We Met As Strangers

We met as strangers.

I was just a waitress and he was an investment broker and if it were not for the job we would have never met. There was something there, a connection, a spark, a… something. I could never put my finger on it, but he was special before I even knew him.

He came in every day at lunch. 1:25 PM or after and sits at the very last seat at the bar. He orders a scotch neat and has the same buffalo chicken sandwich that he’s been having everyday for over a year. Everyone else who has ever waited on him just thinks he’s a cynical older gentleman, but a ten year age difference isn’t that big a deal. Not to me anyway.

Our conversations about the weather, world events and weekend plans soon turned into conversations about life, love, mysteries of the world and things that make us passionate about this often troublesome thing we call life. For me, it’s music and for him it’s the feeling of being wanted. His home life, what I gathered, is just a 20 year loveless marriage that crashed to the ground before it even reached terminal velocity.

No kids to drive them further apart, but also nothing to bring them back together. I felt bad for him in that sense, but I always wondered if he was so unhappy why wouldn’t he just leave?

His favorite color is blue. Not sky blue or navy blue, but ocean blue which just so happened to match the intense color of his eyes that I couldn’t help but stare into as I fumbled over my words in the beginning. Now I was a pro at talking to him and making him laugh. His sense of humor, just as dark as mine. His laugh is what I loved the most. Unfiltered and loud and the way his nose crinkles when I get to the punchline. He’s bad at jokes, but listening to him butcher the joke is funnier than the punchline. I never cried from laughter before meeting him.

His salt and pepper hair was always gelled and hair sprayed in place. His suit was perfectly tailored to him and the small gray hairs in his beard were looking very distinguished. How could someone who seemed so serious about life, be so…. not serious? He never made a fuss about anything being wrong. With the food here or anything for that matter. The world could be crumbling to the ground and he was totally calm and collected. I envied that about him. One minor inconvenience and I was a broken shell of a human.

It was a rainy night when I looked over and saw him in his usual seat enjoying a neat scotch.

“Rough day?” I asked him gently. The restaurant wasn’t overly busy for a Friday night, but enough to keep our conversation to minimal words.

“Something like that.”

For what I could get out of him between tables it was a stressful day at work accompanied by more stress at home. That would explain the evening drink.

As the night fell quiet and I was able to catch my breath he still sat there and watched me move across the room. I came over to see if he needed anything.

“Can I put a buffalo chicken sandwich in before the kitchen closes?”

He looked me deep in the eyes before finishing his drink.

“The buffalo chicken sandwich here is terrible.”

Gauging his laughter after he said it, indicated to me that my face looked insanely perplexed.

“I come here everyday to see you,” he said, moving the empty glass closer to the bartender. “You are truly the best part of my day and I mean that.”

It felt like a fever dream being with him outside of my work setting. Here he was in my apartment, in my bed no less. His hands roamed and his kiss was aggressively passionate. The kind of kiss you give someone after they’ve been gone for months. Feeling him, every inch of him was cathartic and soothing. I was at the mercy of this man who knew exactly how to touch and caress me and he knew it too. It had been a long time, probably for both of us and I allowed myself to just relax and enjoy. I didn’t care that my once larger body, now covered in tattoos, stretch marks and loose skin was out on display. He didn’t seem to care either. It was just him and I while the music playing in the background would continue song after song and kiss after kiss. Time was standing still all the while it was moving fast because the morning came quickly and we were still enjoying every last moment we could.

As we redressed the energy felt weird. I knew sleeping with a married man was wrong, but he didn’t do anything to stop it either. So was I really the one in the wrong?

I walked him to my door where he pushed me up against it and gave me another passionate kiss that made my skin quiver and my knees buckle underneath me. He smiled at me and kissed my forehead before leaving.

Looking back, that’s what hurt me the most. A forehead kiss to me is saying “I love you” without actually saying it. He left and I never saw him again. He never came in for a neat scotch and I had hopes for every take out buffalo chicken sandwich that I would see his name on the order, but I never did. I mean, why would it? It was terrible anyway.

The sting eventually went away, but I missed my friend I grew to know and I tried my hardest to push that night out of my head only to get flooded back with memories of it. All I had left of this man was his business card, not that ever had the kind of money to sit across his desk and speak to him, but he gave it to me so long ago the address and number had been rubbed off from sitting in my purse for so long. I kept it for a while before eventually throwing it away.

I wish I would have known it would have been the last time I saw him. I wouldn’t have let him go.

We met as strangers.

We parted as strangers.