My name is Mark and I’m 37 years old, an engineer, and single. I was married, but it didn’t work out. We eventually divorced and I moved into a condo, but as my mom aged, I found myself spending more and more time supporting her. Ultimately, it made sense to rent out the condo and move back home.
Although I don’t really have a desire to live at home, I feel an obligation to my mother. She raised me as a child, alone after my father left. She worked hard to make sure we were both secure. I don’t remember ever missing a meal. I grew up happy. Any opportunity that was possible, she helped me pursue.She was the reason I got into college and had the opportunity to study without worrying about the money. In my eyes, she is the reason I am an engineer today.
As it is with most days, today I spent about nine hours staring at a screen, developing programs, and possible improvements to the internet. It is fulfilling work that pays well and I enjoy the challenges, but it is also very demanding. Long hours are not uncommon leaving little time to establish personal relationships. It was the primary issue that destroyed my marriage.
I normally unwind at a local pub after work. The atmosphere is relaxing and many customers appear to be like me, looking for some release from the problems of the day. However, some time ago, I noticed a guy that seemed always to be there when I arrived, always sitting at the same corner table, always alone. I found him interesting because he is not like most of the customers. By that I mean I never see him share a conversation with anyone. Instead, he observes the activity around him like it is theater, watching the evening unfold without participating.
I take a seat at the bar and order a drink. From my stool I can see him via the mirror behind the bar. He mostly just sits sipping his drink, occasionally looking around the room. There have been occasions when our eyes have briefly met but he always quickly looks away. When Eddie the bartender brings my drink I ask him what he knows about the guy in the corner. He looks in the direction I have indicated and says “He drinks Manhattans.
“That’s it. That’s all you know? He’s in here all the time.”
Eddie replies “Look, he never sits at the bar so I’ve never talked to him. He always sits over there. That’s Sheilas table. Ask her”.
As the evening progresses, Sheila moves up to the bar with a tray of empty glasses and new drink orders. I decide it can’t hurt to ask so I say “Shelia, what’s with the guy at your table over there in the corner. I see him in here all the time and he’s always by himself, Does he talk to you?”
“No, not really. Kind of stays to himself” she says. “Not much for conversation, but that’s OK. He’s a good tipper.”
Has he been coming in a long time” I ask.
“Honey, I see a lot of customers every day. I don’t keep track, but I’d say maybe a few months. Why, do you know him?”
“No, just curious” I reply.
“Well, it’s a free country you know. As long as he keeps tipping, he’s welcome at my table” she says while picking up her tray and disappearing into the room.
After a couple of drinks I decide to approach him. I order a Manhattan, pick up my drink and walk over to his table. I place the glasses on the table and slide the Manhattan toward him. “I’d like to buy you a drink I say smiling”. My presence is met with silence. The only thing that moves are his eyes, slowing rising to meet mine.
“Why” he says. That was it. One word. A question that we both have. A question requiring an answer, but, being so challenged, I struggle for one.
“Well, whenever I come in, I see you here, always sitting where you are right now, never interfacing with anyone so, I thought I’d take a chance and buy you a drink and see if you would like a little company”.
Again the response is silence. I begin to have second thoughts about my decision. “Look” I say “I’m sorry. I guess you prefer your solitude, and I respect that” picking up my drink I say “cheers”, and turn to leave.
“Sit down” he says. I turn and see him motion to the seat opposite him. Hesitantly I return and, placing my drink back on the table, slide onto the seat.
We sit in shared silence for a few minutes, the pregnant silence prompting me to feel obligated to say something, so I ask “do you live here in the city”?
“I did some years ago but decided to move on..
“Why did you come back” I ask.
After some thought he says “Curiosity I guess. Wondered what yesterday looked like today.”
I stare into my drink and hesitantly ask “why did you leave”?
Again, I watch his stare. Eyes guarded and questioning. Searching for something. Revealing nothing.
“Freedom” he finally says. “An escape from responsibility I guess, from the realities that surrounded me. Today I think maybe it was fear”
“Fear?” I say. Fear of what?”
Again, the eyes stare at me as if measuring his response. Finally, almost in a whisper he says “I was younger then you are right now. I thought I had the world by the ass. Then, one day, life tapped me on the shoulder, and I realized I wasn’t who I thought I was. I wasn’t the guy that was smarter then anyone else. The guy that was in charge of his life. I panicked, and I ran.”
I just sat and listened, unable to respond. I decided that asking questions was the wrong thing to do. He had just opened up and anything else I could say would seem like I was intruding. So I decided to try and lighten up the conversation a bit. “I imagine the town looks a lot different to you today then it did back then” I said.
He thought a moment and said “yes and no. Oh sure, the town physically has changed, but it still has a feeling that remains. When I came back, I guess I was looking to recover something. Maybe it was my youth. Maybe I was trying to recapture something. Something I lost when I left”.
Sheila came by the table and I ordered another round. “I’ve lived here my whole life” I ventured, feeling a need to open up a little myself. “Never had a desire to leave. Everything I know is here. I have a good job that allows me to live comfortably and take care of my mom. I guess this is good enough for me.
“You married” he inquires? “family, kids”?
“No, no kids, but I have been married. It didn’t work out, but it was my fault.. We both wanted what we didn’t have. My job was demanding and I just felt I couldn’t give her what she needed. She deserved more. I was the one that filed for divorce. I saw it as setting her free”.
We sat in silence for a while, like two boxers studying each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move. We mostly stared at our glasses, occasionally shooting a glance at each other. I felt like I needed to say something, but I had nothing to offer other then more questions.
“I was married once” he ventured. Like you, I thought she deserved more also. Unfortunately it was more then I felt capable of giving”. After falling quiet for a few moments he said “so I walked away. Not proud of it. I never forgave myself for that. Still don’t”.
He stared at me, as if looking for a reaction, or rejection, or perhaps a response, his eyes never leaving mine. Maybe it was the drinks, or just finally putting his feelings into words, but I felt like I had just heard a confession. one that he never thought he would give.
“That must have been very hard” I said. “But we all make mistakes. I lost my dad when I was six. I was too young to really remember him. My mom would speak of him though. She said he was a good man and I would have been proud of him, but he had to leave. She wanted me to know that even though he wasn’t there, he still loved both of us.”
He didn’t say anything, just gazed off like his mind was struggling with something that it was having difficulty comprehending. Like a silent question had been answered. Whatever it was, I had the feeling that I was sitting alone. His mind was preoccupied with something that I couldn’t share. Something he hadn’t expected to reveal.
He polished off his drink and stood to leave. He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said ” Thank you for the drinks Mark. I am pleased to meet you. Tell your mom I’m sure she is right. Your dad always loved you both. Then he walked away.
I sat there for a few minutes running our conversation through my mind before it occurred to me that he called me Mark. I never told him my name.
