Just another beginning

The thing about aging that surprised Mike the most, more than the joint aches or inconsistent body parts, was his longing for quiet. He would find himself constantly seeking secret pockets in his life, small crannies of peace, corners in coffee shops, benches under trees, tucked away pub seats, anything that would afford a simple silent moment of evenness.

It was during one of these hidden moments when Mike was approached by a woman. She asked to join him, only for a second she said, in a booth at a random bar where he sat nursing a beer. He had slipped into the semi-darkness after a follow up dental appointment just up the street. He became a bit overwhelmed by the bustle of the city so he ordered a Coors Light and started watching darts on a television that hovered and flickered in the corner. The competitors were fat and tattooed. He could tell the crowd was raucous even with the audio on mute. Reminded him of a bar he used to go to when he was young. Long tables full of small glasses and jugs of beer. Everyone waiting for a reason to chant.

He sat. He sipped. Breathing through his nose. Closing his eyes so the lashes just grazed the lids. Until she approached.

“Sure.” He told her, more out of politeness than curiosity. She sat down next to him instead of across, adding to the oddness of her asking to sit with him in the first place.

“My name is Libby.”

She offered no hand.

“I’m Mike.”

So he didn’t either.

“Pleased to meet you Mike, appreciate you letting me sit with you.”

It was at this moment where Mike thought, oh great, selling something or a bible thumper. He was figuring one more sip of beer before he would gather up the small amount of nerve it would take to tell her politely to fuck right off. But turns out she was neither selling something nor asking anyone to convert. She just sat there. And sighed. A big breathy sigh that forced her even further into herself. She seemed earnestly tired from something – or of something – and he could appreciate that. Be almost attracted to that.

“Everything ok?” He asked.

“Yes fine thank you. Just need a moment.”

“Are you hiding from someone?” He was kind of joking.

“No, are you?” She was not.

This would have been a fair question if she was asking it from a different seat. Instead of here, where her yoga pant brushed up against his khakis.

“No, I just came in here to get away from all of that out there.”

Mike thumbed over to the large window adjacent to where they sat where all the bobbing heads were passing by. It was a constant stream. Some were bald, some with giant amounts of hair. Lots of earphones. A few man buns. A few Bettys. More Veronicas.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why did you ask to sit with me?”

There were many empty high tops, booths and normal tables in the pub. A few raggedy looking men were at the bar, hunched, watching the same dart match as Mike, but other than that, he and his new pal were the only ones here.

“Well Mike, if that is your real name, the thing is that I have been here before and this is the first time I have seen you in here. I guess…”

A couple of years ago, just after he turned 40, Mike noticed he was moving from being a good listener to a person who was just waiting to speak. Recognizing this trait in others, he was disappointed he could no longer focus on what other people were saying. All he wanted was a small pause so he could offer the perfect joke or his own experience and then bask in the subsequent attention. Whether it was a chuckle or eyebrow queer, he craved it and he could not stop doing it.

He interjected. “This is my first time here. And my name is Mike. As I mentioned, I am not hiding from anyone. There is no one to hide from.”

Without being asked, a male server approached and placed a highball glass full of amber liquid in front of Libby. It had two cherries embedded on a novelty plastic sword and a pulpy lemon wedge hung from one side. She took a long sip and dunked the lemon into the liquid.

“A bit of a loner are we?”

When Libby approached and asked to sit down no real crazy bells went off in Mike’s head. Her blue eyes were serious yet soft. Her brown hair was neatly pulled back and held together with a thick red elastic band. Her face was angled, nose beakish, lips full, friendly, like she was always waiting to get the joke. A She looked like tired J-crew model, not cigarette and coffee haggard, but saddled with an interesting face that was not specifically waspish or sematic. She wore black yoga pants covered by a long t-shirt and a light blue sweater that hung casually off her left shoulder. On her wrist, four silver bangles. On her fingers, no rings. In her ears, diamond studs. Her age was neither too young nor too old to ask to sit down next to a stranger. Probably in her early thirties, but Mike’s been wrong about this kind of thing before.

And now Mike had a decision to make. He could firmly and politely tell this semi-attractive woman that he came into this little pub to get away from everyone, not sit next to her. If she started screaming or stood up and smashed her drink on the floor, so be it. He would gulp his last sip, stand up and walk back out to the bright sidewalk. If she was normal and accepted his request to be alone, she would likely take her cherry-filled drink to the bar or to another seat to wallow in her own personal melancholy.

The other option was to engage. To let her in a little bit and tell her why he has no one to run away from. Tell her that his 14 year old son is currently 90 minutes away at a private school that he does not pay for. Tell her that his wife of nine years fell in love with his best friend of 20 years. Tell her that crowds don’t really annoy him, but make him so anxious it feels like his brain is trying to escape his skull through his ears. Tell her that he craves invisibility. That none of his pants have top buttons. That he eats irrationally and irregularly. That his jovial and once impeccable sense of comic timing has been reduced to cranky sarcasm. That no one really wants to be around him much anymore.

“Look Libby, it was nice meeting you, but if it’s ok, I would like to finish the last few sips my warm beer by myself.”

She stood, wisps of hair escaping the elastic and replied.

“Your lips barely move when you talk.”

And she walked away. Drink held only by thumb and forefinger.

Leaving him alone with his last two sips of warm beer.