An Old Man, Looking for Friends
An old man, looking for friends, sits at a table in the Alley Bar with a couple of acquaintances. He met them through his program at the University, but he knows he'd never admit that he has no friends of his own. Friends from before he started his PhD. This old man's name is Baker.
Baker's head was a completely shaven bald. His face was only wrinkled at the brow and around the eye sockets, creating the impression that there was seam between the rest of his face and where his eyes fell in.
Baker looked at his companions thinking how much more they had going for them than he ever did...
“Okay,” he shifts his weight, “well he says 'can I see some ID, ma'am?' and she's trying to unzip her purse, but the strap falls off and it starts drooping down and down.”
“Yeah?”
“The cop just waits for her. She's clearly just out of it, but he just lets her struggle all by herself. It was cruel. The poor girl starts to bend over, while still failing to unzip it, trying to pick up the strap that's only falling farther and farther down the more she moves. Her short dress starts riding up even more. It's like she was slowly falling into a cat's cradle.”
He makes a motion with his arms, circling them around his body.
“The cop is just now trying to help her. He picks up the strap and puts it into her hand.”
A short pause for a sip of beer, then he lightly taps the table.
“And so she grabs it and stands right into the place where the cop's head is. BOOM! He should've seen it coming, cause his head tipped up and he fell rocking back on his ASS!”
The woman, holding a drink, starts giggling uncontrollably, trying to keep the drink she had just sipped in her now ever-widening mouth.
“Oh god, that's hilarious.”
Baker chuckled a deep, self-conscious chuckle, holding his beer up in the air. The man and woman at the table with him looked at each other like they knew. They knew what he was.
“That sounds unbelievable,” Baker said.
“Yes, but I swear I was across the street watching it happen the entire time.”
The man, Jeff, leaned on the waist-high chairs and smiled at Baker. The woman, Marie, sat at the end of the table stirring her drink, hypnotized by the swirl it made.
The old man leaned back against the wood paneling, still feigning a slight grin. Lit only matte black lamp hanging overhead, his features became obscured by shadow as he bent away from the light.
“I've never been arrested,” Marie said, still looking down at her drink.
“I do remember one time. This one time, me and my girlfriends went out to the bar down the street from our apartment,” she wiggled a little in her seat trying to readjust her skirt.
“There we just sat drinking and talking about our day until this guy staggered in. He was loud. I mean LOUD. He falls into the bar headfirst, missing the stools. We all jump in our seats. One of the bartenders came out from around the bar to check on him.”
Baker shifted. He wished he were more drunk. He wanted to feel completely out of it like that man. His brain felt baked and burned. He wanted to crash into the arms of friends rather than stools, though.
He leaned back again into the wood paneling and, as he did so, his form burned into the wood. It might have looked like there was a blow torch burning around his body as he fell into it, while conversation continued on.
It felt like he was moving through coal dust. His eyes had become two miner's helmet lamps. Illuminating everything in his field of vision. Falling backward into this densely shrouded cavern, the instinct to scream finally peaked in his brain. It failed to even reach his ears.
What happened then felt like an unexpected plop. He hit the ground like he'd just fallen out of bed. He sat there for a moment, reminded how old and decrepit he felt now that his seeming descent had reached its apparent end.
Of course, he could have fallen asleep. Old men in bars do tend to do that after they've had enough to drink. He'd not turned into an unruly insect, though, like the many dreams he'd had since high school English class.
Though it did look like a tunnel some feral creature could have dug. New dream, same nightmare.
Its eyes peered out of the darkness. A long snout of a mouth. Large, fierce-looking paws, ideal for digging. It stepped into the dirt corridor, its paws folded over each other at his waist. It wore a rather smart looking black suit with pin stripes.
It was the mammal he'd read about who's fear and isolation he felt he shared so much in common with throughout his life as an academic and long before as a child.
“You're here to kill me, aren't you?”
“No. I only wanted to feel what it was like to be you. To have carved myself out an isolated chamber. Somewhere I could manage on my own. Watch others, write and study as an individual given to partaking in one's pleasures at one's own leisure.”
“Oh, good, but it still sounds like you wanna kill me.”
It grimaced for a second, as what seemed to look like pain crossed its face.
“If you understand me so well, then you know you're violating my desire for isolation. My desire to be left unthreatened.”
“Of course, but I don't know the way out.”
“You must, you're here.”
“No, I fell here. There must have been some sort of structural failing you weren't aware of while securing this tunnel leading up.”
“Tunnel up?” It's matted brown fur rippled as it shifted its head slightly.
