Barfly on the Wall

An Exercise in Observation

An hour early, I sit alone amid empty tables, flesh beneath ink, and watch. Bobs and curls, beards and tattoos, the small crowd is varied. Three men, three women—even odds in the battle of the sexes, if you don’t count the bartender.

One patron, ginger-haired and bearded, manbun twisted low—less hipster, more necessity and comfort—shakes loose memories tarnished over a decade-and-more.

Bulky. Fewer tattoos, just as many rings. A visceral distrust stirs. My back presses against the wall, safe. He won’t sneak up on me.  Not again.

He seems kind. Friendly. Personable. He smokes, but he doesn’t get drunk—at least not during our shared time in the small, dark place. One of the rings sits firmly around the root of a pinky, another the ring finger. Not the one that marks him married.

More adorn the digits on the left. No skulls.

I can breathe.

A green Tupperware bowl—the kind my grandmother clung to years after they’d gone out of circulation, vintage—cradles oranges, limes, and apples. Garnishers of drinks garnishing the bartop.

The host appears. Tall, slender, recognizable. A familiar face among the unfamiliar. I should say hello. I shouldn’t. He’ll notice me when he’s ready. He won’t. Have I made myself accessible? Do I look too eager?

Do other people do this dance?

What’s so hard about “Hello.”?

Nothing, it seems, and small talk ensues until he retreats for a drink. I am comfortable in the exchange, uncomfortable in my own skin.

More unfamiliar faces punctuated here and there by the familiar. Sometimes, I wave. Most times, I hesitate.

The hour is drawing near, the time for readers to take the stage, and with it, I begin to pack up my things. The table is small and my belongings claim most of it. My phone, two books, a copy of my handbound chapbook, an extra pen—just in case. I tuck my purse beneath the table. A near-stranger asks to take the seat across from me. I nod.

Another familiar face approaches, warm, inviting. I make room without being asked. My notebook closes…

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I hope you enjoyed this unfinished piece.  I had no real purpose in mind when I began it, so it sat for two weeks, waiting for me to return to it. Sometimes, though, scraps of writing are just that: scraps. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but a necessary one. Someday, maybe I’ll return to it with a fresh thought in mind, and this piece will become something more, but until then, here it remains. At least it causes less clutter here than than the endless supply in the box in the bottom of my closet.

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I’d like to leave a quick shout out to lil indies, who so kindly lends their bar to the monthly Loose Lips live reading showcase. If you’re ever in town, check them out. And, as always, don’t forget to find me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter to keep up with all of my daily shenanigans!