One of the more powerful words in this day and age is “relationship”. It means so many different things to each of us. It can be something as innocent and trivial as waving hello to a next door neighbor on the way to work. Or it could be something that encompasses your entire life, impacting every action you take for years. A relationship can involve just a loose circle of friends or a living, breathing object of devotion and love. Nothing is quite so complex and fluid as a relationship.
Why do I bring it up? Well, it’s as good a subject as any to ponder just past midnight on a Saturday night. I’ve been here all night on this barstool surrounded by people and the fog of noisy interaction. In the space of three hours or so I’ve seen it all, life’s rich pageant passing me by. I’ve always thought that sociologists and psychologists would be much more successful if they observed behavior at bars. This is humanity at its finest. A communal sharing of resources and space, just enough distraction to keep you from thinking about work on Monday, or what needs done at home. When you’re at the local bar, all that matters is being with your inner circle. Could be a group of your friends, acquaintances from work that you still can’t name, or even a significant other.
The couples are by far the best viewing material. I can get a sense of the personal future of two people with just a second’s glance. Toward the middle of the dining area, I can hear the relaxed laughter of two people at ease with who they are… and who they’re with. They’ll walk out in about twenty minutes after leaving a generous tip. He’ll put his arm around her and she’ll lean just a bit on him as they leave. Maybe on their way out, I can catch her eye for a split second and flash a well-wishing smile. Once outside they’ll be a little jarred by the sudden coolness of the June evening, but recover to walk (with just a shade of unsteadiness) to wherever they’re heading. Like I said, it’s nothing new to me.
It’s about a quarter ‘til one and I’m just killing time and my liver with a watered-down rum and Coke. I can’t help smiling when I witness scenes like that one. Those two aren’t worried about winter, or even next week. They’ve got each other and dammit, that’s good enough for them.
It’s getting a little quieter here now as the place empties. I’ve been sensing the ebb and flow all night, but it’s nothing you would notice until you hear the slightly upraised voice from the corner table. A dozen heads try to swivel slowly and subtly toward the sound. They fail miserably. At this stage of the night everything becomes black and white, screaming in contrast against itself but as seamless as an M. C. Escher painting. It’s a moment both profound and mundane at once. Nobody else seems to share this sense of midnight clarity with me. Why should they, though? It’s too easy to ignore it all and just plug on with your own thoughts. Now the heads around the bar begin their slow return toward the surface in front of them. But the eyes, those stay active, constantly stealing free glimpses of the show.
It’s always a corner table that has the conflict. I’ve never quite figured out why this is. I suppose that the people sitting there are hiding from themselves. There’s always some flaw in the relationship of the corner people, and it invariably comes out this time of night. I’m never surprised when it happens here. There’s the half-eaten pizza, a few mostly empty glasses… it’s all the trademark of an evening that’s been steeped in tension. Tonight it looks like it’s her turn to vent, judging by her voice that split the atmosphere mere seconds ago. And the poor guy with her just doesn’t know what to do. I know he’ll make a clumsy attempt to calm her nerves, sweep this particular clod of dirt under the rug. I also know that within five minutes, they’ll be long gone from this place, another generous tip left on the table. But this isn’t the “good service” tip. Tonight it’s the “I want the hell OUT of here and away from you” tip. Out the door they go, the girl’s long dark hair floating behind her and a hurricane boiling within her eyes. Her boyfriend (but not for much longer, maybe) is doing all he can to keep the pace without breaking into a trot. The door to the outside closes a bit more forcefully this time, and again the swiveled heads that watched the departure turn back. But some of the faces have wry smiles. I see the guy five stools down from me smirking. We both just shake our heads and share a silent chuckle. All part of the fine theater, scripted as much as a Greek drama in my memory.
Sarah the waitress stops by the hastily deserted table to clean up the mess and reap the rewards. Of course, she knows the story as well as I do. Heck, she probably didn’t even have to hear or see any of it to know what happened. She raises her eyebrows just a bit at the amount of money on the table, then shrugs to herself and slips it into her apron. It’s another short-lived relationship for her, seen through to its expected end.
It’s now just a bit past one-fifteen AM. Just me and a few “observing colleagues” left. About time for me to begin my walk home. I slip a couple final dollars under the empty glass on the bar and wave a short goodbye to the bartender. Stepping outside, I notice the chill that fell suddenly. It’s refreshing to me, the breeze invigorating and encouraging me to breathe in more of its essence. It’s a good night for a silent walk home down the tree-lined streets. Most of the houses are dark, but a few isolated windows are illuminated.
At my door I take one last breath of the night air and walk into my dark apartment. I don’t even bother to turn on my light as I take off my shoes and make my way to my small bedroom.
After all, I’ve seen it all before.