If you put a gun to my head and told me I had to explain the local phenomenon that was The Island or you’d pull the trigger, I might choose the quick death over the former. It’s not like i have anything against the location, in fact, I’ve been there a few times with friends in the past, it was just impossible to describe without sounding like you were describing a surreal episode of an old science fiction film. To me, every bar in the south seems to try to be one of two things, the first being ‘desperately seeking Las Vegas’. I mean that in the sense that the decor always forgot that it was in rural Florida and not a high end nightclub on the strip. Neon lights and dingy, formerly white couches were a must. The second being the kind of bar that permanently tried to prove that it wasn't like those kinds of bars. This usually involved typical decor of wood stools, a lack of any menu other than an array of ‘manly’ beers and typically if you're in a particular kind of southern bar, a rebel flag displayed with little to no sense of self awareness.

Somehow, The Island was a strange combination of both kinds of these bars, sans rebel flags. The first thing you might notice when entering is the overwhelming sense that this particular watering hole didn't quite belong in the area. The pristine crystal of the bar lit up with neon signage displaying the wide array of alcohols they provided was contrasted by the cow hide print of the barstools. Rough hewn wooden beams supported a high ceiling where even more neon lights wrapped around the frame of the building, creating an aura of magic as if you were suddenly in one the many fairy tales your mother read to you as a child. The contrast of nature based decor with the neon harshly glowing side by side left me with the feeling that if i stayed too long, I might be led away by an elf or fairy into a ring of mushrooms. A distorted view of a clear night sky if ever there was one. There were about ten different bars with the name ‘The Island’ but none of them were quite like this one. I had a great bit of doubt there was bar anywhere quite like this one, but what made The Island unlike any bar that ever was or ever will be has more to do with the legends of its own. Even when I was in high school there was always someone who went to the bar, fake ID in hand only to come back with strange stories and an inability to really remember what had exactly happened there that night. One time, a friend of mine had been dared to go in and steal something, anything, and return with it to school. He was missing for two days after that and was quickly found at a gas station three towns over, unharmed and with no memory of how he had gotten there. Police checked in with the bar and other than noting he was a minor who they had turned away, they were cleared. High school legends, however, live on.

As an adult though, The Island had lost some of its mystique. Sure it seemed unique, but don’t most well run bars seem mysterious to small town college dropouts? Sure it was a beautiful bar but wasn't it more likely that my friend had gotten drunk, hitchhiked two towns too far and was just too embarrassed to tell anyone? Maybe. Either way, I’ve had too many drinks and memories here to see it as anything other than a really nice, really well run bar in a run down Florida area. I couldn't help but feel a little bit conned by all of the tales we’d heard as children about this place, but only just.

A vibrant red sign glaring the message of “Shit Happens” glowed beautifully behind the apathetic bartender cooly pouring shots of tequila for a group of women, her sharp eyes peeking out from beneath a choppy fringe of platinum hair. The bar was lined with women all wearing one shade or another of bright pink tube tops, one of which wearing a sash that likely carried the title of ‘Bride” on its front, all hooting loudly with every sip and all likely hammered. One girl cackled as she slid off of her bar stool, causing the bartender to briefly break her cool girl stoicism. I made eye contact with the girl behind the bar and after a smile briefly flashed on her angular face, she winked and resumed poring what I can only assume was another round of shots for the already intoxicated group of women. Her poker face must be terrifying.

As quickly as the crowded floor of the bar would allow me, I made my way to the row of booths along the back wall adorned with even more neon signage and an array of photos or memorabilia strewn in between. Lila’s text informed me they would be the third booth from the left. I was also informed that this was the best booth as it gave the best view of the stage. I wasn’t hoping to be here long enough to watch the show they had every weekend, it was mostly local bands hoping to somehow be discovered and make it big by playing in the most popular bar in the area, but I have yet to see anyone make it beyond selling their terrible homemade cd’s outside after their performances. Currently there was a group of skinny white girls on stage, each one with a haircut more outlandish than the last, the one nearest the microphone moaning out a song that could have been about the holocaust for all I knew. I couldn't understand a word she said.

I heard Lila before I saw her “All I’m saying is, if he didn’t want to, he shouldn't have worn those shoes.” her hands flailed emphatically as she made her case to YR whos eyes appeared to be glazed over in a state of exasperation.

A small yelp escaped my lips when a set of warm hands slid around the small of my waist only to turn to laughter as I realized who was behind me.

