Travis has been watching a girl at the end of the bar for some time, a little perplexed. She has raven-black hair. She is intriguing, sitting a couple of stools down from anyone else, apparently content to sit—no magazine or book. He thinks, as cliché as he knows it is: she is too pretty to be sitting by herself. But there’s something else. She’s not just pretty—she’s familiar. He keeps trying to discern mood through motions—the way she orders her drinks, speaks to the bartender. She certainly doesn’t seem interested in anyone despite the fact that she’s dressed smartly. She frequently looks around the room, staring at things—not people. And there is plenty to stare at in the Engine Room—odd antiques, broken furniture, engine parts, and old store signs hanging from the walls and dark ceiling.

Finally, Travis decides he has talk to her. And of course, right when he decides this, a handsome young man walks up and greets her. At first Travis just shakes his head, unsurprised by his luck. Then, it becomes apparent that the two know each other. Travis sits back in the booth, overhearing Nick for a moment—“Absolutely nothing happened in the Baroque period,”—and watches the girl and her friend exchange pleasantries. After a moment, the young man turns and walks away down the bar past Travis to the bathroom. When Travis looks back from the bathroom to the girl, he catches her glance. There’s a moment, and then she looks back to her drink. Still, Travis caught the curiosity and decides that if the young man comes back out and doesn’t rejoin her, he will.

Looking back to the table, Travis hears Nick saying, “No, I’m sure Kandinsky was the first.”

Karen shrugs and replies, “I guess you’re right. I don’t really remember.”

Sitting next to Travis, Chris speaks up, “Out in space there, champ?”

Travis smiles sheepishly. “Nah. I’m just watchin’ that girl down there.” He points with his head, letting his eyes wander nowhere in her direction when he is speaking. She probably can’t read lips, but anybody can read eyes.

Chris turns around completely in the booth and looks over his shoulder. Luckily she isn’t looking, and Travis just puts his head in his hand. “The one in the black dress?” Chris asks, facing Travis again.

“How ’bout I just ask her to come over here so you can get a good look?”

“Huh?” Chris asks.

“Yeah. The girl in the black dress.”

“That sounds like a song,” Chris muses.

“A bad one.”

“Well, you should go talk to her,” Chris says encouragingly.

A little impatient, Travis says, “I’m workin’ on it. In a second.”

Chris looks confused. “Wha’da ya’ mean: working on it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Travis says, not wanting to be rude, but unwilling to explain his strategy.

Chris just nods, as Travis watches the young man returning from the bathroom. He walks up to the girl and stops for a moment again. Just as Travis suspects he is out of luck, the young man walks out the front door. Travis sits up a little, pleasantly surprised. He starts to stand,

“All right, ya’ll,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”

“Go get’em tiger,” Nick says. Travis’ nerves bubble up as he makes the long walk down the bar, stomach performing heroic floor exercise gymnastics—flips, cartwheels. Something in him won’t accept that walking up to talk to an attractive girl at a bar is something he has done before. This is not just any girl. There is something about this girl. And it would not have seemed such a long distance except that she had noticed him stand, and is watching him approach, maybe curious, maybe wary.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Is this seat taken?”

“No,” she replies, her tone implying that she doesn’t necessarily want it occupied. Travis does not sit at first. He figures he’s gotten this far; he can have some patience. He sets his drink on the bar. “It’s just that my friends down there are talking about art history, and I really don’t know anything about it. I’m kinda’ in the mood to talk about somethin’ though.” Travis laughs inside. It certainly is an honest approach. She smiles at him and he thinks, maybe it’s the right approach to boot.

“Well, what exactly interests you?” she asks politely. Travis already likes her—she’s coy. She’s letting him dig his own hole, giving nothing away.

He thinks about his answer. Everything is the real answer, but that’s too heavy. His mind is racing through possible topics now, but he finally admits, “It’s not so much what interests me, so much as what I can yammer on at length about.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Yammer?”

Travis isn’t sure whether she doesn’t know the word or is just being facetious. “Yeah, ya’ know—yammer. Talkin’ without getting anywhere.”

Smiling, she replies, “No, I know what you mean. I just don’t recall anyone using it besides my grandfather.”

Travis shrugs innocently. Sincerity always trumps facetiousness.

“Well, by all means,” she says, “yammer away.” She turns her hand out and offers the barstool with a wave. Travis relaxes a little and sits down.

