I sat alone at the table near the back of the restaurant, tears falling from my eyes as I watched the watery parade of hungry customers marching past to be seated at their tables.  The stark clarity of the world going about its daily routine hit me with its obvious irony—uncaring and oblivious to my troubles.  Here my universe was falling apart, yet the world continued spinning, steady on its course.  Groups of families and friends were seated and handed their menus, smiles gracing their faces as they thanked the Maitre d’.  Their world seemed so normal and unfettered by trouble.  I envied them, even though I knew that outward appearances aren’t always what they seemed.

Nobody noticed me, of course.  I resented that, even though it was by my own design.  My best friend Jenny who worked at the restaurant asked me if I wanted to sit back here and collect myself while I waited for her next break.  I agreed, yearning to be along off in some corner where nobody could see the pain I felt.

As a result, my crying went unnoticed by everyone in the place, and I hated them for it.  I hated them for their ignorance and their foolish smiles as they talked openly with one another.  I hated their chipper attitudes as they casually ordered dinner or dessert from the grinning waitress, as if all the world was right.  Well, all was not right, and I felt like getting up and letting them know just how not right things were.  How dare they paste such pretentious smiles on their faces and act as if they hadn’t a care in the world, when I was sitting there in clear and obvious pain?  How could they live their lives and not notice me?

I looked away, my eyes dancing over the assortment of antiques lining the dining room walls.  Old tools and implements from decades past rested on tabletops and shelves, creating the rustic motif of the restaurant.  Ancient pictures of unnamed people gazing back at me with lost and ghostly eyes hung in various places on the walls, and I couldn’t help but wonder what troubles they had faced in their lives at the time those pictures were taken.  What unspoken pain existed behind their blank stares?

I hooked a strand of straight blonde hair over one ear as I rested my hand on the table, lightly touching the cold water glass resting before me.  The melting ice cubes rattled against each other as I spun the clear container gently with my fingertips, spinning it one way then the other, back and forth as my mind reeled through a mass of conflicting thoughts.  Nothing made sense anymore.  All was contradiction and ambiguity, much like the water glass on the table—twisting clockwise until it could go no farther, then reversing just as easily to the whims of my hand.

Back and forth, back and forth the glass reflected my own frame of mind.  Just when I think I’ve made a decision to go one way, hesitation and self-doubt urge me to go the other.  I knew that if I tried, I could make the glass turn forever in one direction.  All it would have taken was a little more effort on my part.  I couldn’t help but wonder if the troubles it reflected in my mind were the same way.  I couldn’t help but wonder if I took the time to lift my hand and turn the glass around fully, if it would be worth the effort.

Sighing, I sat back in my chair, wiping a half-dried tear from my cheek.  Droplets of condensation crept slowly down the side of the glass where my fingers had been, mimicking the tears on my face.

This was ridiculous.  I couldn’t sit there forever, using up a table so I could wallow in self-pity.  Dismissing the tantalizing aromas wafting from the kitchen nearby, I instead chose to focus on how stifling it felt in that place.  The air was stagnant, suffocating—I needed to go for a walk.  I needed fresh air to clear my mind and body.

Pushing the glass away, I made as if to get up and leave when I noticed someone standing there next to me.  Looking up at the towering form, I recognized him as the man I saw sitting in the foyer when I first arrived.  Though of an average height, he towered over me as I sat at the table, his face masked with a kind of hesitant concern.  He was of a wider build than normal for one of his height.  Longish brown hair fell in gentle waves from his head with a closely manicured beard covering his face.

I remember him from the foyer specifically, because I could tell he wasn’t a patron of the restaurant.  Instead of waiting for a table, he had the look of impatience as he sat on the bench next to the pay phone off in one nook.  During the whole time I waited for Jenny to show up out there, he constantly checked his watch every couple of minutes, sighing loudly.  Occasionally he would drop some coins into the phone and dial seven digits, only to hang up in the end and retrieve his coins from the return slot.

His routine was unusual to see in this age of pagers and cell phones, certainly, but I was so wrapped up in my own angst to notice beyond a casual curiosity at the time.  I remember feeling his gaze cross over me from time to time as I waited for Jenny, but he would always be looking away at something else whenever I raised my eyes.  Whether he was some perverted creep or simply shy, I couldn’t tell.  I noticed he was dressed in some well-kept blue jeans, black tennis shoes and a nice collared shirt that would have looked much nicer tucked in, but he remained largely nondescript other than that.

Now he was standing next to my table as I stared up at him blankly, unsure of what to say.  What did he want?  Why was he here?  Did he want money for the payphone?  If so, he was out of luck.  I didn’t have so much as a dime on me.

“Hi,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Hello,” I replied shortly.  I wanted to be nice and all, but his sudden appearance had me a little unnerved.

“Look, I um…know it’s none of my business, but…” he hesitated, “are you okay?”

I blinked, trying to come to grips with the fact that someone here was actually asking about my welfare—someone besides Jenny.

After a brief pause, I responded by clearing my throat.

“Yes,” I muttered.  “Yes, I am, it’s just…I’m waiting for my friend to go on break so I…”

“You know,” he said, a crooked smile crossing his face, “there was a time when I hit a real rough spot in my life.  I remember feeling the things you look to be feeling right now.”

