A Sly Departure from the Pursuit of Happiness

I pushed through the front door of the all-night diner to the standard sound of a small bell jangling above me. The place was packed and yet I found an empty seat at the counter and hung my coat on the seatback.

“Hey hun, what’ll it be?” she said placing one hand on the counter with her hip tilted slightly.

“Just coffee, Darlin.”

She reached under the counter and pulled an ashtray out and set it in front of me.

I used to bring a book or a newspaper in with me, even on the busiest of bar rushes, but these days I had come to a place in life where I just wanted to sit with my coffee and bask in the abundant sounds of all the people coming and going and chatting it up all along the way.

Lovers with quarrelling subtext to their pleasantries, with backstories to which one could only surmise about; college kids on their phones in between sentences; first dates and even interviews; bikers and live-music junkies at full volume celebrating the wild energy of the ride or the show by laughing fervently at their own jokes and flirting with colorful innuendos… The ever-unfolding interpersonal soap opera of the staff hinting at secret flings, here and there, between the standard gossiping and bitching about one another… and of course the ‘us-and-them’ themes between clientele and servers; servers and cooks; management and all the rest of ‘em.

On this night in particular, I was suddenly subjected to the most familiar of voices over my left shoulder coming through the door in mid-sentence. Glancing back, seeing her swinging on the arm of some fresh-faced lad who swayed his step a touch like the bar had neglected to cut him off until ‘last call’. They weren’t the loudest pair of voices, as they stumbled towards their booth by the window – but yet their dialogue seemed to cut through all the other chatter and sounds of the place.

“You really got yourself a condo in the hills?” she asked playfully. “You just bullshittin’ me seein’ how gullable I might be?”

“I had a condo in the hills,” he replied with that cliche syllabical stagger of a man too wobbly to drive. “I sold that shit months ago, now I stay in a duplex in the valley.”

Then he went one further, “Play yer cards right, dear, an’ I’ll give you the grand tour.”

I stared with a surprising dose of ambivalence into the dark depth of my coffee and smiled to myself.

This shit wasn’t a bother anymore. Exes flinging themselves at various previews of potentially happiness – with varying levels of success and folly, no longer ruffled my feathers but rather gave me a bit of a chuckle.

The whole damn world it seemed was chasing and setting traps for this ‘capital-H’, ‘ever-after’ Happiness that was sold to them in plotlines and commercial breaks from every direction through silver screens, radios, and televisions since before they scarcely knew how to talk.

Not me, not anymore. I realized by this ripe age that happiness was more of an ephemeral mood than a milestone and contentment was rarely worth it’s sale price. No… patience, wisdom, a mind free of endless striving; successfully indulging or sifting through scenarios with the lingering pangs of psycho-emotional starvation and thirst left behind… that’s where it was at.

Fuck it all. Dying for whatever life you think your missing out on won’t comfort you in your final breath and will make scarcely more of the memory of you than a single raindrop into the gutter during a thunderstorm.

I listened less and less to their conversing as each moment passed and was inclined to dig my notepad and pen out of my jacket pocket.

I scribbled a little poem about playing like the world depended on the win and yet ‘playing’, just the same.

I didn’t sign it but dated it for the new day that was only yet a few hours old; tore it out and left it upside down under the ashtray as I finished my last cigarette and put it out.

“Erica, could I get my check,” I said just loud enough to be heard as she was strutting past me with a tray of food on her shoulder.

“Sure thing, hun,” she said with what I might have imagined was a bit of disappointment in her voice. I wasn’t just imagining her fondness of me, but also wasn’t trying to quantify it as to what level she cared if I came or went on any given night.

I was one of her regulars, since she always worked the counter on the nights when she was there.

I slid a few dollars to the edge of the counter and set my empty mug atop of ‘em.

“Have a good night, darlin,” I said as I got my coat on and headed for the register.

It had started to drizzle outside and yet I looked forward to my stroll home.

“Tomorrow,” I thought to myself, “I’m not going into work. I’m gonna pack a few things and set the rest of it out to the curb. The ocean ain’t so far out of reach and them mountains been callin’ for years. It’s time to get the hell out of Dodge for a while and scribble commentary for posterity along the way. Might even bring a camera and a voice recorder, but either way it’s for certain - this town hasn’t gotten the best of me yet. I’m headed for the horizon before tomorrow’s up and done. God, grant me Heaven’s help or at least a bit of luck.”