He holds out his hand. “My name’s Travis.”

Shaking his hand, she replies, “Melissa.”

“I haven’t met too many Melissas.”

“That’s all right, I’ve never met a Travis.”

“Well, you don’t have to meet any more then,” Travis says, “we’re all exactly the same.”

“So, after you and I have talked, I won’t need to speak to any other Travis’s to know anything about them?”

“Travisi,” Travis corrects.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, like octopus/octopi.”

She chuckles, she takes a sip of her drink to let Travis lead. It strikes him as funny, that he feels like leading. He is feeling suddenly punchy, a bit funny. “What’re you sippin’ on there?” he asks.

“Gin and tonic.”

“He hold up his own glass. “Here’s to good taste.”

“You too?”

“Oh yeah.”

They clink their glasses and take drinks. She searches his eyes. “Do you know how gin got its name?” he asks, attempting to distract her.

“No. Do tell.”

But he just feigns surprise instead of answering the question and then says, “No, I don’t know—I thought maybe you did.”

Laughing lightly, Melissa says, “And here I thought we were going to talk about something interesting.”

Travis looks around to see if she is mistaking him for someone else. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, “did I say interesting? I meant I just liked to talk.” He shakes his head and looks at the bar sheepishly.

She laughs again and it seems apparent that she is coming out of a funk of some kind. Travis hopes he is partly responsible for that.

“Actually, I have to admit,” Melissa says into the straw she’s twirling in her drink. “You never actually said you were interesting. I guess I just deduced that.” Now it’s Travis’s turn to be caught off guard by the subtle compliment. Melissa looks sly—she too could be disarming.

“Still though,” she continues, “as cliché as it sounds, you do look familiar to me.”

“Really? I can’t believe you said that. You were lookin’ familiar to me, too. But… I’m really sure I wouldn’t forget your face if I knew who you were. Where do you hang out at usually?” Melissa thinks about it, “Here sometimes—not often—the Manhattan Club, City Bar, DT’s.”

Travis decides to give a possibility a whirl: “I’ve played DT’s a few times.”

She looks down at the bar trying to recall and then realizes, looking up at Travis and scrutinizing his face. “I can not believe I didn’t recognize you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I know who you are. You used to have longer hair though, right?”

Travis rubs his peach fuzz and agrees, “‘Bout six months ago.”

“Oh, that’s so funny.”

“Is that why you were looking at me?”

“Well, uh… no.” She hadn’t realized she’d been caught and seems embarrassed.

Travis just smiles in reply though—nothing to be embarrassed about.

“You used to play a song about… an… oath or something.”

“Pledge?”

“Yes. Pledge. That’s it. I don’t really remember it, but I remember thinking it was really beautiful. And it kind of… means… something to me right now.” She lets her eyes light up with the feeling and Travis notices for the first time how steely they are.

“That’s nice. Thanks.”

“When are you playing next? I just have to hear it again.”

Travis is taken aback by her enthusiasm. “Next weekend actually—not this coming one, but the next.”

“Oh,” she looks disappointed. “I won’t be here.”

Travis shrugs. “Honestly, I think the owner’s are pretty satisfied with me. They’ll probably be retaining me for a while.”

“Well, I’ll have to see you play again. Especially now,” she says. “Do you have an album out or anything?”

“No,” Travis says simply. He thinks about it for a moment. He should have made an album at this point, and he really doesn’t have an excuse for not just going into a studio and doing it. Everyone in John’s band had offered to back him for such a venture. “I, uh… I haven’t really—” he always feels stupid explaining why he doesn’t have an album. Everyone had albums in Athens. It makes him feel small. “No,” he says finally.

Melissa nods, not sure why Travis is so unclear on the matter. “I guess Athens must be nice that way. You can make enough money just playing around here.”

“If you know people,” Travis agrees. “I guess I’d like to get out and play some other towns…

I’d probably really need a band to back me up.”

Frowning slightly, Melissa offers, “I thought you were good. It’s nice just hearing someone play guitar—someone good.”

“Thanks. I think so too,” Travis agrees.

Read the whole thread: Unthreaded

Characters and Places: Chris Mullins, Kandinsky, Karen Hughes, meetings, Melissa Keller, Nick Vaughn, Travis Fleeting