October 26, 2020

Hey guys! This is a short story I've done for one of my classes at university. It's very different too what I usually do, and was done under the prompt: 'What does it mean to be Cosmopolitan?'. Cosmopolitan being the idea that we are a 'Citizen of the world'. So if you are interested in this short story, have a look. If not, I understand. Enjoy :)

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I sat myself down at the corner edge of the pub, a wall to my right shoulder and a wall at my back. A cool pint of frothy alcohol sat in my hands, I couldn't remember exactly what I had ordered, and a small plate of chips that I had readily delved into, chewing carefully as I gazed silently around the room. The pub had a homely feel, with the glassy wood tables, floors, and bar. The bartenders were relaxed and smiling, chatting easily with the early comers while they poured their drinks. Several televisions had been placed around the pub, hosting a variety of muted sports channels with subtitles. The biggest TV was set right above the entrance, and only had a screen with a blue background and big red letters spelling out 'AFL Grand Final on Soon'.

As the early comers found their seats I could already hear silent voices wafting from their heads. They clashed together as though each person were trying to speak over each other without understanding what the other was saying. But then again, no one could hear those voices, no one but me. They were soft, distinct, like snowflakes. As more people entered the pub more voices joined the cacophony, until I couldn't pick out distinct voices without focusing heavily on them.

'Why isn't everyone here yet?'

'I refuse to worry about money tonight.'

'I hope she doesn't come.'

'Why did I come here? All they are showing is a replay.'

I took a careful sip of my drink, inwardly wincing at the bitterness that washed down my throat. The beer tasted like liquid charcoal, burning my throat and upsetting my stomach. I carefully put it down, waiting for the aftertaste to subside, pondering what had made me purchase such a horrible beverage. I did that every week though, knowing exactly what the answer was, knowing how stupid it was, but still doing it anyway. Everyone did it. Everyone knew that a cider or one of those cruisers would taste a lot better, but beer was the drink. Every man drank it because it was a man's drink, and women drunk it because they wanted to seem tough in front of the men. I drunk it because it was already strange to be sitting by oneself in a pub. At least the beer made me seem somewhat normal, as though I somewhat belonged.

'Aargh, I really don't have the patience for this sort of crap tonight. This is why I don't come out,' the silent voice of a woman sitting at one of those high stools directly in front of the bar reached me.

She was a dressed-up woman, with puckered red lips, straightened golden hair, and pristine smooth make-up covered skin. Her black dress with matching high heels was the standard formality of a night out. A man had sat up next to her, with a dimpled dark red shirt and black pants. I couldn't hear what they were saying over such a distance, but I could see the inner voice as it drifted over to me.

'Okay, slow start. But I got this,' the man was thinking.

'Just go away already,' the woman was thinking, 'I have no intentions of sleeping with anyone tonight, least of all you.'

I could feel the woman's anger burning through her. Part of her wanted to hit the guy with the glass cup in her hand, show him what he was really messing with. But instead she put on her best smile, her lips moving in words her silent voice told me was a decline of the man's offer for a drink and to come over to his table. He wasn't deterred however, trying to rationalize his persistence through his head.

'I don't want to leave her alone up here. Any random sleazebag could come along,' he was thinking to himself, 'At least I'm a good guy.'

Sudden relief washed through the woman as her eyes fell upon two other ladies that had walked through the entrance to the pub. She waved her hands at them and they began to walk over. The man, knowing he had lost his chance, stood up, said goodbye to her, and went to join his friends over at another table.

'Ah, you win some you lose some,' he thought as he left.

'Yes, they're here. Just in time as well. Wait till they hear about this,' the woman thought.

The women embraced with warm hellos, the two friends expressing concern about the man hitting on their friend. The blond woman launched into her tale, with a man desperate to get into her pants and willing to say anything to do it. The others listened, eagerly drinking up every word, already connecting her story with their own encounters from 'last night', or 'earlier today on the train'. Each story bound them together, unifying them to a common cause, finding themselves in each other.

My focus returned to the man, who had sat down with several guys as they expressed their views on what had happened. How 'he would have got her if those other two hadn't shown up', or 'just a tough nut to crack mate'. There was jeering and laughing of course. There always was in the midst of a man's failure. But the man held his head high, exclaiming victory over the next girl he went for. The others joined him. A unifying moment, binding them together in a promise for the future.

It was ironic really, how the two different sides of an event ended up accomplishing the same thing. The feeling of comradery and friendship, making the similarity between the two groups far too obvious to ignore. They were united by different things, but it was in that uniting that the person felt the most whole.

The night continued, and before the final would be turned on another group entered the pub. These people instantly drew attention, with their turbans and long dark beards, and darker shaded skin. They took an empty table near me, talking to themselves in excitement as they waited for the game to start. Many silent voices followed them, mixed with subtle glances and annoyed scowls.

'What are those sorts of people doing here?'

'Do they even know what is on tonight?'

'Do they understand what AFL is? They should leave.'

One of the foreign men got up from where he was sitting and walked over to the bar to order food and drinks for his friends. After a quick discussion with the bartender, he sat down on one of the chairs to wait, looking at the TV in eager excitement, so used to the curious looks and wondering gazes that he chose to ignore them.

As he waited he was approached by another man, this one with greying hair and a bloated stomach that pressed against a blue button-up shirt. He had a beer mug in his hand, which was half empty, initiating conversation with a simple 'g'day'. There was a test in the older man's voice. The foreigner could feel it, and I could see it in the silent voices.

'Let's see how much this Indian knows.'

There was an uneasiness around the foreigner as he answered the questions in a polite and forward manner. He wanted desperately to get the answers right, to be seen as just another football fan within the crowd, despite the way he dressed. The old man was trying to prove that the foreigner wasn't, asking increasingly harder questions, all of which were answered simply and easily. The old man was flustered when he couldn't think of anymore, and the foreigner had a sense of accomplishment, knowing that he had won the small game. By then his food was ready, and he excused himself from the conversation to get it and bring it over to his friends.

He told them about the old man, of course, earning a collective laugh, and sparking the conversation of other moments in which they had surprised people with their own AFL knowledge. It was another uniting conversation, letting them know they had the same experience and stood on the same ground.

As the game started the conversations grew quieter in order to watch. Despite it being a replay of the game, there was an unspoken consent in the room to let the game play out. The sound of the TV was even turned on by the bartenders, letting the commentators eagerly explain each turning moment of the game, remarking on players, goals scored, and balls caught. As the game continued the conversations grew louder as the different groups discussed what they thought of what was happening, or what did happen earlier that day.

The younger men groaned loudly when one of the favourite players dropped the ball. The women laughed at their reaction. The foreigners yelled out their approval as another goal was scored, punctuated by the older man's bellow of 'Yes! Come on!'. The inner voices turned toward excitement, everyone knowing the outcome but still just as invested otherwise. As each individual allowed themselves to be pulled into the enthral of the game, others followed, until the pub became a chorus of excitement.

All focus was on the game. The conversations were surrounding the game, welcoming anyone who was willing to talk about it. The inner voices followed the game, inwardly crying out for their favourite to win. The bartenders were able to relax and join in as well. I allowed myself to smile. At that moment, everyone was able to unite under the one conversation, the one ideology, and simply enjoy the event happening before them. It didn't matter who came from where or wore what. In that simple moment, everyone within the building belonged there.