The front door opens as so-called happy hour winds down toward the evening crowd. A confident man enters boldlyand orders the first cocktail he sees on the menu. After the first sip, he sets down his drinkabsentmindedly.
And the band plays...
Someone to Watch Over Me
I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood
I know I could always be good
To one who'll watch over me
There was a time, my friend, when I could hardly have walked through the door, let alone chosen a cocktail. That time is behind me now, of course. Well. It hardly matters. For this place is a a market. True, it is a place to abandon the refuse you think you are done with, but it is not a rubbish bin. You can’t only leave things here. You must take something in return. Payment for your gift, whether you want it or not. Edna here, is what I received.
Please forgive my rudeness. Allow me to introduce my mother, Edna. Edna, this is...Well, no matter.
He turned away from both of us to taste his cocktail, and though his mother remained silent, he said, “You’re right, Mother. It is delicious. Just what I was longing for.”
He turned back to me and began his tale.
“I came here to abandon my...well...perhaps anxiety is not quite the word. It is close, but not quite. Anxiety, of course, comes in many flavors, and mine had its own, distinctive if not uncommon one. In my youth, like most precocious children, I despised being told what to do. Unlike most, however, I failed to grow out of that trait. As I grew up, I continued to feel as if the world was watching me, judging me, waiting for the opportunity to tell me how foolish I was. How every choice I made was not so much wrong as a choice no reasonable person would make. Dumb decisions from a dumb person. I navigated the world as if these judges were always watching me from across the room, or standing behind me, staring over my shoulder. Some would call that paranoia, and perhaps it was. For me, however, it wasn’t that I believed actual people were actually thinking about me. I have long accepted the well-trodden idea that most people are too concerned with themselves to think about anyone else, least of all me. Yet, the feeling dogged me. In the grocery, I was sure someone was laughing at my indecisiveness as I struggled with my choice of crackers. I would pull one package off the shelf, only to immediately return it, embarrassed that I had even gone that far with a box no sane person would bother with. Even in my empty home, I would hesitate to turn on the television, for fear of choosing the wrong show. I would stare in the fridge and go hungry as my failure to decide stretched into the bedtime hour. And the bathroom. the bathroom was the worst. I would stand before the commode, hesitating to relieve myself, holding back at each creak I thought I heard from elsewhere in the apartment building. At a public urinal, I could feel the presence of anyone in the room, even several stalls away. I could feel my demon staring at me, wondering what was taking so long.
Is that what stage fright is? The fear of being watched. Of being judged? Perhaps they are second cousins, but they are not the same. I never feared people watching me. I feared that people might be watching me. On stage, I suppose people applaud or they don’t. They laugh or they don’t. But they are there to see you. They look at you. they face you. They may judge you for a fool, but you know it. In my world, I feared not what someone might say to me, how someone might react, but that they might be judging me silently, and I would never know. What I wanted to abandon was my fear of that unknown. The way I was paralyzed by the sound of a door opening when I thought I was alone. Of footsteps coming down the hall toward my practice room when i believed I was about to practice in privacy. So it was before I...yes, Mother, I’m getting to that. Ahe’s right of course. You see, all of this anxiety was manageable for me as long as had some privacy. As long as I could believe I was really alone in my private apartment. When I lost my job, however, any hope of continuing to afford that luxury vanished. Given my mother’s failing health, I inevitably moved back home where there was more than enough space for the two of us, and I could save money in the process.
At first, that worked well. Mother was well enough to cook, which she always loved to do, and I took her to doctor appointments and helped with the cleaning and laundry. I had my private bedroom and could practice piano in the parlor without much fear. Yet, she was always there. In the middle of the night, she would rise from bed and I would hear footsteps in the hall. Hear the refrigerator opening. Here the flush of her toilet. Over time, I became acutely aware that I could hear, so, too, could she, and that every one of my own footsteps, of my own trips to the kitchen, to the bathroom were broadcasted through the house. That should I dare to try a new piece, that every mistake would be noticed. That a questionable midnight snack would be scrutinized. I became a paragon of fear and knew I must either leave altogether, or find some other solution
Or so I thought... That’s what I had in mind when I walked through the door of this place for the first time. When I could hardly turn the doorknob to the stairwell for fear someone might prick up their ears and notice I was stupid enough to enter. When I looked behind me and up the stairs ten times on my way to the catacombs, sure that I was being observed.
Such was my anxiety Before I dared come here. A decorative capital upon a column of what some might call paranoia. For, not only did I fear that I would be found out for lacking what I was sure all others had, always suspected that those others might be watching me. Judging me, waiting for me to fall short. Not just that if they dared to look, they would see me for the fool I was, but that they might dare to look. To listen. That I was never alone. Could not be. That there was always the eye of judgement staring at me. Peering, penetrating the shell I had worked so hard to create, the shell I needed to hide my true self from the world. My private self. Though it was certainly not true, I could feel myself always watched. I thought, if only I could abandon my anxiety, my fear of being watched, perhaps I could at last feel left alone. Find the private space I so desperately desired. It was with that hope I determined to visit this miserable place. Alone.
