A man comes in sheepishly, and stares quietly long enough that the bartender offers him a menu of specialty drinks.
He apologizes and takes his time with the menu
He says, “Sorry. I’ll have...sorry, how about...sorry
That’s alright,” the bartender tells him. Take your time.”
Again, the man apologizes, finally ordering a Vodka lemonade, before apologizing one more time.
And the band plays...
More Than You Know
Whether you’re right,
whether you’re wrong,
man of my heart,
I’ll string along
More than I show
More than you’ll ever know
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to...”Did I...? Sorry. I should have...sorry. You go first.
I thank him before ordering my usual and encouraging him to begin his story.
“ She always said I was too arrogant for my own good. A know-it-all and a mansplainer. Was it a crime to educate myself? To be curious about my world and share my bounty? Sure, I usually thought I was the smartest guy in the room, maybe even was from time to time, but so what? Sorry. I did it again. Let me...
He adjusts his stool to put a little more space between us and continues with his tale.
“It wasn’t just her. So many people tried to tell me. To shut me up. But I always thought she could, that for her it was just part of who I was. Who she had once fallen in love with. I knew I was bossy, but I thought she didn’t mind. That she found my habits adorable. Charming in their own way. That she was willing to live with me, accept me for who I was. faults and all.Not so. What she wanted, possibly, what she needed,maybe,, was for me to...for me to...well, maybe...change? To try and, well...bury who I was on the inside where others wouldn’t have to see it?
It seemed impossible to me. Why hold my tongue when the people around me were always such fools? Why let them tell each other lies when I could see right through them? Why let others tell stories that were confusing at best, when I knew I could tell them better,help them understand, if only they would let me try. Let me speak.
You see...sorry...what I mean to say is...at that time...sorry, I’m boring you...I should just...well...alright then. You see, at that time, I not only saw the world for fools, but I knew them to be so. It wasn’t that I thought I knew better. I was certain I did. I supposed I could change myself on the outside, learn to hold my tongue, sit at the back of the room, but on the inside, I would still know the truth. The sort of change she wanted was not something I could achieve.
Not without help.
Of course, I didn’t believe the stories I’d heard of this place. I took them for just more foolish tales from foolish people, easy marks who had been suckered into believing a con I was sure they had fallen for at some point, and were trying to get me to fall for as well. I was not shy a bout telling them so.
Yet here I am.
Sorry. I should have...sorry. Should I...sorry...
“I did not believe this place actually existed. I came here more to prove the fools wrong than anything else. When I was met at the door, it was the surprise of my life. I said what I believed to be the password but was immediately thrown down the stairs.
I landed on the stone floor leading to the catacombs, and from the top of the stairs, heard the bouncer shout from above as he descended toward me. When he reached me where I lay at the bottom, crumbled in pain, he said, ‘Why are you so late?’
“I said, ‘There are laws against treating people like this. I’ll sue you all out of business.’
“He grabbed me by the collar, and dragged me up the stairs, where he asked again, ‘Why are you so late?’
I said, ‘It’s first thing in the morning. Bars don’t even open until evening.’
“He threw me down the stairs again, and said, ‘Why are you so late?’
“I could hardly move from the pain of the second fall, but answered with, ‘You’re just supposed to show up here. They don’t even take appointments.’
“He dragged me up the stairs again, this time saying no more than, ‘Shut up, kid. Tell me why you’re so late.’
‘”Isaid, ‘I was told to come to the front door, not anything about a time.’ ‘Places like this don’t even have clocks. They don’t care about the time.’
“He threw me down the stairs again.
“At the bottom, I thought I was dead, but he was once again looming over me, demanding, ‘Why are you so late?’
“I tried to figure out what he wanted to hear. Did he want the name of who had given me the password? How I had found the place? I told him that and more, and he answered me by dragging me up the stairs again and once more throwing me down. I begged him to stop and let me leave. Told him I would tell him whatever he wanted, but he only repeated the same question again and again. Why was I late?
Face down and speaking to the moldy stone, I said I had not been told a time to meet. I told him I assumed no one would be open this early. I told him there was no open sign on. I told him no reasonable person would expect a cocktail lounge to be open before sunrise. I told him normal people worked in the morning. He answered me only with pain. Up the stairs again and down. Up and down. Some kicks to the gut at the bottom for good measure. And his only words the same question, over and over. ‘Why are you so late?’
“I told him why I had come. What I had hoped for. That I was doing it for her, more than for me. That I was desperate, and this place seemed to be my last chance.
“He answered me with more violence and his incessant question. ‘Why are you so late?’
“I told him I was afraid. That I didn’t know if I was ready to give up my wisdom.
He laughed at me and told me I had no wisdom. He said I was clever at best, proud at worst, but wisdom was practically out of my reach. Then, he asked me again why I was so late.
I told him I thought being clever was all I had. That my smarts were the only part of me of value. The only thing that made me better than others. That If I gave that up, I would be just like everyone else.
“He didn’t believe me, and proceeded to rain more violence upon me.
“You see...this place...they don’t...I’m sorry. I really don’t...what do I know? Who am I to tell you anything? But...it seems like...like this place...they tell you the only cost is what you want to abandon anyway, but they demand you show it. They must know you have it before they can take it. And down in the catacombs, with my enraged demon torturing me with physical pain, I finally began to understand. Not that I...not that a person could...Sorry...I don’t mean to suggest that...but it seemed to me that...that he not only needed to see my arrogance, but see that I saw it.”
“I told him I was late because I spent the morning lying in bed, afraid that abandoning my pride would mean abandoning myself. That I had been so sure for so long that I knew better than everyone around me, I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit they might know more than me. That I might be wrong. Sorry...Did I?...That was me. Sorry. “I told him I was late because I feared that beneath my pride, there was nothing but empty space. Useless space. That she could never really love me if I was just like everyone else. If I was no better. If I was just another dumb zombie following the pack instead of leading them. That I had been pretending for so long, that I actually thought I was all that. And what if I wasn’t?
And I cried.“He knelt down next to me and kissed my cheek. Then he leaned into my ear and whispered, ‘Decide if you love her. If you do, tell her so.’
“With that, he walked up the stairs, leaving me behind.
“I went home and told her I was sorry. That I had been a fool. That she didn’t need someone to tell her what to do. To speak for her. To tell her what the world wants. That I just needed to step back. Maybe shut up? Give others a chance? Then we fought for an hour over what to do for dinner. In the end, she picked a restaurant, and we had a lovely time. I think she’s happier. She got what she wanted. It is true I boss her around less. Boss others around less. I think they all like me better for that, but there I times I wonder if along with my arrogance, my pride, I also lost some respect.I think I can live with that.”
“Sorry. I’ve talked to long. I should...sorry...I should go...She’s probably wondering why I’m so late.”