“Why would I tunnel straight up? Ascending corridors are always an eventual climb, I never construct such steep entrances. You must have burrowed such a hole.”
It growled and shook. Taking a step forward, it crouched into an aggressive stance.
Cowering, his head was hanging down, reluctant to look up, Baker was now yelling into the ground.
“This is wrong. Look at me, I'm but an old man.” He lifted up his arms in a fragile defense. “Look at my hands, they're aged and ragged. I am no digger. I have only wandered here and become disoriented, please let me go. You don't need to worry about my intentions.”
The creature relaxed, almost relieved. It straightened itself back to its original position. It stood sort like Ed Sullivan, Baker thought, when he finally looked up to see that it had calmed down.
“Please just let me out.”
It stood there for a moment unmoved.
“I've considered your request.”
Silence.
“I will show you out.”
“Thank you.” He relaxed as well. Regaining his composure, he realized how perfectly rounded the walls were. The carefully smoothed curvature of this dirt labyrinth.
It turned around in a smooth, curt motion and beckoned him to follow with its hand at its waist. The first few steps fell onto a moist mire that formed along the floor of the passage. He felt unnerved by how easily he could find his way through what must have been a pitch-black tunnel. It was the only thing, outside of his host, that reminded him that he might still be in a dream.
“It's cool down here.”
“I've constructed it that way,” the mole in a suit said without pausing.
“Its complexity is fascinating. I swear we've circled the place twice,” he choked out.
“We haven't changed direction.”
“Could we rest?" He stooped and grasped his knees. "I'm an old man.”
“What was that sound?”
“I don't know. I couldn't hear a thing over my panting.”
“I think you should leave. Just continue through here.” He pointed into what seemed to be an impassable embankment that ran down into nothing. Baker walked forward into it as a blind man now. The creature watched him from down the other side.
“Where's the end?”
“It's there, just keep going. You must push through however.”
He hit what appeared to be a wall of some thick vegetation. He slogged through and looked up.
He saw the man's face.
“It's time to go, sir. They paid your bill and left.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry. I feel embarrassed.”
“We don't mind. It's better than you leaving and driving headlong into a ditch asleep at the wheel.” The waiter removed his drink and napkin, wiped down the table, and smiled. “And we know you here, sir. It's an honor.”
“Thank you,” he said as he unfolded himself and took his time unseating himself. “You don't know how much I appreciate your sentiment.”
“Of course, have a goodnight and drive safe. Some people act like they own the road this time of night.”
Baker's head was a completely shaven bald. His face was only wrinkled at the brow and around the eye sockets, creating the impression that there was seam between the rest of his face and where his eyes fell in.
Baker looked at his companions thinking how much more they had going for them than he ever did...
“Okay,” he shifts his weight, “well he says 'can I see some ID, ma'am?' and she's trying to unzip her purse, but the strap falls off and it starts drooping down and down.”
“Yeah?”
“The cop just waits for her. She's clearly just out of it, but he just lets her struggle all by herself. It was cruel. The poor girl starts to bend over, while still failing to unzip it, trying to pick up the strap that's only falling farther and farther down the more she moves. Her short dress starts riding up even more. It's like she was slowly falling into a cat's cradle.”
He makes a motion with his arms, circling them around his body.
“The cop is just now trying to help her. He picks up the strap and puts it into her hand.”
A short pause for a sip of beer, then he lightly taps the table.
“And so she grabs it and stands right into the place where the cop's head is. BOOM! He should've seen it coming, cause his head tipped up and he fell rocking back on his ASS!”
The woman, holding a drink, starts giggling uncontrollably, trying to keep the drink she had just sipped in her now ever-widening mouth.
“Oh god, that's hilarious.”
Baker chuckled a deep, self-conscious chuckle, holding his beer up in the air. The man and woman at the table with him looked at each other like they knew. They knew what he was.
“That sounds unbelievable,” Baker said.
“Yes, but I swear I was across the street watching it happen the entire time.”
The man, Jeff, leaned on the waist-high chairs and smiled at Baker. The woman, Marie, sat at the end of the table stirring her drink, hypnotized by the swirl it made.
The old man leaned back against the wood paneling, still feigning a slight grin. Lit only matte black lamp hanging overhead, his features became obscured by shadow as he bent away from the light.
“I've never been arrested,” Marie said, still looking down at her drink.
“I do remember one time. This one time, me and my girlfriends went out to the bar down the street from our apartment,” she wiggled a little in her seat trying to readjust her skirt.
“There we just sat drinking and talking about our day until this guy staggered in. He was loud. I mean LOUD. He falls into the bar headfirst, missing the stools. We all jump in our seats. One of the bartenders came out from around the bar to check on him.”