I knew Mother would wonder when she heard the garage door open, but somehow, I found courage, and what little boldness I still possessed, and drove here.
I was welcomed of course. The devils that run this place were thrilled to see me. To make their deal. To take my gift. To allow me to abandon what I was so desperate to. Not in my wildest dreams, though, did I imagine they would not let me leave empty handed. Such is the nature of this cursed place.
The host guided me to the stairs and gestured for me to go before him. Carefully, quietly, I hoped silently, I descended.Ten times along the way I stopped to listen, sure I was followed. Ten times I turned back to look back to where I had entered, taring into the shadows I was sure obscured my secret observer. Ten times I stood still in absolute silence waiting until I could convince myself at last that I was truly alone. I continued my descent only to stop again, sure my foolishness was observed.It took all of what little courage I possessed to descend in earnest, pushing myself forward and down toward my fate in the empty catacomb below. Or so I thought. For while I did suspected something would be waiting for me down there. Even some one, perhaps, or a monster, or a devil; never did I expect to find her there. At first I had been plagued only by the sound of her footsteps, but upon reaching the dank basement at the foot of the stairs, I found her waiting for me. My mother. the woman you see beside me now. Yes, Mother, I cannot deny that. You are right, of course. You always are.
With her hands upon her hips, she stared at me with eyes to pierce my heart. She said,” You did not need to trouble yourself with this place. If you wanted to abandon me, you needed only to say so.
“Mother,” I replied. It is not you I came to abandon.
“Your transparency is obvious even to me, she replied. Leave me. Be gone. You are done with me? Fine. Good luck. I will not hinder you.”
I was dumbstruck. I had not come to abandon my mother. I had simply desired some peace. Some solitude. Privacy. A moment to be myself and care not whether others were watching.
It was a trick of this place, I was sure. I had heard rumors of their dealings, how they could not be trusted. I turned on my heels, and left the specter of my mother behind, determined to give up on my quest and leave this place for good.
Halfway up the stairs, however, I once again stopped and waited in silence to discover if I was alone. I had heard footsteps, I was certain, but were they only the echoes of my own? In my head, I heard a different echo. The echo of my mother’s voice. “Leave me. Be gone. I will not hinder you. “I did as she suggested, leaving behind what I believed to be only a chimera. I ascended the stairs with a sadness in my heart, fearing that I had broken my mother’s. Yet, she was not gone. Not fully. I wondered if she was following me as I ascended, and footsteps echoed off the walls. Her voice rang in my head. “I’m proud of you for leaving, the voice said. “It is time you found your own way.
I smiled at the sound of her voice and continued my climb.
The climb was tiring. I hadn’t realized how far I had descended, and on the way back, I quickly fatigued. I was winded and sore, but I vowed to myself to push through.
Mother’s voice, however had not fully disappeared. “Take your time, son,” she said. Put your weight on the left. You’ve always found that to help.”
Without thinking, I did as she suggested, and my weariness waned. I limped my way up, feeling better. At the top, panting, I made my way to the bar. I could hear my breaths in and out of my head.
“You must be exhausted, dear. How unfair of these people to make you work so hard just to go back and forth. No reasonable person could hike these stairs without a rest,” I stopped for a break, leaning on the railing, smiling at the improvement I felt.
At the top, I looked about the bar, unsure of whether I should imbibe or just go home. Feeling awkward, I sat alone at a cafe table. As a waiter approached, Mother’s voice once again rang in my ear.
“Such an excellent thought, dear, A snack, perhaps, and maybe a drink. You’ve never linked liquor very much, but I’m sure you’d feel better after a turkey sandwich and a rum punch.”
I ordered as she suggested, and after a few sips, began to feel better.
I considered the long drive home, and though nature was calling me, I feared facing the public restroom was not a challenge I could face. Better, I thought to hold it in until I was home.
In my head, Mother’s voice once again filled my mind. “No need to suffer in the car.”You’ll be fine.” Just walk into the bathroom and nature will take care of the rest.
As she suggested, I made my way, sure I heard every footstep behind me. At the urinal, I heard the door open and froze. In my head, however, I heard Mother clear in my head. “Your courage makes me proud.
I let myself go into the urinal and could feel the stress leave my body. “You have done well, today, son, she said, as I left the restroom and headed toward the exit. “Be sure to pay your bill before leaving. Just leave some cash on the table, and your server will take care of it. Ask him what the bill comes to and leave some extra money for his trouble. I pulled out what cash I had and left some extra bills as she suggested.
“That’s plenty, son. Be generous but not extravagant. We are simple people.”
I rose to leave at last, with her voice following me out the door. A voice that has been with me ever since.
It is true, I am watched all the time, now. Mother is always with me, but she never hides herself. She sees my mistakes before I make them and tells me just what to do. And she is always right. I am no longer anxious from fear that I may be observed. That I may be watched or judged, For I know I am, and am always found to be well and true. “C’mon Mother. Let’s go.