Regret I Carry

I have to say, there isn’t much in life that I regret, but this one hit me hard later in life. It was an act of selfishness that felt like it led to this woman’s demise. Maybe it didn’t, but in my heart, it felt true. It felt like my actions that day could have prevented what I later saw when I randomly crossed paths with her. Seeing her that way felt like a knife through my gut.

It was about five years ago. I used to stop at this bar regularly after work on my commute home from San Diego to Orange County. It was the kind of place where all the local golfers, football fans, and men in town came to drink—or mostly to gawk at the beautiful bartenders. They were all gorgeous, but one in particular had caught my eye. I won’t deny that she was the reason I would stop.

She only worked Thursdays, and that was the only evening she was there. One Thursday, I was sitting at the bar sipping on my Miller Lite when I finally worked up the courage to talk to her. Mostly because I was so shy that I couldn’t say much. We talked briefly, but I had a wife and two kids at home, and I couldn’t stop myself from longing for her. I knew I would never be with her, but I wanted her to want me anyway.

That evening, there was a gentleman sitting next to me. I could tell he and her were connecting. He had definitely been there before, and as they started talking, he confessed that he wanted to take her out on a date but was nervous. He was an Air Force captain and very good-looking.

I immediately became jealous and angry as I took another swig of my beer. I wanted to punch him every time she glanced his way. She was sweet, kind, and beautiful, and he seemed attractive and put together. Through the grapevine of customers, I learned that she was single for the first time in a while after a broken relationship had left her scarred. But somehow, she had found interest in this man sitting next to me.

That only made me more jealous.

He told me he was deploying the next day for a month. As we continued talking, she kept glancing over at us, and her eyes kept holding his. I was fuming inside.

Then she walked away for a minute. Another girl stepped in behind the bar and told us that Paige had gone on break.

Paige… what a fantasy.

The man got up, saying he needed to leave. Before he walked out, he took a note from his pocket and handed it to me. He asked if I could please give it to her because she would know who he was. Then he left.

I held the note in my hand, thinking, Fuck that.

When Paige came back from the kitchen, I could see her eyes scanning the room. Then she saw the empty seat where Jack had been sitting next to me and continued working.

I looked down at the paper, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash.

The following week, I came back and learned, to my disappointment, that she had quit. I had no idea where she went or how to find her. She was gone, and so were my frequent Thursday stops after work.

Five years passed.

One day, I was walking out of a grocery store in a town in Orange County when I saw a woman outside. “She looked like she was struggling with drugs.” She must have weighed 80 pounds. I looked at her and realized it was her.

Paige.

She was broken, homeless, and completely messed up. I froze. I could barely breathe. She didn’t even recognize me or glance my way, but I knew it was her. I could still see the small tattoo of a rose on her shoulder.

My heart sank.

Suddenly, my memory took me back to the last time I saw her at that bar. I remembered Jack. The note. The number.

And I remembered that I threw it away.

Maybe if I had given her that note that day, she could have had a chance with that wonderful man. Maybe she would have had a beautiful life—a family, a home, and a different future.

Instead, I threw it in the trash because of my own selfishness.

I felt like I was meant to see her that day—to remember my selfish act and wonder if it had somehow changed the course of her life. I will never forgive myself for what I did that day.

The following day, I went back to see if she was still there because I wanted to help her.

She was gone.

Just like the note I threw in the trash.