Yesteryear

It began as any other day and ended just like one.

I was leaving the office, coffee mug in hand, backpack in the other. The life of an insurance adjuster was not an exciting one. I moved to take a sip from my canteen and found it was empty. With a long day behind me, and a longer night ahead of me, I entered the nearest coffee shop, Homebrew.

After receiving my mocha latte with an extra shot of espresso and whip on top, I took a seat outside at the handicap table with the umbrella. There wasn’t any handicap people in sight and I needed a place to sit and this table had room enough to fit four. Surely, no one would object to me using it.

I spread out my laptop, my paperwork, my IPad on a stand to my side, and my phone propped in front of me. I was the picture of the modern day working woman. Behold. To anyone else, I might have appeared a self-absorbed twat, but in truth... I worked hard to get where I am, I worked nights, I studied, I applied for positions and grants and wrote essays and here I landed. Making money, living alone, and drinking grossly expensive lattes for no reason except that it seems like a cool thing I should be doing. The appearance I put on, making a show of it at a coffee shop. All that work I put in… shouldn’t other people know about it? Otherwise, what was all of this for?

Banishing the thoughts from my mind, I returned my attention back to my IPad. An article scrolled, an email pinged. I focused on the words in front of me, on the taste of bitter coffee, on the chatter of nearby patrons. I was here now, and here I was working. The sudden realization of one’s position in life was always stark and disorienting.

“Hi, sorry, this seat taken?”

A rich and gruff voice broke my stupor. Startled me, really. Someone entered my zone of narcissism and concentration and now I had to give them my attention. 

Immediately they seemed familiar. They had a prickly brown beard, and brown eyes.

“Mark?” I asked. 

“Yeah?” He returned my inquiry. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, studying.

”Sue, Susie, that you? Oh my god! It’s been a thousand years.”

He swung the chair open and sat himself immediately. I didn’t recall extending the invitation but I also didn’t find myself objecting. I moved my belongings aside as he plopped down in front of me. He was drinking a blended ice drink, complete with chocolate sauce. Sweet.

“Mark,” I repeated. The shock of seeing an ex-boyfriend after so many years wasn’t nearly as startling as I would have expected. I guess the person they were gets suspended in time, and it’s always how you remember them. So the person in front of me wasn’t a surprise, so much as a reminder.

A bad reminder. High school was a nightmare. A grim, cold, dark experience that may have been the peak of youth and foolishness for some, and a depressing hellscape for the rest. I was a part of the rest. Parents going through a divorce, older sister moving away, cat dying, bullied, bad grades and no friends. Alone and with no one to talk to.

Except Mark.

“How are you? What have you been up to? I didn’t know you still lived in town. Figured you moved years ago.”

“I had nowhere to go,” I found myself saying. I brought my latte up to my face and took a long sip without actually drinking. I needed distance between me and this memory.

“Yeah? Well I just moved back home! Mom ain’t doing so hot so I’ll be taking care of her for a while.”

I knew his mom, nice woman. She knew me once too. I’ve met her. She made me soup. That was the only thing I could remember. I felt strangely guilty about that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the standard response said. I was never very good at comforting myself, much less others. “Is she okay? Are you?”

He waved his hand, dismissive. “She’ll be alright. And so will I.”

He was always very big and grand and kind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him down. Even years later as the lines marred his face and hair covered his eyes.

Instantly I’m transported back to high school. The days spent crying after school. His arm wrapped around my shoulders. We would sit by the dock and watch the lights glimmer on the water’s surface at night. It was comforting. The warmth of his touch, the blackness of the marina. For a minute I could forget why I was crying, the overwhelming feeling of loneliness lost to the focus of the sea.

Suddenly I felt very naked and exposed. This man has seen me at my most vulnerable. He’s seen me weep and scream, break friendships, demand more and better, and nothing at all. He’s seen me give up, on myself, on others, and on him.

“So, what you’ve got going on here?” He asked after a period of quiet. I obviously wasn’t giving him much to work with. He gestured to my stacks of paperwork.

“Not much, I work in insurance now, just bringing work home,” I replied, simply. How easy it was to talk to this mysterious figure of the past. He knew the worst of me, how could I ever top that now? 

“Insurance! Interesting, is it?” He laughed.

“Not hardly.”

“What do you do outside of work?” He asked again, “besides sit at coffee shops.”

“I rent my own place just outside of town.”

“You have roommates?”

“No, I live alone.”

I didn’t realize how sad my life sounded until I had to dress it up for this man. I didn’t feel sad about my situation. I had friends, I made okay money, I saw people when I wanted to. My hobbies were plain, but no more plain than the average person. My life wasn’t exciting, but it certainly wasn’t miserable. But to say it out loud to someone and not have the opportunity to explain fully where your mindset was was just embarrassing. 

We continued speaking in this manner. Plain, polite, exaggeratedly positive.

I don’t know why I felt the need to impress this… basically a stranger to me now. Maybe to prove that since high school I’ve grown up? That I’d developed from the heartbroken cry-baby teen into the woman I am today? Was it something else I was trying to say to him, or just to myself? 

“How about you?” I finally asked. I was tired of my own life, repeating it back was starting to piss me off. What did I need to say these days, what was appropriate? He would leave and never return and I would have wasted precious moments describing my life to someone who wouldn’t be around to see it. All I wanted to do was grab him and shake him and say: “Hey! I’m not as sad as I look! Don’t leave here thinking that this is me! That I haven’t changed! I have I have I have!”

“Well, since coming back home, I’ve tried playing tennis again. But my elbow is a wreck and I’ve got no one to play with,” he smiled, “unless you know anyone?”

We played tennis together at one point. He was on the school’s varsity team and I served balls to him for practice. I wasn’t good at it but I could swing a racket and hit a ball or two.

I wanted to tell him ‘me’, that I remembered us playing together, moments after school, classmates’ antics, catching the bus to and from the mall, eating sub sandwiches on the curb, sitting in my room playing video games trying to drown out the arguing next door, that even though the days before were dark and rough, that I’m so happy I had him and that I’m sorry I fucked it all up. I’m happy I knew him and I thank him for all he’s done.

But the other side of my mind battled with the idea of reopening old wounds. I had a comfortable life, and he would soon return to his. And I was satisfied in my day to day, that I hadn’t felt heartbreak in years now and to welcome this person back into my life would only be welcoming back pain, a reminder of who I was and a reminder that nothing lasts forever.

“Sorry,” I said, “I don’t know anyone who plays.”

He looked at me, without pity or remorse or sadness and smiled again. “Ah, well let me know if you ever do.”

We sat in silence again and he took the opportunity to glance at his watch.

“I better get back before mom has a meltdown. It was really great to see you again. I’ll be in town a while longer if you ever want to meet up. You have my number still?”

I nodded, stiff but relieved. I couldn’t put it up anymore, I couldn’t find things worth saying or talking about. There was nothing positive for me to conjure up, plus why would this stranger want to hear it anyway? He had bigger fish to fry. A bigger and better life to lead outside of me.

“It was great to see you too, Mark.”

I watched him walk away and returned back to my work.