“Darling it has been far too long.” Andrea’s honey sweet voice rang above the music. I tilted my head so i could look into her impossibly dark eyes framed by her equally dark complexion. A vibrant smile was spread across her gentle features. There was always something so warm and comforting about Andy’s presence, whether that was from her being a preschool teacher or just how kind and soft she always was with me I couldn't say but she could do no wrong in my eyes. Of all of the friends i have made through Lila, she was my favorite. “Ladies, look who finally made it.”

YR and Lila looked up at us then, the magic of their tenacious conversation falling to the wayside. Lila’s smile spread infectiously and i could feel the remaining amount of tension that had built in my chest subsided.

More chattering ensued. There were times when i felt I couldn't quite connect to other people my age in a conversational sense. It always felt like people spoke either at each other as though they were simply waiting for their turn to speak at the other person or they spoke in such a way that was inherently terrified of silence. It can be so suffocating to realize the people around you are only interested in talking about themselves and how their lives are infinitesimally more wondrous than your own. I can think of a dozen instances where I've been made to feel so inconsequential sitting around a bonfire with only a few other people present with my few attempts at conversation being rebuffed by their meaningless rebuttals. There was always an air that you were only ever heard if you squawked the loudest. The same couldn't have been said of the three woman congregated around our little booth. There were a few women I didn't recognize but they blended perfectly with the few I already did. They often reminded me of the women in my family during a reunion all chattering happily, genuinely curious about the happenings in each other’s life since last they visited. None of these women were related in any way, not that I knew of, but there was air about their conversation and the way they listened to one another that conveyed a presence, an understanding. I was never very good at the verbal portion of this equation but it was always comforting to know that should I choose to participate, I would be heard and not just vaguely listened to until my sentence was over. Catching YR’s stare snapped me out of my reverie. She was beautiful in a way that could be jarring with her beauty queen smile and soft amber eyes peeking out from behind the curtain of soft honey colored waves. With her bronzed skin, she always looked like she should play a murderous mistress in an expensively produced telenovela or be on the arm of the richest man in the world but she seemed more than content to be by Lila’s side at every available opportunity. The two were an odd pair of friends when you saw them side by side.

“Eddy, did Tess happen to catch you on your way over?” her accent was as lush as her appearance “She was heading to the bar right as you came up.”

I was never very good at speaking in front of a group, let alone a group of intimidatingly attractive women, so I mustered up a brave retort. This was composed of, unfortunately, a shrug, blowing air between my lips, followed by a mumble of “Dunno, I’ve never met her before so I wouldn't know.”

I kicked myself internally. ‘Dunno’ isn't a word, you dumbass. I wracked by brain wondering if my wording had been rude. She was just asking you a polite question.

“That lush is probably already behind the bar picking a fight with Clive.” a petite girl with pale skin and pink dreadlocks squawked out, clearly on her way to intoxication “you know how…” she paused as if she were about to utter what she imagined to be the epitome of a joke “hot headed he can be.”

There were a few groans and a sigh of exasperation from Lila. I didn't really understand her joke, nor did I understand how it was intended to be a joke but she seemed pretty pleased with herself.

“Kennedy,” Andy’s voice had an unwavering sternness about it in that moment, a tone she had yet to use around me. The girl, Kennedy as I now knew her, threw up her hand in an apathetic gesture of surrender before turning back to her conversation partner and, more importantly, her drink. It was a very human moment of awkward interaction that made me feel, ultimately, less awkward by proxy.

“You would have noticed,” Andy’s voice returned to its usual sweetness “She’s kind of hard to miss.”

“She sure is something.” Lila’s tone seemed almost humoured as she proceeded to take an exaggerated sip of her wine.

“One of a kind.” YR cheered, holding up her glass of champagne.

All of these women were so good together, conversing in a way I could only dream of doing so with my other friends, but these three women in particular were on another level. They were in perfect sync, almost following up each other’s statements with such a sense of agreement, of being known. Lila was a good friend, but I never had this with anyone else, and I couldn't help but feel jealous in that moment.

“Well what does she look like?” I worried over the volume at which my words came out but they seemed to have heard me, resulting in an another round of borderline choreographed answers.

“Tall, buzz cut,” Andy intoned with a smile.

“Kind of mean looking, typically wearing something wacky.” Lila said matter-of-factly.

“One of a kind.” It was in this moment I realised YR was likely very good at hiding just how many glasses of wine she’s had.

A giggle escaped my lips just as the lights shut off and the boom of the speakers cut out.