Time

starts now... ding ding

Spoiler alert: medium-weight swearing - nothing offensive

I’m staring into the open eye of my wine glass. Tears drip off the end of my nose and splish onto ice cubes watering down my shitty-chardonnay. I’m diluting my alcohol now-a-days, in a bid to drink less. But I’m not crying any less. I need to find a solution to dry up my waterworks. 

I’m sat on a leather topped highstool at the bar listening to people pour in for ‘after work drinks.’ I don’t need to see them; I know what happy people look like. And anyway I’m busy, I’m watching tears drip off the end of my nose and disappear into a pale, yellowy liquid that occurs to me looks like a pee sample. I now imagine that I’m actually crying pee. I’m a human-urine-eye-dispenser pissing into my watery wine, over ice. This grosses me out and, interestingly, I stop crying.


STRANGER DANGER
I become aware of a forcefield brushing up against my own, such as when another comes into close proximity. Someone is sitting next to me at the bar. I tilt my head sideways beneath a shield of hair to sneak a look. A man is sat, one buttock on the neighbouring barstool and one knee bent, foot on footrest, the other leg stretched out full length to the ground. Body facing me. Face facing me, he says, ‘are you watching your snot dribble into your wine glass for a reason?’

Can he see me looking at him through my hair shield? I’m pretty sure he can’t.
‘Do you need a hug, or something? Or at least let me get you a fresh drink, that one’s got floaters in it’ 

Why is he talking to me? Everything about me must be screaming ‘fuck oooofff’ or at the very least, ‘do not approach this woman’. I’m not dangerous or anything, but I bet I look reactive. And I think about how I must look, from a fly on the wall’s perspective. A solitary, tall blonde-haired woman on a barstool, shoes kicked-off to the ground, body concave on guard over a large glass of wine, a string of dewy liquid visibly dangling from her nose. Oh my god, it is snot! I thought it was just tears, but I think he’s probably right. The tears freediving off my nose have colluded with my nostrils. They’ve created a swampy saline solution that’s come together, like a confluence, at my nose-point, showcasing its syrupy, stringy ooze. I wipe my nose along the full length of my naked arm, which isn’t particularly effective. I need something to soak up the snot not just leave a fresh trail evident from knuckle to oxter. Honestly, could I get any more gross.

He’s still there. Full frontal. Face on.
‘Ah come on…’ he begins. And I just catch the elongated vowels of his accent, he’s Australian. But even so, if he says ‘cheer up love, it might never happen’ I’m going to implode.
‘…you’re looking a little blue there love’
I don’t implode. I don’t even drip.
‘yeah’ I say flatly
‘Well’ he says ‘let me know if you want to talk about it. You’ll probably feel heaps better after and you’re in luck, I’ve got a couple of hours to kill. ’

I don’t say anything, I just stare back into the open eye of my wine glass, like it’s a crystal ball and I’m holding out for it to share its wisdom, or show me the future. I hear The Who playing ’Tommy’ in the background ‘that deaf, dumb and blind kid, sure plays a mean pinball’, and I think that Tommy’s got more going for him than I do right now. Having this thought leaves me empty, but a little calmer somehow. If Tommy’s got the edge on me then I don’t have anything to worry about, the worst has already happened! 

‘Why are you talking to me? I probe ‘I mean, I can’t imagine my body language says ‘pull up a barstool I’m a barrel of laughs, once you get beyond the snotty exterior…’
‘aww I don’t know. I’m not a smart guy and I really hate small talk. I’d rather have a yarn with someone who’s got something meaty going on. An’ you look like you’ve got plenty on ya plate, so I figure, ya know.…’
I’m a little taken aback by this comment, if I’m honest.
‘You think my big, juicy plate of meaty problems is fate veiled as an opportunity to provide you with a little light entertainment?…… well, how about you just ‘don’t talk!?’ I try to sound deeply affronted but I know I mostly sound like a bit of a dick.
‘Well, yeah, I can do that too’ he said plainly, ‘but it seems a little silly not to talk to someone when they clearly want to talk; why else would they be in a baaaaaar’
‘To get a drink!!’
‘You can drink at home love. And anyways, you’re not even really drinking, you’re just watching snot slide off your ice cubes to pimp-up your watery-wineo. Cheer up love….’
He better not say it. Not now.
‘unless home is the problem’ he comments thoughtfully ‘then that’s different, I suppose….’


