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Friday, 07 August 2009

Voyeur

By Brenton "Sandy" Dickson

Bored and searching for things to say, I toyed with the olive floating in my martini. We were trying to unwind after a vigorous day of spring skiing at the Middlebury College Snow Bowl. But Tim was coming down with the flu and didn’t really want to be there.

Trading stories with two ruddy-complexioned, white-haired octogenarians, a much younger bartender still wearing a John F. Kennedy for President campaign button five months after the election, stood behind his Victorian-style mahogany, brass-trimmed bar on the ground floor of the Middlebury Inn.

Cardboard drinks lists stood between full bowls of pretzels and clean ashtrays neatly positioned on freshly polished tables. Rays from the bright, early-April, afternoon sun poured in through a western window reflecting off the circular waves I was creating inside my glass and onto my unfocussed eyes.

The front door burst open and two people holding hands swept in. A tall, slim, angular, dark-haired girl being led by a similarly sized and shaped male with short brown hair and sporting a dark tan. It was “Shoulders” with her latest. (Shoulders was a nickname known only to me because I barely knew her.) Spotting familiar faces, a group seated at a table directly in front of me, they walked over, greeted one another, sat down and ordered drinks.

A couple of years before, Shoulders and her friend, George, were standing near the center of the living room during a party at the Theta Chi Fraternity house. With my legs draped over the arm of an over-stuffed, well-worn, upholstered chair, I was nursing a gin and tonic.

I peered through my nearly full glass and tried to imagine how they could possibly fit together. I craned my neck, first left and then to the right, using the magnification and as well as the distortions afforded by my gin, but I couldn’t quite put them together. Parts of each seemed to be at odds with those of the other. But throughout my careful examination, no matter how hard I tried not to, my gaze kept returning to her shoulders.

Thick cigarette smoke wafted throughout the bar room. Tired skiers, talkative students and weary town folk began to fill unoccupied tables as intensifying laughter near the bar rose above the chattering din. Shoulders and her friend were engaged in an intense discussion with the couple on their left, while the pair on her other side were doing their own thing.

As she listed towards the fellow on her right, Shoulders appeared to be up to something. I recognized him because we were in the same calculus class. He always seemed aloof and unapproachable. While still talking to her boyfriend, she had reached under the table and placed her hand onto my classmate’s left knee. Without turning away from his own conversation, her victim gently moved his left hand onto her upper right thigh.

Abruptly sitting up, Shoulders caused all limbs to go back to where they came from. “What are you doing?" she asked softly. After exchanging fleeting mischievous smiles, they returned to their partners.

I was becoming somewhat aroused and envious as I lasciviously anticipated the next development in the mini-soap opera unfolding in front of me. But it was not to be. Even though he was unable to see exactly what had transpired, Shoulder’s partner sensed it was time to leave. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and placed his share of the tab on the table.

They departed holding hands as they had when they came in, moving briskly towards the exit. Only this time she was pulling him, almost skipping, and smiling joyfully. The man she left behind was watching too, but he was not smiling. I turned toward my skiing friend, wondering if he had seen any of this. His blank face and glassy eyes indicated he was somewhere else.

I sighed and redirected my attention to the neglected olive still floating around in the middle of my martini.

[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

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