Page 6 - The Houseguest

wafted past the unheeded “no smoking” sign hanging on the wall outside the restroom as it blended with the stale spring breeze making its way through an open corridor. At the end of the hall, the back doors leading into the chain link “patio” area were propped open with a large rock. The landscaping consisted of weeds making their journey around concrete stones, the foundation for a rusted metal table and three chairs. I remember thinking even then: she doesn’t belong here.
We walked past her, further into the restaurant toward the back. We sat and placed our drink orders as Tom began a review of everything we had just completed and left across the street. Realizing he was simply repeating what had already been determined, I pretended to be interested. I almost envied his passion for the law. If only there was something in my life that could consume my thoughts with such intensity. That’s when I saw her walk toward the bar clutching the spiral notebook that apparently held some sort of important meaning for her. She sat down at the corner of the “L” and I found myself glancing in her direction more than once. It was as though her presence was made of steel and my eyes were magnets, drawn to watch her by no force of my own. I was trying to figure out her reason for being there. Was she an employee, or perhaps a wife or a girlfriend? There were no signs of a significant other nearby, nor any glimpse of light radiating from a band around her ring finger. Still, why was she here? I had to know.
Our drinks arrived as I began searching for an excuse to walk to the bar. The waitress brought me a Jack and Coke and Tom was served his usual, whiskey, neat. As is not an unfamiliar occurrence in a bar,
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life