Volume 2, Number 3 -- March, 1997
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Volume 2, Number 3 -- March, 1997 |
by Dean Shutt
"I knew this girl once," he said as he slumped
further into his drink. "She was a wonderful girl, a lady
really."
So began the tale of that poor little man. A story that has I
have kept with me these last ten years. Until now that is, now I
give this story to you for your inspection and approval. Times
are hard, I could use the cash, and what the hell it's just a
story.
I was in a bar, as I often am, brooding on the inequity of
life. You see I'm a writer by trade, a fairly talented one by
some accounts. Unfortunately talent requires quite a bit of work
in order to take you anywhere and somehow I had never really
managed the work part. At any rate, I was in the bar, drinking my
last few dollars before I went home to play "duck-the-landlord."
I was nearly to the point where you realize you are low as you
are ever going to be when I noticed him. He was dirty, unkempt,
generally disheveled and muttering something unintelligible into
his whiskey.
I don't know to this day why I went over there. I suppose it
was because I'm always on the lookout for new material. In my
line of work a guy weeping in his drink is definite gold mine
possibility. Call me callous, but give most people a choice
between a feel good tale and a weeper and ninety percent will
take depression every time. So I guess I figured I might get a
few bucks of his misery and away I went. He told me this story,
his story and now it's your story.
"We met at the shop where she worked," he began, "I
was in there for something, I don't remember what it was
now...anyway, she helped me and we talked and smiled and flirted
I guess. I remember visiting that shop quite a bit those next few
weeks." He took another hit from his drink and continued, "I
remember going in there almost every day. I would buy any little
thing I could think of just to see her. Hell, I took up smoking
just to have an excuse to go in there every day."
He stopped there for a moment. His eyes glistened a bit and
he was fighting back the tears. You can't mine for gold without a
little digging so I bought him a drink and prodded him to
continue. "Anyway, we finally went out. Then we went out
again and the next thing you know we're what I guess you would
call an item." He went on about their dating years for
awhile, but I won't bother you with the details.
"As time went on, I decided I couldn't be without her.
That might sound simple enough to solve to you, but for me, at
the time, it was a dilemma. I was unemployed, out of shape, not
what you'd call a snappy dresser. She was amazing though,
gorgeous, witty, charming and her eyes were a shade I'd never
seen before or since. The day didn't go by that I didn't wonder
what in the world she saw in me."
He was crying now, no doubt about it, and the other patrons
were beginning to notice us (and not in the most friendly way).
So I suggested we adjourn to a more quiet spot so he might
continue his story.
"I asked her to marry me," he said over our forth
cup of coffee, "Bravest, most courageous thing I've ever
done. I did it though, and you know what? She said yes, it took
awhile, but I kept after her. For the first time in my life I
didn't quit."
The hour was late and my wallet was empty. I needed to put
myself and this story to bed. I asked him how he had arrived here
with me? Had she died? Run off with another man? What had
happened?
"Nothing so dramatic as that," he said through the
tears. "I did everything possible to make myself into the
man she wanted. I got an honest job, stopped going out all the
time, I even got myself a whole new wardrobe." He was
blubbering now, " She left me a year or so after we were
married. I asked her why, hell I begged her to tell me what I
could do to make her stay."
He got sort of quiet then, and I thought for moment that he
wouldn't be able to go on (and that I would be out all that money
for nothing). I wasn't to be disappointed though, he bucked up
and continued, "Funniest thing, along the way to becoming
her perfect man, I stopped being the man she fell in love with in
the first place."
I was dumbfounded, this was the tragic tale? I looked at him
and he got a wild look in his eyes. "How was I supposed to
know," He screamed, "She never said a word, how was I
to know she could actually fall in love with a loser like me, I
couldn't have known that, could I, well could I?!?"
With that he stumbled out of the coffee shop, still raving
about his long lost love. I emptied my wallet onto the counter
for the bill and went home expecting never to think of that
strange little man ever again.
I was wrong though, that very night I lay awake unable to get
him out of my mind. Perhaps she would have left him anyway? Maybe
he would have become bored and left her? I suppose the most
disturbing part is that I couldn't relate to him. You see I've
never loved anyone enough to try and be perfect for them, and no
one ever loved me enough to keep me from trying.
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