View From ThE Apple House

We are about to celebrate our one year anniversary, Bear and I.  Although I’m not sure which anniversary we are really commemorating – the day we first met, or the first date where we got to know each other, but both are equally important. 

There is a small, upscale restaurant  I liked to stop by every so often after work.  It was close to my house and I knew most everyone there.  It was a safe place; I needn’t worry about anyone I didn’t know, because inevitably someone else did know them.    The music set the mood of the evening.  Sometimes a live trio, a smoky sultry soul singer, or a single acoustic guitar player played softly in the background.  It was never overpowering, but was just loud enough to gently applaud if they played well.  

After spending all day on my feet, it was a treat to sample the menu, drink some wine and simply sit down.   It was Autumn and the leaves had started to turn, a beautiful reminder of the changing season and another year wasted.  I was becoming cynical, despite my efforts to be anything but that. 

Since I had come right from my job as a sales clerk in a fine gift and jewelry store this early Friday evening, I was still dressed in my work ‘attire.’  The other women (girls is far too inaccurate a description, although I would dare say I still felt like one) and I would often sample the jewelry that would compliment our outfits.  Tonight I was dressed in all black; black shoes, skirt, top, belt and tights.  I was the epitome of monochrome.  This offset the beautiful silver I had piled on and shimmered in the darkness of the dimly lit room.   A long, silver chain hung around my neck and there were thin rings on each ring fingers of my hands.  The eye was drawn, however,  to what I thought was the showstopper; the cascade of single silver bangles on both arms.  I knew it was over the top, but it made me feel pretty and elegant, something I hadn’t felt in quite a while. 

Perched at my usual seat at the end of the bar and enjoying my ever present glass of White Zinfandel, I smiled contently at the others who, like me, were enjoying their meal. As a single 50+ woman, it was far simpler to surround oneself with noise and laughter than to sit by yourself and ponder.  After yet another disastrous marriage, I was beginning to think that maybe I wasn’t cut out for wedlock, and that in fact I should never have married anyone.   I vowed that I would not date seriously again, never partner up and should learn how to be content in being alone.  Not become cat lady loner or a recluse, of course, because I was far too social.  But my nights and my weekends were going to be mine.  Alone.  

Of course, like every other decision I had ever made in haste, I was all wrong.  

As the evening wore on,  I joked and laughed with the people I knew, greeting them from my seat and raising my drink as if to say “yes, here we are again.”   I was three glasses in when one of my friends suddenly whispered to me “There’s someone at the other end of the bar I want you to meet.”  She smiled and winked, ignoring my whispered pleas of “no! no! not now, not here! no!’  to no avail.  

It was too late. She was up off her seat, motioning to a man and shaking her head to ‘come here a minute, yes you, come here.”   He jumped off his stool and slowly walked over towards the both of us.  I don’t think he was thrilled to make my acquaintance either, since I hadn’t been very discreet in my annoyance.  Later he would tell me I certainly had a ‘puss on’, something my father used to say when I was 14.  

With introductions made, in my arrogance I was already annoyed he didn’t recognize me as a former reporter for the paper he never read, had never heard of me so that was one strike against him already (since he was from town, how could he not know who I was?)  

He grabbed my outstretched hand with both of his and shook them vigorously.  He was dark haired and taller than me, barrel chested and strong, features earned by his days as a builder and carpenter.  In my mind I immediately dubbed him as “Bear” since he looked like a giant Teddy.  

His eyes were dark blue and kind, and I could feel his glance surveying what I wore; not so much as to how I looked but to what I was wearing.  The abundance of silver jewelry now felt tacky and ostentatious, and I quickly apologized for dressing so ‘shiny.’  His reply caught me by surprise.

“Its okay to shine, Eileen.  You do it well.” 

I had no reply for that.  I didn’t need one.  He stated it as fact.  

I just sat there and listened as he talked about his life, his own failed marriage and everything in between, He bought me another glass of wine, and I listened some more until the bartender said it was time to go.  He didn’t ask for my phone number and I didn’t offer it. 

He was nice, but I didn’t really care if I saw him again.  He probably never going to call me anyway. 

Wrong again.