Raw Bar

You thought you were going to meet Ralph and Zelda. A night out, good to get out of the house, you tell yourself. It certainly seems a fine idea, although Ralph and Zelda have never been ideal companions for a night out, on the contrary, Ralph, a bit of a braggadocio, and Zelda, a bit of a contrarian, were not exactly fun, but were rarely dull. Rarely at least until they were dull. No matter, tonight you're going to dine, perhaps have a cocktail, and watch what people do when people go out to do things.

You lock your apartment door and turn to see Ollie in the hall. He's tall, normally quiet, yet today, you detect a tear in his eye. "Hello, Ollie," you say. He runs a bent forefinger across his cheek.

"Hi," he replies and sniffles as he nods his head.

"Are you okay, Ollie?"

He shakes his head, "No, it's Ramone."

"Ramone?" you ask.

"Yes. My ferret. He died."

Of course you say, "I'm sorry," and add, "I didn't know you had a ferret."

"I wasn't supposed to, the HOA doesn't allow ferrets or weasels, he was my best friend. I had to walk him at night as I was afraid Ms. Ketterman would report me, she's always in other people’s business and a known hater of animals. That's why you never knew Ramone. Blame Ms. Ketterman."

"Indeed, I suspected she hated animals. All this time I thought you were depressed, only to find you are simply exhausted from late night ferret forays."

"Yes. Now though, I'm sad."

"It looks a lot like you when you're exhausted. Well, again, sorry to hear it all," and you ask if he would like to join you and Ralph and Zelda for dinner. He doesn't know Ralph and Zelda and politely declines. He is concerned that the possible merriment could curtail his essential grieving process and prolong his suffering. He insists he simply needs to get this done. You explain that Ralph and Zelda are rarely bringers of merriment but certainly have no inclination to interfere with his inevitable grief. He thanks you, you nod to one another and proceed in opposite directions down the hall. You exit the building through a side door to the street.

 You're now running somewhat behind your expected time. Nonetheless, you take a moment to stop and look to the evening sky. You remind yourself that this morning you had made an affirmation to be less hard on yourself. Satisfied, you inhale deeply and exhale slowly before proceeding down the street. If you're running late, you're simply running late. You commend yourself for offering support to Ollie and affirm that late you may be, but you know you are a good person.

You cross the street, a rooster calls from an oak above your head and a chicken flaps and falls from the tree. It looks dazed. You're used to them foraging about during the day but falling is not a normal thing. It clucks at you and launches itself back into the oak. You thank the stars that you didn't have to do anything, more because you didn't know what to do than for the fact you are running late.

You continue down 17th street, past the Sisters of Perpetual Hope or Motion, you're not sure which, you don't attend the church. There's a nunnery there, or so you've heard, but you've never seen the nuns. Not even one nun. You make a note to use this as a possible conversation point with Ralph and Zelda because it is interesting. They may have seen the nuns. They're Catholic. Ralph even went to Catholic schools. You remember he's said he's not a fan of nuns. You remember that you have always been curious why they call their uniforms "habits," and wonder if there were good habits and bad habits and if they stopped wearing them because it was confusing clothing and behavior.

The restaurant is only a couple more blocks down the street. A raw bar with seafood. About once a week you like to go simply for the happy hour. The bartender is professional and kind. You look forward to seeing her. You avoid eye contact with a homeless man as you walk, trying to step up your pace. A trolley rolls by. You wave to the conductor and he waves back and rings the bell. Car tires give a soft roar against the brick streets as they pass so even electric cars can be heard coming and going.

The restaurant has indoor and outdoor seating and you are the first to arrive. You hadn't discussed this. You choose outdoors as it's fall and not terribly hot and doesn't seem it will rain. The hostess seats you at a table for four, an upholstered bench extends from the wall for two of the seats and faces the street. You thank the hostess and seat yourself on the bench. The waitress brings you water and asks what you'd like to drink. Momentarily you ponder waiting for Ralph and Zelda, but yesterday's affirmation was that you would be more respectful of your own needs, that taking care of yourself isn't rude, it's important. You ask for a whisky on ice.

Ralph arrives and explains that Zelda is parking the car. You mention they could have parked at your building. Ralph thanks you but says Zelda knows a spot. Your drink arrives and Ralph waits to order. Sensible, you think, as Zelda has still not arrived. A simple courtesy. Ralph asks how you’ve been but then asks you to wait until Zelda gets there, so you sit silently, sipping, watching people walk past. Ralph quietly fidgets in his seat and looks at his phone. He types a few words into it and smiles.

“I love emojis,” he states without looking up, “Zelda should be here momentarily. Someone was in her spot.” You don’t answer. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they had parked at your place, they had known they could. A young couple at the bar adjust themselves as the bartender comes from the kitchen with a large, ice covered pan of a dozen oysters. The young woman asks for hot sauce as the man squeezes lemon over everything. Ralph stands as Zelda makes her way to the table, and you awkwardly rise somewhat – the table is in the way and your bench is attached to the wall. She kisses your cheek and asks to put her purse beside you as she would otherwise have to hang it from the back of her chair.

“Of course,” you say as she hands it to you and you set it down.

