The Wonderous Dating Game Page 13

  At least I didn’t go home with my tail between my legs to eat a pint of chocolate ice cream. Tonight, was good for the midriff if you count bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast with jelly, and coffee with half and half good for the midriff.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Around ten in the morning the next day, I called Jim to tell him what happened at Buster’s Bar. He was laughing when I got to the part where Brad walked us out to the street and begged us to go somewhere else because he didn’t want to explain to his friend why he let his mother get hurt. I only embellished the story a little for effect.

  “Thank you for sending us a guardian for the night. He’s one cute guy. I wish I were younger. I would chase him all over the place. Sadly, if I chased him now, I’d drop dead from exhaustion.”

  “Ew, Mom, that’s sick,” Jim said. “He’s my friend.”

  We laughed at the sight of me chasing Brad all over the place. It wasn’t a pretty picture, no matter how one looked at it.

  “Where did you meet him? I don’t recall him from where we used to live.”

  “Brad and I attended college together. When I moved back to Colorado, he was already working as a bouncer. We just began where we ended our friendship in college when we saw each other.”

  “My friends were impressed with your concern for your silly mother and told me to thank you from all of us for the watch care. None of us have ever gone out on the town without men before, so it was good to have someone watch us make fools of ourselves.”

  “I’m sure I’ll hear what transpired from Brad. I’m anxious to hear his version of what happened.” Jim paused for a moment, then said, “Would you like to go out to the Red Dog for supper tonight and sing with me?”

  “Sure, why not,” I said. “I’ll meet you out there.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Red Dog is a Karaoke place, too, but is part of a fancy supper club with a divider of bamboo. The singing takes place in the lounge behind the bamboo curtain. Jim told me he may be late because he didn’t always get off work at five.

  “The bartender is a friend of mine. Just tell him you’re my mother, and he’ll take care of you until I get there. Just sit at the bar, and I’ll find you.”

  At seven, I walked into the lounge of the Red Dog into the dim interior of the bar. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I noticed paintings of a local artist, whom I’d seen displayed at the local art show during the winter carnival on the walls before me. The likeness of a Flamingo stood out because it looked like it moved as it stood in the water and was so realistic. His work of imaginary birds were my favorites.

  As my eyes became more focused, I made my way to the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar. I climbed up on one of the stools facing the door so that Jim and I could spot each other easier when he arrived.

  A young man sat at the other end of the bar with a drink sitting in front of him. He and I were the only ones in the room.

  "He’ll be back soon if you’re looking for the bartender,” the young man said. “He had to get ice for later and restock the bar before all hell breaks loose.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  As I sat quietly on my stool, I saw where the singing took place. An extensive black speaker system with microphones draped haphazardly over it stood in the corner away from the wall. An office chair sat waiting for the disc jockey to sit, filling the space between the wall and sound system. To the left of the speakers was a TV monitor on a shelf for the singer and one on the wall behind the speaker so the audience could sing along if they wanted.

  Suddenly a male voice near my left ear spoke softly. I could feel his breath coming out of his mouth filling my ear. I was startled, and my hand came up to strike out.

  “Can you please help me?” he said.

  I pulled away from him, looking him in the face, wanting to scream, but sitting rigidly watching him, wanting to see what he was planning. The man from down the bar was standing behind me, broadly smiling, holding a piece of paper and a pen that he held out to me.

  “I need your help. I’m writing a letter to the Queen of England, and I don’t know how to start the letter. Can you help me?”

  “Well,” I said, “I’d begin such a letter by writing, ‘Dear Queeney.’ I wouldn’t write a serious letter since the Queen has a great sense of humor and will love hearing from a fine young man like you. You can tell her anything, and she will be pleased.”

  I turned my back to him, hoping he took my sarcasm as a hint to leave me alone. He came around and stood in front of me so I could see him again. It seemed he wasn’t finished with his line of bullshit pickup attempt. His face looked like he was just twenty-one years of age. The little shit needed to be taken down a peg or two.

  “Would you like to buy me a drink for a good time this evening?” he asked.

  Unbelievable! Is this little twit for real?

  I sucked in a deep breath to prepare myself to let him have it with both barrels. My breath fizzled out before I could say one word to the whippersnapper because he was ordered to leave me alone by an unfamiliar male voice.

  “Steve, step away from the lady and go back to your seat, she doesn’t need your bullshit treatment. She came in to rest and relax.”

  The young man instantly walked to the other end of the bar, taking his pen and paper with him. I looked at the man behind the bar, whose muscles were threatening to pop out of the white polo shirt he was wearing so well.

  “Are you Jim’s mother?” He asked, and I nodded. “I’m Sam. He asked me to keep a watch out for you. Would you like a drink while you wait for Jim to get here?”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m Stella, and I’m, indeed, Jim’s mother. I would die for a glass of iced tea with lemon, please. I’m so thirsty. I might have a glass of wine with dinner after Jim gets here if that’s possible.”