Baker shifted. He wished he were more drunk. He wanted to feel completely out of it like that man. His brain felt baked and burned. He wanted to crash into the arms of friends rather than stools, though.
He leaned back again into the wood paneling and, as he did so, his form burned into the wood. It might have looked like there was a blow torch burning around his body as he fell into it, while conversation continued on.
It felt like he was moving through coal dust. His eyes had become two miner's helmet lamps. Illuminating everything in his field of vision. Falling backward into this densely shrouded cavern, the instinct to scream finally peaked in his brain. It failed to even reach his ears.
What happened then felt like an unexpected plop. He hit the ground like he'd just fallen out of bed. He sat there for a moment, reminded how old and decrepit he felt now that his seeming descent had reached its apparent end.
Of course, he could have fallen asleep. Old men in bars do tend to do that after they've had enough to drink. He'd not turned into an unruly insect, though, like the many dreams he'd had since high school English class.
Though it did look like a tunnel some feral creature could have dug. New dream, same nightmare.
Its eyes peered out of the darkness. A long snout of a mouth. Large, fierce-looking paws, ideal for digging. It stepped into the dirt corridor, its paws folded over each other at his waist. It wore a rather smart looking black suit with pin stripes.
It was the mammal he'd read about who's fear and isolation he felt he shared so much in common with throughout his life as an academic and long before as a child.
“You're here to kill me, aren't you?”
“No. I only wanted to feel what it was like to be you. To have carved myself out an isolated chamber. Somewhere I could manage on my own. Watch others, write and study as an individual given to partaking in one's pleasures at one's own leisure.”
“Oh, good, but it still sounds like you wanna kill me.”
It grimaced for a second, as what seemed to look like pain crossed its face.
“If you understand me so well, then you know you're violating my desire for isolation. My desire to be left unthreatened.”
“Of course, but I don't know the way out.”
“You must, you're here.”
“No, I fell here. There must have been some sort of structural failing you weren't aware of while securing this tunnel leading up.”
“Tunnel up?” It's matted brown fur rippled as it shifted its head slightly.
“Why would I tunnel straight up? Ascending corridors are always an eventual climb, I never construct such steep entrances. You must have burrowed such a hole.”
It growled and shook. Taking a step forward, it crouched into an aggressive stance.
Cowering, his head was hanging down, reluctant to look up, Baker was now yelling into the ground.
“This is wrong. Look at me, I'm but an old man.” He lifted up his arms in a fragile defense. “Look at my hands, they're aged and ragged. I am no digger. I have only wandered here and become disoriented, please let me go. You don't need to worry about my intentions.”
The creature relaxed, almost relieved. It straightened itself back to its original position. It stood sort like Ed Sullivan, Baker thought, when he finally looked up to see that it had calmed down.
“Please just let me out.”
It stood there for a moment unmoved.
“I've considered your request.”
Silence.
“I will show you out.”
“Thank you.” He relaxed as well. Regaining his composure, he realized how perfectly rounded the walls were. The carefully smoothed curvature of this dirt labyrinth.
It turned around in a smooth, curt motion and beckoned him to follow with its hand at its waist. The first few steps fell onto a moist mire that formed along the floor of the passage. He felt unnerved by how easily he could find his way through what must have been a pitch-black tunnel. It was the only thing, outside of his host, that reminded him that he might still be in a dream.
“It's cool down here.”
“I've constructed it that way,” the mole in a suit said without pausing.
“Its complexity is fascinating. I swear we've circled the place twice,” he choked out.
“We haven't changed direction.”
“Could we rest?" He stooped and grasped his knees. "I'm an old man.”
“What was that sound?”
“I don't know. I couldn't hear a thing over my panting.”
“I think you should leave. Just continue through here.” He pointed into what seemed to be an impassable embankment that ran down into nothing. Baker walked forward into it as a blind man now. The creature watched him from down the other side.
“Where's the end?”
“It's there, just keep going. You must push through however.”
He hit what appeared to be a wall of some thick vegetation. He slogged through and looked up.
He saw the man's face.
“It's time to go, sir. They paid your bill and left.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry. I feel embarrassed.”
“We don't mind. It's better than you leaving and driving headlong into a ditch asleep at the wheel.” The waiter removed his drink and napkin, wiped down the table, and smiled. “And we know you here, sir. It's an honor.”
“Thank you,” he said as he unfolded himself and took his time unseating himself. “You don't know how much I appreciate your sentiment.”
“Of course, have a goodnight and drive safe. Some people act like they own the road this time of night.”