miller to get the taste off my tongue.

The girls want a photo under the neon sign in the back. A drunk blonde handles my phone like it’s going to explode, muttering something about the flash settings. Tired of the delay, I grab it from her and snap a selfie, because I’m the tallest. I don’t look at the photo. Here’s my Miller. Ah, yes. Good ol’ Miller. Where’d everybody go? Right, back to the table. Everybody back. My chair is gone, so I snag one from the next table. A beard glares up at me as his gf grinds on his lap. I throw him a shaka and he looks away. I sit. We talk. We are laughing. We are laughing because this is fun. This is what fun people do is have fun like this.

María and Jayla and Jenna go to the bathroom so it is just me and Arielle for a little bit, then all together again, then it is my turn to go. I come back and then Arielle and Jayla and Jenna go to the bathroom and it is me and María saying words and finding them all very funny. They come back from the bathroom, and the table is full again. “Head out?” What? I haven’t even finished my Miller. They’ve drained another round of Mules. A waiter clears the cups. I lift the bottle to my lips and realize the bottle is empty. Well, there you go. Convenience.

I love King Street. Best place in the world. I would like to raise two kids and a golden retriever on King Street someday. I tell these things to Arielle as we walk to the next place. Foot traffic. We are there. Where? End of the line. Damn. It’s eighteen-plus in Uptown Social, but it’s a big college scene so it’s worth it. Three nice-looking girls are waiting behind us. I keep looking over. I try to think of something to say. What should I say? “Hello. You are attractive and I am attracted to you.” No. I don’t say anything, but I keep looking. The one closest to me is really quite pretty. Arielle nudges me. Someone has attached herself to our group. “This is Carmen. She’s a senior.” I blink. Carmen looks boring. I smile. Did you know I go to Harvard? Hm? Carmen goes to Harvard, too? You know each other from Harvard? Does this mean you don’t think I’m interesting and funny and special and handsome and educated and funny and interesting?

I introduce myself. “Christian.” She’s still Carmen. “Nice to meet you.” Her back is towards me. She and the girls are talking about something. I try to elbow in, but she moves in front of me again. I look over at Arielle, and we laugh at Carmen. I get up real close behind Carmen and she doesn’t notice me. María sees me over Carmen’s head and covers a laugh with her hand. Jayla does something similar. I grin and wait for Carmen to turn around and be surprised. I laugh at her expense.

Adiós, Carmen. Back of the line, CAR-MIN.

We are pretty close to the front. They take my card for the entrance fee. “I got it, ladies. It’s on me.” They bring back my card. Jenna pulls out a dollar bill but I put up my hand. “Ain’t no need.” The bouncer is a short mountain goat with a baseball cap. I say this very loudly. He looks up at me. He takes María’s ID, waves her in, and does the same for Jayla and Jenna and Arielle. I sally up and flash my fake. “How old are you?” Twenty-three. “Where you from?” Alexandria, Virginia. 800—no—900 Queens Street. Want a zip code, you got it: 22314. Quiz me, goat fella, I’m bulletproof. Did you know I go to Harvard? Did you know I’m interesting and funny and educated and—“You in college?” Pfft. “Graduated last year.”

The bouncer pulls a blacklight and shines it on my fake. Damn. It looks so fake. It looks like it came out of a fifth grade art class. When did it start looking so fake? At least the watermark is showing up. I look at the open door. The second bouncer puts his hand on a pretty girl’s back and practically shoves her in. What I would give to be a hot babe right now…

Goat-face is talking. He clicks off the backlight. “Yeah, this is a fake ID.” He slides it into his back pocket. I look around. The door is still swung open. “Please step aside, sir. You’re holding up the line.” I glance at the door, take two casual steps, and bolt. Sorry goat-face, I’m getting into this damn bar. I reach for the door handle but a brace of arms seizes my torso from behind. My whole body contracts. I gain altitude. I scream. King Street is a blur, and then my feet are back on the pavement and I am looking at cars. Nobody says anything to me.

“I got denied.” I am talking on the cell phone. Arielle is saying something. She says it again. “You could have used your normal ID. It’s only eighteen plus.” Ah. “Just get back in line. It didn’t take that long.” Hm... How do I put this? “Got d’nied.” “I know. You said that. Just get back in line and we’ll see you in here.” “Prolly jus’ Uber back. Kinda kill my vibe.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah prolly.”

I hang up. I look around King Street. It is cold. So fucking cold. My body aches where the bouncer grabbed me. I’ll have bruises tomorrow, I think. At least I didn’t get thrown into the street. At least my face isn’t bleeding—Maybe that would have been better. Maybe someone would feel sorry for me.

“I feel bad.” Arielle is talking to me again. I can hear the bar on her end as she finds a quiet place. “I can go with you if you want.” I believe her. “Prolly jus’ gonna go sleep.” I feel like crying and puking. My voice conveys none of this. “Goodnight, Christian.” “Have fun.” I feel bad and I am glad that she feels bad too.

The Uber comes. I get in. I say I’m doing alright before the driver finishes his question. “You’re Christian?” “‘At’s me.” “You live in Mt. Pleasant?” “Jus’ a friend.” “Long night?” “Yeah.” He can tell. King Street disappears and he drives me back to the house that isn’t mine. I brush my teeth and lie down naked on the bed and try to pretend it was someone else’s fault.