Telling Touch

TW: Story alludes to violence but does not contain any explicit content. 

The restaurant was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night. I keep a personal, standing reservation at this local Italian place I’m really into right now. Ever since I moved here, I've kept up this tradition, changing the restaurant after a year or so of patronage. Regardless of what’s going on in my life, I always like to treat myself to dinner once a week. I eat alone most of the time anyway, but somehow eating in a restaurant turns it into something else, like a self-care ritual.

I was happily seated in a booth by the front window looking out at the street, which is always my preference, and is usually available if the restaurant isn't too crowded. I glanced over the expansive menu already knowing what I was going to order as I never order the same thing twice, closed it and placed it at the end of the table for the waiter to collect. An older couple sat across the restaurant by a window overlooking the small parking lot. They were eating, glancing down at their food or at the utensil they were using or out the window, not a word between them. They had that look older people who have been together for what you presume to be many years have, neither unhappy nor particularly happy, just quiet between them, living in that soft space that remains when there isn’t anything left to say. I found the silence between them oddly comforting, just the idea of having someone there. I didn’t need to be happy, just that kind of company would be nice from time to time.

There were a few other people scattered here and there. I saw a family with two small children in the back corner when I walked in and there was a middle-aged man having soup by himself in another booth across the way from mine. They were understaffed, but I doubted it’d be an issue. The dark had settled in outside. I, like most everyone else, hate daylight savings. It felt like midnight at 7:30. It looked like it might snow.

After my food arrived, eggplant parmesan, a couple came through the double doors. He was in maybe his early to mid-30s. He had on a brown coat and a crimson scarf, and his dust-colored hair had natural blonde highlights. I wouldn’t have called him attractive, but he had a certain quality about him. The girl he was with looked to be in her mid-20s with black, shiny hair and pearly white teeth. They came in together, but you could see they weren’t together. They had that awkwardness. Maybe it was their first date, maybe they’d just met up outside the restaurant and this was their first few moments together. Those white teeth revealed themselves after some clever comment from him. The host from behind the cash register by the entrance took them to be seated in the booth directly behind me. Between the wooden booths were screened dividers for privacy that came above the average person’s seated height. I heard them sit down and start with the standard first date small talk. But I had already felt it.

It kind of feels like stepping into a puddle of cold water with your socks on, except it’s my whole body. It came in with them into the restaurant. My stomach sank. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my evening, but when they came through the door, when he came through the door, I knew my night was about to get all screwed up. I don’t usually get involved with other people’s lives. It’s just too invasive. But this had to be done. Hopefully, I was wrong. I could make this quick, I told myself. Perform a public service, find out I was just being crazy, and then return to the beautiful eggplant on my plate.

I eavesdropped a bit. They talked about where she was from (she hadn’t grown up here), what she did for a living (something in marketing, I tuned out for that bit), how she’d just gotten back from a girls’ trip in Mexico with her friends from whatever city she’d just moved from…it went on. He shared very little about himself, which she didn’t seem to notice. He made smart, little comments here and there, a few that sounded borderline condescending, but drowned in charm and she didn’t seem to notice those either. He was very good at restating things back to her she’d said and was obviously a very good listener.

I took off my black, cotton gloves in anticipation. They ordered from the waiter. When he excused himself to use the restroom, I’d found my moment. I got up just fast enough to bump hard right into him as he was climbing out of the booth.

He cried out a little from surprise.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” I said, grabbing his bare arm to steady myself from my half fake/half real fall. I’d really hit him.

“Ohhh, it’s okay,” he stammered, his face stunned a little as he tried to piece together for a second where I’d come from and that there had been someone sitting in the booth directly behind him.

I felt the wave of nausea like I usually do but pushed it down and glued on a fake smile. I looked at both the guy and the girl. I put my hands up again in apology as I stood all the way up.

“Again, I am so sorry. I should watch where I’m going.”

The girl laughed a little as we shared a smile. The guy still looked a little bewildered and maybe slightly put off as I turned and walked towards the women’s room. He said something to the girl, and I heard him several steps behind me heading in the same direction towards the men’s room.

*

Sometimes I’m wrong. Being wrong is my favorite thing in the world. There isn’t a better feeling for me than finding out I misread a situation. To touch a hand, shoulder or brush a wrist and see all the regular stuff— sex, love, money, fantasy scenarios, even worries or stressors, just things everybody thinks about. In fact, most of the time it’s usually just a mismatch of a bunch of different things. Have you ever actually tracked your thoughts? They’re crazy. Thoughts bounce all over the place all the time. And like I said, I love to be wrong about a person. But I wasn’t wrong about him. When I clamped down on his arm, I saw terrible things. Really terrible things. Things I won’t utter here. Either this guy was planning something horrible, or he was daydreaming about a horror movie he’d just seen, which sometimes does happen, but this didn’t feel like reliving entertainment, it was personal.

*

I entered the women’s restroom a few seconds before I heard the men’s room door close. I needed a second to compose myself. Whenever I make contact, I get a bit sick. The wind gets a little knocked out of me and like I said, there’s a wave of nausea. I also get what I can only describe as a feel for the person’s mind, their temperament really. This man’s mind felt erratic. His thoughts went through mine in white hot flashes. He’d been planning this for a while, maybe waiting for the right person. It must have taken me a full minute before I could pull myself back together again. I looked up in the mirror. I had a bead of sweat coming down my right temple that I quickly wiped away before pulling the loose hairs that had come free from my ponytail back behind my ears. Tonight, could have been such a nice evening, but instead now there was this– the weirdness of what I now had to do and the worry of how it was all going to work out.  

