Bar Keeper – Part IV
He wiped down his tables as the morning neared ten o’clock. He loved the quiet solitude of his bar every morning; he could think with no interruptions or distractions be himself for a short, blessed time without fear of someone reacting to who he truly was. His body superseded Homo Sapien status in that his superhuman cells allowed for speed, strength, and health, but he seemed a normal, common human man.
Common, that is, except for his heightened attractive quality. He was quite plain prior to his transformation, but he knew his alluring mystery was meant to help feed his addiction. His conscience, though, left completely in tact by that madman all those years ago, disallowed his primal wants to be fully met.
He threw his washcloth into a sink of bleach water and picked up the grocery list he compiled for his bar. He opened the front door and blessed the overcast, shielding his aged eyes and skin from the harsh sunlight. He heard singing birds in the small trees planted in the sidewalk. Something about this attempt at preserving nature never sat well with him, but he rarely understood twenty-first century humans with their lust for technology and progress for progress’s sake.
He entered the small grocery store, ringing the overhead brass bell, and found a small basket. He hated grocery shopping–he hated all shopping. A small boy ran from aisle to aisle in a feeble for still effective attempt to elude his clearly frustrated mother. Parenthood wasn’t entirely appealing–about as appealing as shopping.
Mentally groaning, he pressed forward and began gathering the items on his list. He started with the lemons and limes in produce and worked his way back to roasted peanuts and potato chips. There were times he would enjoy junk food and finer cuisine despite his everlasting lack of an appetite, but potato chips were is downfall. The salty crunch on his heightened sense of taste was almost a religious experience. He grabbed an extra bag of sour cream and onion for insurance, thankful that no one could hear his thoughts praising his extraordinary metabolism.
He stood behind the frantic mother and her rambunctious aisle-jumping son at the check-out. She had the boy’s small hand in hers, tightening her grip and pulling him back when he would try to escape. The small boy looked up at him with wide curious eyes, spotting the recognizable bags of sour cream and onion chips and, having been taught how to share with his peers in kindergarten, was anxious for his cut of the man’s snack.
“Stop staring,” the mother chastised, pulling her son down to their bagged groceries. They left with the boy glancing back at the chips.
“Hi, how are you?” the cashier mechanically asked.
“Fine.” No sense in attempting small talk. Why waste the effort when she wouldn’t appreciate it?
“Twenty seven thirty,” the cashier said.
He paid and left with a brief “thanks.” The birds in the caged sidewalk trees were still singing.
Then he saw her. She was across the street at an open coffee cart paying for her beverage of choice.
“I just want a blank coffee,” his super hearing eavesdropped. “Just black.”
The vendor pushed the daily special–a mocha something-or-other–but she knew what she wanted. He didn’t realize that a small thing like coffee could increase already growing affections and curiosities.
He crossed the street and silently stood behind her. Once she paid and picked up the steaming cup of black coffee, he said, “Hi.”
She turned around quickly with widened eyes that could compete with the aisle-jumping potato chip enthusiast. When was “hi” earth shattering? He held back a laugh and smirked instead.
“Hi,” she slowly replied.
“You look different in daylight.” He enjoyed the fair shade of pink that crept onto her cheeks.
“The same could be said for you.”
“It’s amazing what the time of day can do.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you a connoisseur?”
Understandably, she was confused until he looked at the coffee cup in her hand. She laughed.
“You seemed pretty adamant about your selection.”
“I was pretty animated, wasn’t I?” She smiled. She had such white teeth. “And no. I don’t even like coffee. My boss requested some, and our break room is fresh out.”
“And your boss gets what he wants?”
“He’s one of those polite dictators. You’ll end up doing whatever he wants without realizing you’ve become indentured.”
She was intelligent. His attraction rose. He could smell her–perfume, scent, everything–and she was intoxicating. Would he maintain control? His senses were already near overdrive. If the wind blew in the wrong direction, he would lose his grip.
“I should be getting back,” she said when he didn’t pick up conversation. “My boss will turn the office upside down searching for his coffee.”
“Will I see you tonight?” He prayed that his hopeful tone and expression were enough to make up for his rude and awkward silence. He knew this infatuation was dangerous, but he couldn’t deny the exhilarating rush.
“Sure,” she smirked. He could almost hear her pulse quicken.
“Great.” He made sure to flash his bright smile before saying, “See you tonight.” He turned and crossed the street, smiling to himself. He heard her gasp “Oh, my God” under her breath, only adding to his already charged adrenaline.
