Crumbling Walls
It was one week later and I was sitting in my car in the parking lot between the pet shop and the bar. My car was turned off and I had already been sitting there for quite a while. I was stewing in self-doubt and extreme anxiety. What the hell was I doing? Was this legal? Would any of this work even if I pulled everything off? What did I want? Every few seconds, I thought about driving away, going home and never thinking about any of this stuff again. But I never moved. Any time I thought of turning my keys in the ignition, my mind flittered back to the previous week, there, in the bathroom stall, when I’d really felt alive.
It was the strength of that memory that had brought me here in the first place. It brought me here despite the fact that I’d already experienced bitter disappointment in trying to explore this connection before. The previous week when Michele, the waitress at the bar and, I was certain, my lover, had waited on me I’d been absolutely tongue-tied. Somehow, I’d managed to stammer out “hamburger” and “red wine.” And she had cheerfully gotten my food.
There was no doubt in my mind that she was my girl. Her lips were so unique and I’d known them so intimately. And, when she spoke to me, I was certain I could hear that same voice that I’d heard groaning and slurping on the far side of the stall separator. I know that sounds crazy, but I could just feel the connection. Despite that fact, I was never able to say much more beyond “thank you” to Michele as she served me. I don’t know if I would have been able to talk when I was searching for her, but finding her in the bar had thrown me for a loop. I was much too taken by surprise to talk. And even if I could where would I start? I didn’t know how to begin the conversation and, plus, she was far more beautiful that I’d ever thought possible. She was intimidating! Why was she going to a glory hole?
I’d tried no fewer than four times to speak with her that evening, to just say anything, but it didn’t happen. Finally, I just admitted defeat, paid for my meal and went home. Once again, I told myself I was lucky. It was better not to risk exposing myself. Exposing my true identity and exposing my inner vulnerability. And, for a brief period that night, I really believed it. What had I been thinking? My actions even as they had been were far too dangerous, let alone talking to Michele.
But, as time passed, my certainty that I dodged a bullet eroded further and further. In moments when my guard wasn’t up, I would slip back to those precious few moments in the bar when Michele was right next to me, when all I had to do was speak to her and I could not. In my mind I would engage her in conversation and feel the depth of our connection and then, somehow, learn something about myself. But then, I would shake myself out of my dream. Then I would tell myself to keep up my barriers, to not give in to the temptation and invite scorn. But with each passing day my thoughts about Michele and idea of connection grew stronger and my fears and anxieties (while still intense) grew less persuasive. Then, on Tuesday night, I was sitting on my couch, zoning out while watching television, and daydreaming about the time I spent with Michele in the bathroom of the pet shop. And suddenly, inspiration struck. I had an idea, one that seemed full proof. A way to speak to Michele and really get down to the issue I wanted to talk about, but in a way that would absolutely maintain my anonymity and shore up my personal barrier. The more I thought about it, the more airtight it seemed. I spent the rest of the night fine tuning my idea, working out the angles, and preparing to put my plan into action.
So that was why I was sitting in my car the next night, watching the door to the bar and also to the pet shop, wondering if I would see Michele. I had come around the time I figured an afternoon waitress would get off. I’d been there about forty minutes when I saw the door open and I saw a head with black hair step out. My heart started to race and I had the almost uncontrollable urge to slouch down in my chair. I thought about the reasons I had avoided any kind of human contact for all these years. I thought about my last night of sexual innocence with Dave, I thought about my bond with another waitress in Rita, I thought about my shattered body in the hospital, and I thought about humiliation and self-hatred. Why was I trying to step back out?
The rest of the person came out from behind the long dark hair. It was not Michele. It was an older woman who was much less attractive. I let out a sigh of relief. But, I realized, I hadn’t fled. I’d wanted to, but I’d stayed. I’d waited to see what would happen. I took that as an omen and felt my spine stiffen. My plan was solid, I would stay safe if I stuck to the plan. I took a deep breath and waited.
About an hour later, I was starting to think that regardless of my new-found confidence, that Michele wasn’t there. I had assumed that she worked the same nights every week, but that was sort of a silly supposition I guess. When I was a waitress I hadn’t had consistent hours. My back was aching from sitting for so long. I resolved to leave now and come back some other day. I closed my eyes and stretched my arms out in front of me, letting my muscles tighten and then relax. Then I opened my eyes back up. And there was Michele.
She had walked out of either the bar or the pet shop while my eyes were closed. She was standing right between them. She was dressed the same as she had been the first time I saw her, I guessed it was a uniform. She was walking through the parking lot. I looked to see what car she was taking, but, as she crossed to the far corner of the lot I didn’t see any cars around. Then I saw where she was head. Right in the corner of the lot was a bus stop. I thought for a moment. Should I follow her home in my car? What if she wasn’t going home?
I debated for a few moments longer, but then I saw a bus pulling up the street toward the stop. I saw Michele start to jog a bit. It was her bus. I made up my mind, grabbed my keys and my purse and ran from my car. I was about 100 yards from the bus stop and I had to sprint to get there in time. Michele was already inside when I stepped, panting into the bus. I looked into the bus and saw her sitting in the back. The bus didn’t have a back door, so I sat near the front, so I could see when she got off.
Listen, I know now that you are thinking I am a total creeper and you are right. I admit it. But I wasn’t planning anything evil or anything. It wasn’t so much different than looking up someone’s information on the internet. I promised myself I wasn’t going to cross any lines and if she ever said anything or did anything that indicated she was uncomfortable that I would stop.
We rode on the bus for what felt like forever. I felt myself getting antsier and antsier the longer things went on. I didn’t know when she was going to get off and I had to resist the urge at all time to look back at her. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to be sure she was as beautiful as she had been the first time I saw her. I don’t know why, I just wanted to talk to her. But something about the beauty of her body and the fact that she, like me, visited the gloryhole at the pet shop made me feel like she really did have something to show me.
It felt like we had driven for hours. I had never been in this neighborhood before and didn’t recognize where I was. I knew from the looks of things that it was not a great place to live. Lots of liquor stores and empty store fronts. This made me feel a little bit hopeful. I know that sounds terrible, but I was afraid that she might live with someone and that could made her reluctant to talk to me. The fact that she lived in a place where a waitress in an expensive city could afford to live alone was a good sign.