In the rare instance this happened, sometimes I could write a note and get it to the person, but the guy had already been in the men’s room for a minute and was sure to be out soon. I was going to have to do this with words. If only I wasn't always so awkward about it. It’s weird going up to someone and telling them something there is no way you could know and, of course, you have absolutely no proof. You’re asking a stranger on blind faith to believe something that sounds crazy. But I didn’t have a choice. Just on the chance this girl already had a weird feeling about this guy, I might be able to motivate her to listen to that gut instinct.

I walked out of the women’s room in a rapid pace and beelined it for the girl’s table. She was texting or on social media or something. I slid into the booth and she looked up from her phone and froze, stunned that the woman who basically just body slammed her date would just take a seat at her table like it was nothing. I looked her in the eyes and in a calm, quiet voice I said:

“Hey, I'm sorry to interrupt your night again. I know this is strange. I don't know how well you know that guy, but you need to end your date here. He's not right, he's planning on hurting you.”

She stared, mouth slightly agape saying nothing. I couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking at all. She probably thought I was nuts. I continued.

“Look, he's about to come out of the bathroom, but I needed to tell you. Seriously, do not leave here with him, make an excuse, do whatever you have to do, but don’t leave here with him. He's planning something. Something that’s going to be bad for you.”

And with that I slid out of the booth just as her mouth was starting to form a “whaaaa???” and slid back into mine. I immediately stuffed my hands back into my gloves and picked up my knife and fork and posed with my eggplant.

Moments later the restroom door opened, and the guy stepped back out into the restaurant, wiped his wet hands on his trousers, and started heading back towards the table.

I sat there, frozen. There was a chance she’d tell him. She might feel really connected to this guy and tell him what I said. That the woman who’d ran into him was some kind of crazy lady eating dinner inches away from him. Maybe she thought I was the threat, maybe I’d done more damage than good. Maybe this would be one of those experiences she envisions would bond them together. A weird story they’d tell their future children about how this psycho woman tried really hard to break them up on their first date. She could have possibly typed it on her phone and showed him, but she at least didn’t say anything about it when he sat back down at the table.

I finished up my meal and decided to skip dessert. I put on my coat and paid the host at the cash register at the front. Before I walked out the door, I glanced briefly back at her and for the slightest second, we locked eyes.

The small, side parking lot could accommodate about 10 cars and was between the restaurant and the white, brick side wall of the laundromat next door. My car was parked facing the wall so that when I looked in my rearview mirror, I could see the entrance to the restaurant almost directly behind me. I got in my car, turned on the engine, turned my headlights off and waited.

I turned on my radio and then turned it back off because I didn’t want to make extra light in the car. It was starting to snow lightly, and the new dusting began coating my front hood. My thoughts raced. What was my plan here? Was I actually going to intervene if she chose to get in his car with him? What if they drove together? Was I going to follow them? I sat there nervously waiting. I turned the heat on. I turned the heat back off. Then I turned it back on again.

After about forty minutes, they emerged. They were both smiling, looking like they’d had a good time. They paused outside the restaurant door talking, presumably planning what was to happen next. He must have said something witty because she laughed. Snow was coming down gracefully on both of them. Her hair glistened as it caught light from the streetlight by the road. After a few more words I couldn’t hear, she smiled and started to back away sticking up her small hand in a cute goodbye motion. Just before she was out of his reach, he took her hand in his. She stiffened for a second, almost undetectably, before loosening again. It was a seemingly harmless grab, playful, but was made for convincing. He motioned in the direction of his car which was somewhere to the right of mine. I couldn’t hear their words, but there were still smiles on both ends, chatting. Except, he still had her hand. I was starting to see the somewhat forced nature of that smile, and below that the growing desire for an exit.

I hit the break pedal and made my taillights glow. It caught his attention enough for him to look my way and she slipped her hand out of his. She mouthed some words, still with the plastered smile, and took off around the corner of the restaurant. She must have parked on the street. He waved and watched her as she quickly rounded the corner. He looked unsure and then his jaw hardened, and he looked pissed. I looked away from my mirror and sunk down in my seat. I hit the already locked lock button. I didn’t look over at him again, but I heard a car a couple spots away from mine start up a few moments later. I peaked out my window as I saw the car turn out of the parking lot and head down the street. He didn’t have a license plate.

*

Like I said, normally I don’t get involved. On the off chance I was wrong, I could have just ruined this woman’s first date with her soulmate, but honestly, probably not given how she was starting to look uncomfortable at the end. I try not to let that possibility haunt me too much. I’ve had some other situations happen like this before. They’re rare, thankfully. Once, I was able to get the name of a guy and with a few internet searches was able to find out he was on parole for various violent crimes. I left an anonymous tip with his parole officer. I have no idea what came of it. After all, I can only say so much. What? I saw his thoughts of hurting someone? This isn’t Minority Report. Pre-crime doesn’t count here. I just do the best I can. I know it’s not right to look into people’s heads, but sometimes I just get that feeling. I have to look behind the curtain and check things out, make sure everything’s okay. I mean, what kind of a person would I be if I didn’t?