  Jim walked into the lounge as soon as my fresh brewed iced tea came. He was dressed in jeans and a black, gray, and white T-shirt. The shirt flattered his build. My sons make me proud. They are both handsome men.

  That shirt pleased me so much, Jim received one for two Christmases in a row. Evidently, the stores didn’t sell them all during the previous Christmas, and I really liked the style.

  The young man who was sitting down the bar came up to Jim, leaned in, and spoke in Jim’s ear loud enough for me to hear. “I’m sorry I hit on your mother,” Steve said. “I hope I didn’t make you mad at me.”

  Before Jim could answer, Sam raised his voice and arm, pointing to the end of the bar.

  “I told you to stay in your seat. If you bother the customers again, you’ll be ejected from here. Now sit down and drink your drink so you can go home.”

  “I was just telling Jim how sorry I was for hitting on his moth….”

  “You could’ve done that from where you are sitting. We aren’t overrun with customers yet, so don’t give me that nonsense.”

  The rest of the night went better than it began. I didn’t get bounced out of the lounge, and I was able to sing several songs. Jim and I laughed when he returned to the table after singing a song with a line that he acted out. “Baby, baby, I fall on my knees.”

  He chuckled as he knelt at the feet of a woman sitting in the pit. I saw her put something in his hand as he sang to her. His face lit up with a huge smile, yet he didn’t miss a note.

  “What did she give you that made you almost laugh during your song?”

  He held out his hand to me. In his palm laid a penny.

  That was a great weekend. I was able to enjoy the company of my oldest son and do something that brought me joy.

  To me, my precious memories of times spent with my sons are golden. In the end, all I have is the remembered smiles of those I love. My family is the glue that keeps me sane. When I screw up, no one loves me more and is willing to cut me some slack.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  As I sat at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, I realized another weekend had rolled around again. I found mysel
f alone and not wanting to be, and I knew I needed to make plans for such weekends, or I would fall into depression and have a pity party again.

  When I was married, and he had to work out of town, I remembered my mother-in-law, Mary, had taught me to people watch, which was a new concept for me because I lived mostly on farms when growing up. All I knew was watching the cows chew their cuds, so I only went to town when we needed something we didn’t raise or grow on our own.

  “When life falls in on you, and you see no way out, get dressed, get into the car, and go to Main Street,” Mary said.

  My brows went up as I looked at her, not knowing what to expect. She loaded me into the car, and we parked on Main Street as close to the center of the block as we could. We just silently sat in the car. When I kept looking expectantly at her, she finally explained what she wanted us to do.

  “My mother-in-law would take me to town in the buckboard,” Mary explained. “And we would sit on a bench in front of the mercantile and watch the people on the dirt streets, being human.” She chuckled. “I’m sure I looked at her like you’re looking at me now.”

  “Are we going to go shopping?” I asked.

  “No, we are just going to watch people silently. I don’t know why this is so relaxing, but it is. Believe me.” She took in a calming breath and released it. “Sit back and look at one person at a time. Watch their faces the most, and the rest will follow. If you see something going on out of the corner of your eyes, look at the action.” Patting my hand, she added, “You’ll see how amusing people are, and you’ll begin to feel your problems melt away.”

  It’s incredible what people will do when they believe they are alone, and no one is watching them. Amazingly many men have problems keeping track of their male parts. Scratching, lifting a leg, and jiggling it to move it over. Or they tried to shake it out of their pants to make room for something better. Or, maybe, they were looking for the lost member and wished to shake it back in place. They then walked away as they looked around them, belatedly, to see if anyone had watched them adjust “George.”

  When watching people being themselves became boring, or it wasn’t making things better, we went to a local café to have a cup of tea to listen to the gossip unfolding around us. I swear that my blood pressure went down at least ten points, and I slept better after those outings.

  I decided to go to the local home cooking café for lunch the next day. Daisy’s Home Cooking was the place to go to be among the locals and learn who was doing things that they shouldn’t, and who was dating the new married man in the District Attorney’s Office. As if I cared, yet it was something to keep my mind off my loneliness.

  Going to a public place where I found people to watch and eavesdrop on, at least seeing others interacting with each other, would help me feel like I belonged to humanity. It was so much like being at a large family gathering where everyone was familiar, yet strangers.

  When the waitperson took me to my requested booth, I ordered a glass of iced tea with a lemon wedge. I eat the same meal when I go out, so I placed my order for pot roast with a side salad at the same time to help her not have to make so many steps serving me.

  Sitting back in the bench seat in the corner booth, I sipped iced tea and watched the young men and women having lunch at a table four feet from me as I felt the tension gently melting away from my shoulders. While I flipped through the dessert menu, I watched and listened.

  Behind the young people were four older women who were loudly talking. The young people didn’t act like they even knew the ladies were present. These two groups were to my targets for people watching for the day.

  As I sat relaxing and staring off across the room, the tension was beginning to ease more and more in my shoulders and jaw. As my jaw relaxed, the skin started to feel like it was sliding down my face.