I let out a self-conscious chuckle, covering my eyes out of embarrassment.  I wanted to give him some glib explanation—some offhanded excuse or even denial, but he continued speaking before I could say a word.

“Then a complete and total stranger offered me a sympathetic ear,” he continued, his smile widening.  “It made all the difference in the world to me at the time.  I’d be in your debt if you’d allowed me to extend that offer to you now.”

The words on my tongue died as I sat there with a stunned look on my face.  Was this real?  Why should anyone take interest in my problems?  Why me?  A dozen more questions jolted through my head in that instant of hesitation, none of which I could answer.  It was baffling.

I looked away confusedly, trying to work out some polite way of turning him down.  My intentions must have been plain, because he extended his hand out toward me with a plaintive look in his eyes.

“Please?” he asked softly.

I blinked again.  People so rarely use the word “please” anymore these days without it being some plea for cash or a favor of some sort.  I think it was the fact that it had been so long since I’d heard someone use the word in such a gentle, appealing tone that caused me to seize like I did.  Here was a man I never even met before, asking if he could listen to me talk about what was troubling me.  He was literally requesting that I please allow him to do me a favor.  What do you say to something like that?

“That’s…very kind of you,” I stammered.  “But I was just heading out to take a walk…”

“Good idea,” he interrupted, the smile he wore on his face touching his hazel eyes.  “It’s too stuffy in here anyway.”

Swallowing silently, I stood up the rest of the way, using the table for support.  As genuine as this guy seemed to be, I wasn’t about to touch his hand—you can never tell with people and their motives.

My not taking his hand didn’t lessen his smile at all, however.  He was simply content to follow me outside where I stepped in a leisurely stroll along the walkway circling the restaurant.  It had just finished drizzling outside, and shallow puddles riddled various places on the pavement.  I scuffled my feet lightly, hugging my arms before me as I tried to think of something to say to this stranger.

He walked next to me silently, his hands pressed into his pockets as he matched my whimsical pace.  Only the sounds of tiny birds chirping in the trees overhead reached my ears as I stumbled over the words I was loath to speak, yet desperately wanted to say.

So, I told him about what happened earlier that day.  More than that, I told him how it made me feel, and why.  It was shaky and uncomfortable at first, but the words came out more easily with every step we took.  As I spoke, he kindly listened to what I had to say without comment, nodding occasionally at certain points and interrupting only to ask for some small clarification on a few loose ends I accidentally left hanging.

In the end, it was an outpouring of emotion for me.  Even as I sobbed next to him, I realized that this was exactly what I needed—a sympathetic, un-opinionated, non-judgmental ear to listen to me.  And he was a really good listener, too.  At no point did he make any recriminations or valiantly step forward to offer a solution to my woes unless I first asked his opinion.  He simply listened as we walked together, and let me know through body language that he understood and respected my troubles as being wholly valid.  Though he may not have cared for my problems, he made it plain that he did care for me as a fellow being who was going through them.

Before long, a tow truck pulled into the parking lot.  He noticed it, too, and mentioned that it looked like his ride was here.  I gave him a questioning look, and he let slip that his car had broken down a few blocks away about two hours ago.  Checking the time, I realized that it must have taken place at the peak of rush-hour traffic.  I asked him what happened, and he explained that a part he just had replaced not a week earlier had cut out on him while on his way to meet his wife and kids.  It wasn’t until then that I realized he was easily twice my age and wore a gold wedding band on his finger.  He wasn’t old by any means, but then I was only fifteen at the time.

Though I didn’t press for any details, now that I had stopped focusing on myself, I could see in his expression that he had planned on a very special evening with his family that night.  It was obviously very important to him, and now all he had to look forward to was a long, drawn-out ride to some grungy auto repair shop.

As it turned out, there was no time for him to make proper use of my sympathetic ear in return, but that didn’t seem to bother him in the least.  We said our goodbyes and best wishes for each of our predicaments as he climbed into the truck’s cabin, waving as it drove off to pick up his car.

We hadn’t even exchanged names.

What is it about a man who stood in the very middle of his own crisis that he would take the time to notice the troubles of those around him?  What possesses a person to offer the use of his time to listen to the ramblings of someone he doesn’t even know and probably will never meet again in his lifetime?

Suddenly my problems, though no less trivial, seemed very small in the grand scheme of things.  I was ashamed to think that, had I been granted my original wishes, I’d never have even given that man the time of day unless he asked me first.  Yet he approached me asking if he could please help in my matters.  Somehow it seemed important to him, where it wouldn’t have so much as crossed my mind.  Worse yet, it didn’t.

Often, I like to imagine what it looked like when he finally arrived at his home that night.  It was probably later than he expected to be, but I’m sure he was no less happy to see his family after such a draining ordeal.  For some reason, that mental image always brings a smile to my face.  I truly hope it’s a reflection of what really happened that evening.

The only hope I place higher is the hope that someday his path and mine will cross again one day, and I can tell him of all the other people I went out of my way to listen to in following his example.  I tried to keep a running count of the strangers I’ve lent my ear to over the years, and all of the odd, often suspicious looks I’ve received in the doing.  I’ve also been turned down more times than I can remember, but those who accepted my offers far outweigh those who didn’t.  I’ve discovered that, more often than not, all it takes is the word “please” for someone to accept such random acts.

Author's Note:

This passage was not
based on a true story...

...but it should have been.









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