It’s the usual crowd in Locust tonight. The dance floor is loose and the drinks are stiff. I glance up at the strings of colorful lights that splay across the ceiling. An invention only to be concocted by the most glittery of spiders. A spider with an eye for flair. Ron is here, with his chestnut colored jacket he never takes off despite the boiling temperature inside Locust. I watch his shoulder blades rise as he goes to take a sip of, let me guess, a Jameson ginger. His hair is grey like my mother’s, white tufts at the bottom like little piles of snow. Perhaps this is the reason for the jacket.
Sal is behind the bar, shirtless, of course. His tight red shorts bring in the money, sure. But I think he has ulterior motives. A dollar can come from anywhere. Sal earns something much more these nights. He twists to the beat of Freedom! ‘90 and it’s like he knows the song. Like, really knows the song. And I know it too but somehow I don’t. Not like Sal. He isn’t grey as Ron but more like rust and I can already hear the boom of his voice announcing last call. But for Sal, even in his fading red shorts, the night is just beginning.
I spot Tyler and his geese. I call them his geese because there really is no other word for them. They pitter from one end of Locust to the other. They are clean and white and evil. But they are still God’s creatures. That is what I have always believed, anyways. Tyler looks ravishing in blue, I decide. Even in the pink hue of the air, a smoke like candy, the blue shines through. I wonder if I will remember that blue when I am like Ron, supposing I do end up like Ron. Tyler is tall and skinny, and he ignores the music playing. Perhaps he dreams of a different song. So many people in this bar are like this, dreaming of one song whilst another is playing. Me, I am just thankful for the music.
There is a small stage tucked gently in the corner of Locust. The stage is black and empty, like the hearts of men with small faces and large hands. The heart used to beat, so I’m told. Now she simply sits. An extension of Locust now deemed unnecessary, disposable. I look back up at the strings of lights and notice one of the lights is blinking out.
I see Charlie. Oh, Charlie. How I wish I did not have to look at Charlie. It’s funny how the strange and wonderful can do that to a person. How, when you look at something for too long you think you’ve figured it all out. How can there be questions after so much time? But there will always be questions, and Charlie provided their answers to me in the form of Harris. Harris must be close by. He and Charlie are like magnets. I think of the time when we used to laugh at the magnets together, Charlie and I. Now, all I wish for is that same electricity.
My mouth sours to match my eyes and I glance quickly down at my drink, vodka soda, and I think back to Ron and I wonder if he always loved Jameson gingers or perhaps one day, he grew tired of vodka and grew tired of gin. Perhaps he sits across from old friends at that bar, the bottles with names he hasn’t uttered since before I was born. Does he miss them, despite their permanent fixture in the home of Locust?
I’m here with Marlo, and Marlo thinks I should just talk to Charlie. Charlie brought me many good people. I could only bring Charlie one Marlo. I think he resents me for this imbalance and I resent his ability to collect friends. My friends, though not dead, populate a sort of graveyard in my mind. I do not want to bury more friends on account of Charlie.
The song switches and I am pulled from my graveyard, back to the swirling lights on the floor and the scampering feet all around. Vogue by Madonna now, and I think of how this place and so many others like it are capsules of time. Museums of the past, present, and future that honor those who sing our songs and dance to the beat of a heart the nation has abandoned.
Marlo could be my brother, in every sense of the word. We were both baked in the same Georgia heat in our younger years. A ring of sun-lightened hair sits atop both our copper colored heads. Like a false halo our mothers both loved and believed to be the real thing. We met in our earliest years and have been inseparable since. Even in the awkward darkness, the fumbling in the black that is teenage hood, we remained together. Now we dance at Locust and I get the strange feeling that someone is missing tonight.
I spot Oren, and he’s alone, of course. People stopped talking to Oren after they figured out what he believed in. Your beliefs are everything at a place like Locust. But business is business. I feel momentarily sad because he doesn’t know that people despise him. I wouldn’t call him handsome, because I believe handsomeness requires a soul. Someone can be attractive and still be empty on the inside. But this works for Oren, and it’s sad to see what other men forget when cold, shiny marble glances their direction.
