It was the perfect night to drown my sorrows at the bar.

Okay, that may seem melodramatic, but when it is dark, cold, rainy and I’m on the brink of heart break, it’s the best place to be.

I’m probably on my second or third drink, I’m not too sure. The bartender keeps sending me pitying looks. I practically have my own bubble from the way people are keeping their distance.

It’s like I was destined to be alone.

“Hey, partner. Need another?”

I looked down at my near empty mug and then up at the bartender. I shrug my shoulders, “Eh, might as well”.

The bartender starts filling me up, but doesn’t stop the conversation, “y’know, that’s an interestin’ ‘sortment of tats ya got there. What’s it all tallyin’?”

Ah. The tattoos. I have about ten tally marks on one wrist and six on the other, one of them raw and recent. The source of my misery.

“Oh, these? They’re nothing” I mumble, trying to pull my sleeves further down.

The bartender shakes his head, “Naw, that ain’t nothing. The wrist is a vulnerable spot, y’know? Them tattoos must be mighty important to have placed ‘em there”.

I sigh and take a sip of my new drink, “yeah? Well it might as well be nothing. I don’t think I’ll be getting anymore anytime soon”.

The bartender did the classic towel over shoulder move before leaning on the counter, “might help if you talk ‘bout it?”

It didn’t take long for my eyes to release a torrent of salty tears, taking my coherency along with my dignity.

I know I must have babbled the entire story, but there was no way the bartender could understand anything but the despair in my voice.

By the end of my tipsy rambling, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So, let me get this straight. You been going to this tattoo parlor for just over a year, now, just to see this one girl you got a heapin’ crush on? Makin’ no move on her or nothin’, but going back every month or so just for her to give ya one of them tally tats. Then you went ahead today to get another one, but she wasn’t there so instead of leaving you go through with a tattoo anyways since yer ridden with anxiety. Not only that, but you get this tally, that is supposed to come from only yer li’l crush, instead of a different small design with less of an impact. So now you think that yer crush is gonna notice the extra mark and hate you forever?”

Wow. Bartenders must be really good at deciphering inebriated babble.

I try to nod my head slowly, but it felt way faster leaving me a little dizzy.

The bartender leans his arms on the bar, getting as good of eye contact as he can get before speaking more softly, “listen, buddy. I know this might sound a li’l harsh, but those tally marks ain’t gon’ mean much to her. She prolly gets strange request on the regular, so she won’t be paying attention to how many marks she’s given ya. The only way she will know is if you talk to her about it. Ask ‘er out in a date and make it a topic of conversation to git the ball rollin’.”

He straightened out and grabbed my once again empty mug.

“Now, you have a decision to make. Are ya gon’ order another beer, or are ya gon’ go sleep it off and make a plan with a clear head?”

I look down at my wrists. I really like this girl and I don’t want to mess anything up….

… but the bartender is right. I either take the risk of messing up with the possibility of succeeding, or I don’t get anything.

I look up at the bartender and strengthen my resolve, uninhibited by overthinking and second-guessing.

“I think I’ve had enough to drink tonight”