Pick-up Night | Teen Ink

Pick-up Night

November 1, 2007
By Anonymous

Flooded with envy as he watch’s from a bar stool is Morgan who eyes down a fellow bar hopper who has stolen his girl. The disco looks as if it is held by a small string as it dangles above the crowded dance floor. He takes another sip of his Jack and Coke and looks on. His next move is on him and the night rolls about slowly like a starfish waiting for the tides to be right before moving with the ocean current. Morgan’s preferable girl who he wanted to dance with was now gone with the man he envied in spite of his good qualities. Even before he supposedly, “stole Morgan’s girl,” he was a delight to have by Morgan’s side as the two conversed before spotting her.

Morgan’s frustration continued into the wee hours of the night when he finally heard a Classical Juke song spit from the DJ’s station in the back of the club and decided to call the “pick up night,” quits. All of a sudden Morgan’s phone began to vibrate in the back pocket of his torn jeans. He reached for it only to find that it had lost power, as a sign that he had failed his primary objective. His car was a beat up ’97 maroon mustang with a crack in the wind shield and a smell that would make a cat hiss before running into a nearby flooded ally. Morgan could feel the beating that was his heart but knew that it was now two as it had split in half after the nights feeble dating attempt.

He arrived home to his 2 bedroom apartment only to find more junk mail and bills than he could ask for. Slowly his life was spiraling down the toilet. He grabbed his guitar pick, his four-hundred dollar guitar and his amp and began to play his lonely, blue filled songs that he had written after his last unsuccessful dating night. His music thundered through his wide open window and all at once a rock flew through it. He through it back in hopes it wouldn’t hurt anybody but that it would send a message that he was not in a good mood. After about 30 seconds it came back through the window, so Morgan, frustrated as he was, threw the rock back and closed his window. The madness ended at that as Morgan lay quiet in his apartment.

At that instant he began to reflect back to his childhood, his misfortunes and his success. When he was just 7 years old he fantasized about being a cartoon character. He wanted to turn his imagination into reality. He was a straight “A” student, but not at all a geek. His looks were that of a model and his wit transformed him into a popular being amongst the mere average of his school. In his senior year of high school a group of over 12 trench coat wearing, gothic influenced men stormed into the restroom as Morgan stood motionless in front of the urinal. They took his body and thrust it into one of the stalls. They next fastened a lock and chain around him and simultaneously began to beat him to the core. His life was scarred from then on, his wit had vanished. The life that he once had was now that of a rubix cube, confusing and out of place.
His memory was there now and he could not rid himself of it, a bad decision on his part by trying to remind himself. His mind was still focused on his memories the next day as he attempted to pour the images out by reading. He read for half the day. He went from action books and fairy tales, to the illustrious works of William Faulkner, but nothing worked. He had become haunted by the memory and it was not leaving him anytime soon. As he traveled back to his home a message lay at his doorstep. It read, “I heard you were fond of me, your friend had mentioned it on our date last night. I’d like to meet you, my phone number is at the bottom, give me a call sometime so that we may rendezvous for a cup of coffee or something. Sincerely, you’re Mystery Woman.” The letter sparked a new interest in him, like some type of happiness that appeared from nowhere. He wanted to venture out to find this woman that had ran into his dreams. He put on his sunglasses and went about the streets of his block, searching for a phone booth and a taxi.

As Morgan approached the phone booth he removed his glasses and stepped inside. As his glasses hung from his left chest pocket a reflection of a proper woman’s pearl necklace shone in his eyes, causing him to dial the wrong number. As he regained himself he dialed the number and a sweet, gentle voice answered the phone. He spoke with her for over 10 minutes until the two had finally reached an agreement. They would meet for dinner tonight. Morgan was so relieved of the outcome of it all. He rushed home only to find that a chipped hockey puck had crashed through his window, probably from the infuriated person of last nights rock episode. This, however could not alter Morgan’s spirits, he was determined to send his life in the right direction, to forget about the past.

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This article has 1 comment.

Leah said...
on Dec. 29 2008 at 8:25 pm
Very good.