CARRYING ON LIKE A PORK CHOP
I turn towards him inside my hair shield and stare with interrogative eyes. He looks harmless, simple even. There’s a kindness about him. My lips soften and my whole face relaxes. He’s got short curly dark hair. A strong nose. I want to tell him to say ‘throw another shrimp on the barbie mayte’. The thought amuses me into half a smirk. I don’t ask him; I just say it in my head.

I hook my hair over my ear exposing my profile to him, and smile. It feels foreign; smiling. Goodness knows the last time I stretched myself into a full-blown smile. I’ve got into a habit of crying. He’s looking at me, I wonder how much snot I’ve got over my face. I must look a puffy eyed, snot faced, greasy haired fright.

‘Home’s not the problem’ I say gently, almost too tired to say anything at all. Suddenly I’m so tired. I feel like a pilgrim that’s walked over mountain passes, along narrow winding paths, finally arriving at the temple steps, completely empty of resources, all thought abandoned long ago, like ballast.
‘You look tired love’ he says, as if reading my thoughts
I nod. I keep nodding. I’m stuck in a nodding loop.
‘I am very tired’, I mumble, nodding. My breathing changes again, lungs filling deeply, fighting off the urge to weep. I give another, weaker smile, in gratitude to this man for seeing me; isolated, untethered and in need. And, for whatever reason, disobeying the large tomb-like sign hooked around my neck with ’no me molestes’ written in bold. He knocked on the door anyway, showing up like house keeping with fresh towels.’

I breathe deeply, relax my spine and realise that I’m not going to cry any more. So I sit up, wipe my face vigorously with both hands and feel quite calm. Less tired. More revived. I imagine finishing the first cup of tea at the temple after destroying myself en-route over mountains. Having a steaming onsen, soaking in hot, deep water, floating like a baby in the placenta, completely at home, submerged in a water world where my heartbeat is my only experience. My survival evident. Vitality felt. The water’s skin and my skin wash each other and I feel reconnected. Reborn. Another smile emerges and I turn in his direction, surfacing from my vision.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask freely
‘Sure. I’ll have what you’re having, just minus the snot’ 
I laugh blowing snot bubbles out of both nostrils, which only makes me laugh harder. Laughing also feels very fucking good.


LAST ORDERS AT THE BAR
I look across the bar to catch the server’s eye and order drinks. Our eyes lock hard, and time shifts into sloooow mooootion. She’s plugged directly into me and I watch her reach with habitual familiarity for the red braided chord attached to the bar bell clanger. With several slow-motion flicks of the wrist the bell shatters the air like a bomb exploding, glass shards and sound waves mushroom and dissipate. The server’s accompanying announcement rumbles up through her like an earthquake, roaring, directly at me.

‘Tiiime please! Tiiiime at the bar, please!’

I sit, stunned, ears ringing from the bell-blast and bellowing. 

‘yes; it is time, isn’t it. Time I wasn’t here’

I emerge from the sound cloud bright, emboldened and thank the server with an enlightened smile. Smiling seems to be my new favourite thing. I breathe deep virgin-amazon-forest lungfuls of oxygen until giddy, and give the curly haired, strong nosed, kind faced stranger my undiluted attention. Full frontal. Face on.
‘Actually….,’ 
I have an irrepressible need to stretch every part of me that’s been sleeping in a salty teary snotty stew. 
‘how about a walk first…..?’



A nod in @bethkempton 's direction for the prompt. Go to @soulcircle to find out more about fun and games with Beth.