𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐔𝐬

Part 11 ~ Brave

Michael's Point Of View ~ 

I stack up the few glasses on this table, one on top of another. I wipe the table down before I take the glasses back behind the bar to wash them. The water filled already, the bubbles silently popping . . almost in an invisible sense. One glass into the water, another glass . . then another. The water drenching each glass immediately. 

My eyes tired. My mind elsewhere. 

I didn't sleep the best last night, waking up suddenly from the storm and Odie crying . . a particular person in my thoughts as they therefore show themselves in my dream. I couldn't fall back asleep after that. I tried . . but I just couldn't. I'm working the day shift today. It's much more quiet, which I need. The occasional customer wondering in for a quick bite to eat, a quick sip of some sort of beverage before returning to their duties, whatever they might be. I take the glasses out of the hot water, placing them on a nearby towel. Allowing them to dry off, watching as the bubbles slide down and off the glass completely. I clear my throat as I do so. I have so many thoughts, so many feelings . . about one person. I just can't stop myself. 

She is always there. 

"Oh. Hey Mike . . " I hear suddenly. 

I snap out of my thoughts of her. Looking in the direction of the voice. 

"Hey Mark. How you going, mate? . . " I ask him. 

"Fine yeah, just not looking forward to working the night shift . . " 

Mark says, chuckling. He clocks on. Sighing with so much comical irritation. He is just wanting all the strength within himself to get through it. We both chuckle as I know that feeling all to well. I look at the clock. I finish in under an hour now. My shift going by quickly but also going by painfully slow. 

"Any plans for the rest of the day, Mike? . . " 

Mark asks me. Hmm, do I? I don't know yet. It makes me really think about it. I don't know if I have the courage. 

"Not that I can think of right now . . " 

I tell him. I brush off the question . . my entire response to it also. I hate being so unsure. I feel as if I'm in a battle with my head and my heart. And I don't know which one to choose. Which one do I listen to? Or should I just ignore both of them? 

I came back out onto the floor. I see once occupied tables now vacant. The sight of their empty plates, empty glasses, used cutlery wrapped up in a napkin tells me I must clear it all away. I walk over to it, doing just that. I take it all back where I was just moments ago, placing every used and dirty item into the waiting hot, bubbly water before it finds its resting place, on the towel. I walk towards the bar, standing behind it. I look up and see two women, looking to be in their mid to late 40s. They request a Bloody Mary to each drink. I gather everything that I need, all the ingredients that is required to make this particular cocktail. They sit down on the stools in from of them, in front of the bar . . right in front of me while they wait for their drinks. They talk among themselves. 

The drinks now made, Didn't take long at all. 

I place them in front of them. It's a very long glass that holds all those ingredients. The red makes the drink look so fierce while the green of the celery stalk calms it all down, making it look much more fresh and light. They say there thank you's to me. Going ahead and introducing themselves. 

Deborah and Carole. 

"Very handsome, isn't he Debbie? . . " Carole states, asking her. 

I feel myself blush, a nervous chuckle. I say nothing as I wipe down the bench, taking away spills I may have caused. 

"Don't even go there. Stop it, Carole! He is far too young for you . . " Debbie says. 

Carole takes a sip from her Bloody Mary that I have just made for them. 

"Well, I am divorced now. So there is no harm in saying he is extremely good looking. Call me a cougar. Thank you very much Debbie . . " Carole says, throwing me a wink. 

Carole laughs at her own words. She sips more and more of her drink until it's gone . . well, almost. I continue to look down. I feel Carole lean forward, towards me. 

"You have a girlfriend? Or a wife, gorgeous? . . " She asks me. 

I chuckle still in a nervous way. I don't. But I say that I do. Perhaps to get her to stop or because I wish I did have someone in my life. Not just anyone. I wish to have her . . Anika . . as mine. To have her by my side once again. Just like before. 

Debbie hits her arm. 

"Oh Carole, that is enough. He is working. And he does have a girlfriend so leave him alone . . " 

The time getting away from me. It's a few minutes after my finish time. 

"Be safe ladies. Excuse me . . " I say. 

I walk to go and clock off before heading towards my car. Thank god for that. Another day done of work . . until next time of course. The radio on. That is so much better, however the volume is very subtle. To go back to mine place, I need to turn right. I look into my rear view mirror. And as I'm looking back, I see myself. I look right into my own eyes. They look scared. But determined. I am the man in the mirror. I take a look at myself and I think right then and there . . do I make this change? My hands on the steering wheel. I must decide to do so now. 

I turn left, away from my place. 

My mind thinking about many things all at once. My heart pounding out of my chest. I take a big breath out . . it's so shaky. I feel so uneasy, unsettled. But before I can think about changing my mind, driving past and away from all of this . . there it is. There is the house. That house. The house were I spent much of my time there. I have memories there. Memories of those times were fun, they were silly. 

I get out of my car. 

How I'm feeling in this moment. I feel as if I can't even explain. I just need to be brave. I walk onto the front verandah, towards the front door that is almost within my reach. I feel the fear. I take a step forward. And then, as if by magic, I find my confidence. I have found my courage. I knock on the front door. The difference between taking that step or not is everything . . to knock or not to. It's a big deal, to me anyway. Over a period of 10 years, it defines who you are. But I did it. I have done it and now I know that I can't turn back. 

The front door opens. 

"Hi, Anika . . " I say softly. 

to be continued.