“The drive to Ybor was terrible,” she says, “I can’t believe so many people are out, do they work, these kids, do they work, what do they do for money, you live here, they must tell you something?”  You don’t know and tell her that you don’t really speak to people much. She laughs, “Of course,” she says and kisses Ralph as she sits. “I’m so hungry. Is the chicken any good here?”  You point out that it is a seafood restaurant and they don’t have chicken. Ralph laughs and half jokes that maybe they could grab one of the local ones and see if the kitchen will fix it up.

“Disgusting,” says Zelda, “Just wrong Ralph. I’m not sure what I’ll do. I can’t eat shellfish or anything that feeds on the bottom actually. Just disgusting, filtering all the filth from the ocean floor.” Ralph laughs and mentions that in college he had spent a week eating only shrimp for dinner once as one of his roommates was working the shrimp boats over at the docks near Palm River.

“By the end of the week, my cheeks were as pink as a flamingo's ass,” and he laughs. Zelda coughed and hid her face in a napkin, her eyes however, looked horrified.

“I’m not sure flamingos have pink asses,” you say, “but flamingos are certainly pink. They’re quite smelly from all that brininess, I was stuck amongst them while strolling Busch Gardens one afternoon. Their keeper was apparently taking a flock of them for a walk to another side of the park.”

“You both are horrific,” Zelda exclaims, “I need to get through the menu.”

“You could have conch fritters or gator bites with a salad,” suggests Ralph.

“No I can’t,” she says while staring at the menu. The waitress returns with water and the couple order white wine to start. “Now, if you haven’t already spilled the tea with Ralph, how have you been?” She scrunches her eyes as she asks. You realize, you aren’t really comfortable sharing with them, so you ask about the nuns.

“I haven’t seen any nuns,” Zelda replies and turns to Ralph. The wine is on the table and Ralph raises a glass.

“I went to Catholic schools and hope to never see a nun again. To never seeing nuns.”  He sips and you all order. A dozen oysters and a Caesar salad for you. Zelda asks for chicken even if it isn’t on the menu, to no avail. Ralph orders snapper for both of them also with a salad.

You decide to order another drink and some soda water to keep hydrated. The waitress commends your sensibility. Zelda and Ralph nod approvingly.

A man or woman in an inflatable t-rex costume sidesteps into the bar and two young men run by. The t-rex watches them pass, slips back out and runs the opposite direction. Ralph and Zelda don’t notice. You decide not to ask their thoughts. Ralph is looking at his phone again and Zelda is watching him. “Who are you texting?”

“That’s funny, I thought I was texting you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Right, I’ll stop then.”

You start to say something. You don’t. Both of them stare momentarily at you. You shrug and sip your drink. “A chicken fell out of a tree while I was walking over,” you say.

Zelda scrunches her face again but this time it doesn’t seem to indicate interest, rather more confusion.

“They say that’s bad luck,” Ralph replies.

“Who says that?” asks Zelda. You’re not sure what to say.

“I think it was okay,” you add. “It flew back into the tree.”

“Who says that, Ralph?”

“It’s an old wives’ tale. I heard it all the time as a kid.” He turns to you seeking some support.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that before,” you say.

“It isn’t an old wives’ tale.”  Zelda is staring at Ralph. You happily receive your oysters, ask for hot sauce, and proceed to squeeze your lemon. Ralph is putting his phone away and motioning to the waitress for more wine, perhaps a bottle. You nod to the suggestion of another drink although thinking that maybe switching gears is a good idea. Zelda is still glaring at Ralph. “What was with the texting?”

“I was going to surprise you,” he says, “Kind of funny story. Damn social media. I mean I love it and hate it. Love being in touch with old friends and family, hate the cesspool of opinions.” And now you are paying attention as well. Zelda asks for her purse, removes her phone and hands the purse back to you.

“No texts since I parked,” she states, fingers swiping up and down, “Nope, not a thing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t surprise you in a text, now, would I? Takes the fun from the surprise. Have a little more wine.” Their salads arrive and Ralph adjusts his tableware.

“The salad is so plain, why did you order me a Caesar?”

Ralph nods, “Well, you weren’t speaking up, so I figured, when I put it out there, that was what you wanted.”

“Ohhh. I hope the fish is better, but it will have to be amazing because I really wanted their chicken.”  You start to remind her there is no chicken but choose another oyster instead.

“Okay. Next time we come, you can have chicken.” You start to correct Ralph but decide to take a swig of soda instead. You notice a lime on the side, squeeze it, then drop it in. “Whatever, I’ll tell you the surprise.”

“Maybe you should wait,” you say as you are oddly uncomfortable. Zelda suddenly focuses on you.

“Are you in on this, I should have known…” You shake your head.

“I’m not in on anything,” you interrupt. “I just think it’s likely that I shouldn’t be here.”

“Where?” says Ralph, “Are you in crisis?”

The dinosaur again dashes into the restaurant, this time knocking over the hostess’ podium as the two young men attempt to pursue. The t-rex crashes past the tables and out the side exit of the restaurant. The young men run back out and around the corner. The hostess sighs and picks up her podium.

“Apparently, I’m the father of a 23-year-old.”

You finish your drink and signal the waitress for your check.

Zelda is silent. She looks at her phone, she looks at you, and then to Ralph. “Hmmm. Twenty-three.”

“Yeah, he found me on Facebook and I thought it’d be great to have both of you here when we met, just to sort of, I guess celebrate.”

You pay your check. Neither Ralph nor Zelda seem to notice you’re leaving. As you head for the door, you overhear Zelda telling Ralph that he is lucky she left the gun in the car like a responsible gun owner.