  The conversations of the different groups interacting with each other was amusing for me. They consisted of two generations separated from communication with each other because of age, lack of commonality, and possibly an attitude of stereotypical thinking from both generations.

  My amusement came from wondering if each group were aware of the others talking around them. As the speech floated on the air and landed near my ears, I found myself wondering if they would be silent or at least watch what they were saying in a public place?

  “I need to hook up with Monica later today,” said one of the young men across the aisle from me.

  The girls all giggled and rolled their eyes at each other at the expense of the boys. The girls leaned toward each other, whispered, and loudly laughed again.

  My gaze wandered toward the older ladies, I noticed they had odd expressions on their faces, so I knew they too were listening. Their brows were furrowed like they were confused about what they had heard from the young people about hooking up with a girl.

  Just like the young women, a lady with a mop of kinky white curls leaned toward the others and whispered something I couldn’t hear. She leaned back with a grin from ear to ear as they all burst into loud laughter. Their heads all turned toward the young people who were now loudly making plans to go to the lake to swim.

  The laughter continued at the ladies' table that was entirely ignored by the young people. It was as if the ladies were invisible and mute. I wondered if people become invisible as they age.

  I wished I could’ve heard what was said to elicit so much laughter from the senior table. There was no way for me to go and ask them, I wasn’t supposed to be listening to private conversations in a public place.

  White Kinky Hair spoke loudly enough that I heard what she was saying clearly. I’m sure the young persons could hear if they were paying as much attention to the ladies as the ladies were paying to them.

  “It seems the young people today are upset if they can’t hook up and we, who’re in our golden years, hope our joints won’t lock up. What a difference time makes.”

  The ladies burst into laughter again. I covered my mouth, pretending to stifle a yawn, and looked away from the ladies. It was my hope they didn’t see me laugh for no apparent reason and discover I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

  The young people noisily moved their chairs back from the table as they readied themselves to leave. They pulled money out of their pockets for a tip and their share of the ticket.

  “We’ll need to stop and get some food and drinks to take with us to the lake. I bet we need ice to keep the drinks cold,” the blonde-haired girl said.

  “Will we need me to take my pickup to carry the inner tubes and the chairs?” the athletically built boy asked. “If we do need to take it, I’ll need to stop and get some gas, and I can only take three people in the cab of my truck.”

  As they approached the checkout counter, I could no longer hear what they were saying as the space swallowed up their speech. I was disappointed that they were leaving, but I continued to watch them as they paid their check and left the café. I noticed the ladies were watching their every move, as well.

  My food came as I continued to sneak a glimpse of the ladies and listen to their conversation. However, it wasn’t long before they completed their meal and left me alone with the employees who were all in the back. The silence was heavy and made me feel like I was living in isolation on a distant planet.

  When I finished eating, I went back to my apartment to do the weekly cleaning.

  I need to get a life. It can’t be healthy living through someone else.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Monday morning was a busy day from the moment I entered the office until the lunch hour. I had to reschedule appointments for Dr. Johnson’s patients. She was called at the wee hours of the morning to deliver a little one who didn’t want to wait until his due date. Even though the mother was concerned about the earliness of the delivery, the family was anxious to see the little guy to talk baby talk to him.

  I’ve always thought it would be fun to be inside the brain of a baby when people said ‘goo-goo’ and �
��dah-dah’ at them. Imagine, if you will, the baby thinking many rude things with an attitude of the nastiest teenager, who is fed up with faces appearing in front of them, causing their eyes to cross.

  Think about the adults that comments to the mother that the baby may have a problem with their eyes as they tsk, tsk — suggesting all kinds of methods to heal the crossed eyes they caused, when all it would take is a swift kick to their asses.

  Here are a few things a baby may think:

  What an idiot. Do they know how dumb they sound? I talk better than they do, and I can’t form words yet.

  I wonder if Aunt Katy knows she has a crop of nose hairs that harbors crawling little bugs and something green and sticky? Too bad I can’t reach up and pull it out so I can get a better look.

  Uncle Freddy needs to brush his teeth soon, he should eliminate garlic, beer and cigarettes from his life, or I’m going to projectile vomit my boob milk in his face.

  Eek, what’s that? It looks like an animal ate Uncle Harry’s head. What is that flap falling toward my cute little face? Come closer so I can pull it off for you.

  I think I’ll scream for Mama to save me from these people and not stop until I get to replace the booby milk, I just threw up in Uncle Freddy’s face.

  How do we know this isn’t how a baby sees us? I’ve always wanted to tell my family to back off when my babies were tiny when we were together during Christmas. However, I’ve felt it would be rude to say to them they were putting themselves below the IQ of the baby.

  Maybe when I become old and bitchy, I’ll be able to say what I feel. Oh, wait, they’ll be long gone by then, and I don’t think it’ll matter much how I feel where they’re going.

  Again, my mind was wandering when Jenny had something to say to me. I had to yank my mind back to the present reality.