Someone approaches Oren, leaving the sway of bodies behind. Justin, a man who bought me my first shot five years back. I’d been nineteen then, and saw a new world in Locust. And like all bloodthirsty explorers, I had felt a holy duty to conquer it. But that was a different person than I am now. It is incredible how much priorities shift once people you know start disappearing. I worry for the briefest of seconds that Justin too would now fall victim to that awful curse of a man. But Justin wears the face of an entirely different feeling, rage. He shoves Oren, hard, and the turncoat falls backwards against a table. Now a Whitney song and the patrons howl with delight. There is a silent agreement to ignore what is happening to Oren.
Oren stands back up. I nudge Marlo but he says, “Honey, I already know.” Oren puts his hands up and starts yelling something at Justin. I tug on Marlo’s arm and we try to get closer. A few people on the edge of the dancefloor have begun to watch the scene unfold. We make a spot in the fringe.
“You chose this!” Justin yells and pushes Oren towards the door. “This is all your fault!”
“You can’t kick me out of here for that!” Oren protests. It’s tragic, but he’s right. Vaughn, the security guard, tells Justin he needs to move along. Vaughn’s worried about Locust getting shut down. He’s worried about the bottom line. If Oren got kicked out, he could report the bar to the authorities. Our gathering like this, here, is illegal. Has been for three years now. He’d go haunt another joint while Locust would be forced to extinguish her glow.
Justin sulks off, not before one more shoulder check to Oren. Oren rolls his eyes and orders himself another drink. Justin leaves the bar. I take another look around and I realize it. Where is Nina? I ask Marlo this and he shrugs. I think back to last weekend. Nina bought me a shot because she said I “seem like I had a bad day, baby.” And she was right, of course. So I let her buy me the shot and she gave me a kiss on the cheek cause that’s the kind of girl she is. Despite what people like Oren want to deny her. She is incredibly brave. But for some reason I can’t find her tonight.
I scan around the room, seeking Nina but finding other familiar faces instead. Doug and Klaus, everyone’s favorite couple. I say that sarcastically, of course. People are so jealous of happiness these days. Myself included. They’re practically making love on the dance floor. I try to support the bold act; cannon fodder for the revenge of Oren and the like who would see Locust shut down. The young lovers don’t care. Why should they have to?
Nearby is Daniel and Bo, kind of a mirror to Marlo and I. Two chosen brothers, separated for much longer than me and my own Marlo. They’d actually met here at Locust, on a night when drag shows played here every weekend. Bo had graced that stage himself once. He gave that up a while ago. This was before my time at Locust. But people will always tell a story around here. I had a brief fling with Daniel at one point, but now we’re just friends. Would they know where Nina is? There’s also Andy, who I’m certain is not much older than nineteen. He’s in school nearby and swims on their competitive team. No one knows that he comes here to Locust. Not his family, not his friends. And it makes me think that it is possible to feel lonely even in a place like Locust.
My eyes are drawn back to Charlie, and Harris has now materialized. He’s carrying two drinks. One for Charlie, one for himself. And I think about how that used to be me. I take a sip of my own and watch Harris play a little game with Charlie. Guess which one is yours? Harris has two friends with him as well. Peter and Caleb. I used to like Peter and Caleb, before Harris came along and ruined everything. Peter teaches at a local middle school. I used to tease him when we’d bump into each other at the bar. Don’t you have essays on To Kill a Mockingbird to grade? Caleb is unemployed. He lost his job doing something for the government. They didn’t want him around sensitive information anymore. My thinking is they just didn’t want him around because he spends his weekends at Locust instead of Paddy’s or somewhere more public like that. It’s a miracle Peter has kept his job through all of this. I suppose he must be better at keeping quiet.
Then I see Tony and my brain lights up because Tony knows everything and everyone. The only person who’s been around here longer would probably be Ron. But Ron keeps to himself, and if I asked Ron anything about Nina he wouldn’t even look up from his drink. He once told me there are too many names in the world. I disagree. I’ve witnessed the violence of losing a name. Not the quickly-paced violence of an action movie, but something much slower and more sinister.
I lead Marlo over to Tony, who is wearing a dark grey shirt, the buttons opened deep into his chest, and white pants that the lights of Locust use as a canvas. He pushes a strand of his long, coarse hair behind his ear as we approach.
