Nov 8

At the Bar

The door opened letting a cold gust of wind. Several dead, brown leaves and fresh snowflakes swirled around as a woman struggled to push the door shut. A few people shuddered, but no one looked up from their drinks. The woman walked in and sat down at the end of the bar closest to the door. The seats at the end were conveniently empty because of their chilly location. The bartender had his back turned and didn't notice the woman for several minutes.

After putting the finishing touches on a drink, the bartender passed it across the bar and went back to the conversation he'd been having with a man named John. At times they had to shout over the cries of the enthusiastic football fans watching the game on the other side of the room. John was talking about his divorce. He had caught his wife cheating on him. Now they were fighting over property—of the house, the car, the kids. The bartender was listening intently and sympathizing with his friend until he felt someone staring at him.

He looked slowly around the room. At the men sitting near him at the bar, at the screaming football fans, at the few people standing around the jukebox carefully choosing a song, and finally settled on the woman sitting by the door. She was looking directly at him, but didn't seem to notice that he was now looking back at her. She was stunning without a hint of conventional beauty. She had long black hair and a dusting of freckles across her face.

The bartender knew he should go over and take her order, but she was so enchanting that he couldn't move. He stood there and watched her stare at him. He felt as if she were boring into his soul with her expressionless emerald green eyes. The sound of John's voice was still droning on in the background, unaware that he had lost his audience. The woman stared coolly and seemed equally unaware of her surroundings.

This woman reminded the bartender of a girl he'd dated in college. Her name was Julia and she had the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen. She was a quiet sort of person who never let anyone know how she really felt, but he had always been able to tell when she was thinking something. Her eyes gave her away every time. Unfortunately, he was rarely able to tell what she was thinking and she never told him. In the end he got fed up with guessing and drover her away with his criticism of her silence.

Suddenly, as if driven by some internal revelation, the woman's eyes came to live. She became present in the room. She could hear the football fans, see the bartender looking at her, and smell the beer that surrounded her. In a single graceful motion she stood up and walked out without saying a word. She could have been anyone and now she was just a nameless, faceless pair of green eyes floating away down the street. The bells above the door clinked softly as the wind pulled it shut and the bartender tuned back in to John's story.