It was the natural swivel of the barstool
When my friend called my name
That swung me so abruptly.
I swiveled for what seemed like seconds
And I looked to where it turned me.

Hands over her head and eyes closed
I saw that she was small
Tilting semi rhythmically to something loud and current.
She didn’t notice me because the bar was always crowded and
Her eyes were always closed.

I felt shaky determination when I offered her the first of many drinks.
I walked back to her with no regard to rhythm
When whiskey is involved I become aware of how I walk
Small, stuttered steps masked by dim bar lighting
Everything was disguised in the translucent haze and I felt better.

I moved closer and she backed away, enough to make me chase her
Speaking and nodding, never hearing, wiping the moisture from our drinks away
The condensation never stopping for three years
Speaking and nodding, we never heard what the other said besides “one more.”    
Drinking by each year filtered through the ice in clear, plastic cups.