“Hey Tony,” I call out over the music. He drinks and shoots me a tight lipped smile. Tony is great at not letting people know what he’s really thinking. Then again, the same could be said about many of the patrons in this bar. It’s something we all had to adapt to, and I wonder how different I really am from young Andy. He gives me and Marlo a hug and it’s tighter than I’m used to from Tony. He holds onto us for a second, as if the moment he lets go the two of us will evaporate into cigarette smoke and rise into the rafters amongst the twinkling lights. I ask him my question and Tony’s eyes grow hard and beady.
“I don’t know,” he replies and I can tell he isn’t lying but this doesn’t feel like the truth. He used to date Nina, so I’m told, and even though she moved on I know the memory of her still swims behind his eyes. I raise an eyebrow, trying to pry and Tony notices. “If you really want to know, you should go ask that one over there.” He points to Oren and I wince.
“Yeah I’d rather die,” I joke, and Tony’s pointed stare softens instantly. It’s an exceptionally vulnerable softness, tender like a freshly broken bone and I wonder if I stirred up something inside.
“I haven’t seen her since early this week,” and I know exactly what he means when he says this. I understand that Oren doesn’t know where Nina is tonight, but he does know why she isn’t here. And suddenly I do too. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp and Marlo holds tightly onto my arm in support. Like I said before, I’ve watched names vanish like they never really existed. The names of the girls who used to share this place with us. Lori, who had a different hairstyle for every night of the week and detested anything orange flavored. She loved chiffon and tequila and even Tyler’s mean posey worshipped her. There was Gigi, short and sweet, with enviable red hair and the loveliest smile in the whole joint. She always wore the prettiest white dresses, the littlest things you ever saw. Tanya, a master of reading other people. She could know you better than yourself with a quick flourish of her jeweled green eyes. One weekend they were here, the next they were not. Others disappeared too. Those in close proximity to the girls but still “normal” enough to be overlooked by people like Oren. It takes immense courage to demand to be seen, even if that mandate was something those girls never chose. An attention they never wanted or asked for. But we knew that it was only the girls that were truly gone. Picked up off the street. The trails of footsteps no one would ever come looking after ending in an abrupt halt. It seems that Nina has been taken away too.
Things have changed so much from my boyhood. There are laws that can prevent us from gathering. Laws that prevent men from impersonating a woman on a stage. Laws like that can strangle a heart, can squeeze at a soul and switch off the light behind one’s eyes. But there is nothing to outlaw the life of another. Despite what the ugly men –the men who would see every Nina, Lori, Ginger, and Tanya wiped from this earth– wretchedly desire, the law cannot extinguish that flame just yet. So the men put on their black. Their hoods hide their faces. But as Tanya once taught me, ruined souls are the easiest to read. Only when a person is truly good does that read become murky. They get in their cars and trap the women like birds in a cage of tar. And then they are gone forever. No past or present outside the walls of the Locust. And no future anywhere at all. No law can kill them. But no law can save them either.
Tony gives me another hug and I cry softly into his shoulder. I never met Nina outside of Locust. I wonder what her life was like. What was left on Earth to get by without her care? It’s no wonder I hadn’t heard about her disappearance earlier. News like this mostly travels through closed networks like Locust. We pray to the songs she loved dear that she has found peace in her next life. Because I know, wherever she is, Nina has not finished her night. There will never be a last call in Nina’s Locust. She would keep the party going.
What is left here are chameleons. The girls of Locust have trickled away for many months now. But no one did anything about it. We looked around and sought comfort in the presence of a neighbor, or searched for a new stranger in this taut and ever-narrowing community. I glance upwards once more at the lights and notice a cluster has gone out, leaving a black hole in the ceiling. Perhaps more lights will go out. Those of us who think we are safe and hidden will be revealed to a world that grows meaner by the hour and we too will join the ranks among the vanished. What happens when there is no one left to search for our own familiar faces in the crowd? Nothing left but a dark and empty bar. The string lights to cobwebs, the dance floor to mud. The usual crowd at Locust feels colder tonight.
*****
Warren Rogers is a writer and bookseller based in Atlanta, Georgia. A lifelong Georgia resident, Warren believes the South is a great inspiration for his work. Warren graduated from the University of Georgia with a B.A in Entertainment and Media Studies. He has been published in The Classic Journal.
