Getting ready to go out

Throughout the day, she couldn’t shake the out-of-place fellow from her mind. He seemed to be haunting her, not so much through his appearance, as she was never one to focus on looks, but through a general feeling. It wasn’t his eyes, for she didn’t really see them, the room, as most bars, was rather dark. It wasn’t his clothes; she couldn’t even remember what he wore. Perhaps it was his gait, how he came into the room strongly, but then almost immediately paused, not so much to survey the room—she knew that act—but to get acquainted with where he was and what he might be doing there. Then he immediately walked over to the farthest bar stool from her and sat down. From then on she couldn’t see him, and although she was very curious, she resolved to continue the conversation she was having with the banker.

With the stranger still on her mind, she drank her morning coffee, had toast with the blueberry jam that she made with her daughter and read the newspaper. The toast was only mildly satisfying. Before too long she would have two poached eggs and more toast. Without realizing it she thanked God for the man who invented the toaster. Rising, at last, she stretched, washed and put away her breakfast things and began to clean the house. Saturday was always her cleaning day, and she needed to do something to clear her head. Work always satisfied her, so she swept the floor, filled the bucket and got down on her hands and knees to scrub. She scrubbed hard, working herself into a sweat, but try as she might, she could not get the fellow out of her mind.

She decided she wanted strawberries with her eggs, quickly washed and fixed her hair, put on a clean dress, gathered her purse and headed out the door to the produce market down the block. The morning rain still hung in the air, although the sun made an occasional appearance, and she knew that the night would be cool. The streets were relatively quiet, for which she was grateful. She was in no mood for the pleasantries of being neighborly.

By the time she arrived at the market, she was hungrier than she realized and knew that eggs, toast and strawberries would not be enough. She wanted a proper meal, and so she bought a steak, potatoes and green beans. While she was walking home, feeling the every growing damp in the air, she thought for a moment that she saw her fellow from the previous night, but she was mistaken. The walk was entirely different, more diffident, less self-conscious. But this excited her. She definitely had to meet this man.

That evening found her again at the bar, only this time she had no banker to distract her. She nursed her first beer slowly, scouring the room every time the door creaked. She had just ordered her third, when he came in. She knew instantly. He was dressed exactly the same as the night before, but he had more confidence. He was becoming accustomed to the place, and she liked that. When the bartender came up to her with the draft, she waved him away. The bartender knew: She was not yet ready to have her beer provided by someone else.