Just wishful thinking

Carl gazed at the bus window watching the raindrops race each other
to the bottom.
Hoping that the rain would subside before he got into town temporarily
made him forget
his real reason for going into town. Well not forget but postpone.
After all this was the
third Friday in a row he had made the journey into town with only one
thing in mind. He
hoped to see her.
When had the last time been? Two months or more now. Seemed longer.
However his
spy network- their mutual set of friends- had told him how she was in
the habit of going
to town on a Friday and usually to O'learys. Carl himself hated theme
pubs of any kind
but held a special loathing of the Irish variety. They seemed to imply
that only the Irish
know how to have a good time. Who the hell like that fiddle-jig music
anyway-nobody-
unless they were full of Guinness. Seems everyone's Irish when they are
pissed.
He was getting distracted again. Not long to go now. He studied his new
haircut reflected
back in the bus window. Much more sensible his Mother would say. Almost
trendy. For
a thirty-five year old anyway. His whole outfit was new-never even been
washed yet.
Dress to impress-that was the idea. Would that be enough? Would she
even recognise
him? Course she would-he was being stupid now. Two month's isn't that
long. Yes she
would be surprised all right and-he hoped- more than a little
impressed.
The bus pulled up and a young girl got on with a most revealing dress.
Carl sneaked a
look at her reflection in the bus window. Very impressive- very young
too. In his mind he
replaced the young girls face with hers. Yes she would do that dress
justice all right. If
only he could get the chance to tell her. That would be a trick all
right. He saw a teenager
in a minuscule transparent dress that would look great on her. No maybe
not.
The town's main night-club was looming up in front indicating his
journeys end. One last
look at himself in the window, up and head for the exit. Normally he
would wait for the
bus to stop but tonight he was in a hurry. Stepping down on to the Kerb
he reviewed his
strategy for the umpteenth time. Should he have a few somewhere else to
get him in the
mood? That would be the sensible thing. That's what he had done the
past two week's-
and never seen her. Try something different tonight. Straight there.
Confront your fears-
and all that crap. Fears? Where had that word come from? Rejection?
Course it was. He
just didn't want to admit it. He crossed the road and headed straight
for O'learys.
The rain had stopped and Carl was thinking maybe his luck would be in
tonight. Yes
maybe it was fate. As he approached the pub's entrance he had the
feeling that something
was missing. Entering through the door he realised it was Bouncers-or
rather the lack of
them-on the door that was different. It was only on opening the door to
the lounge and
seeing the grand total of three people in the place that he realised he
was just a bit early.
The clock over the bar informed him it was 8.15. The other occupants of
the bar-two
women and a man-glanced over at him and returned to their conversation.
He strode up to
the bar and before he had realised what he was doing had ordered a pint
of Guinness.
When in Rome...
The night dragged on. The Guinness lay heavy in his stomach. He was
normally a lager
man and he was getting slightly drunk. He had managed to find himself a
stool at the end
of the bar, which gave him a good view of the whole bar. The ashtray in
front of him had
been emptied by the enthusiastic bar staff more than once and it was
nearly full again. He
was horribly aware that he was the only person alone in the place.
Couples, groups of
men, groups of women all who seemed to stay for just one drink then
move on, swam
slightly in his vision. The place was crowded all right. God she had
better turn up.
Sometime later he glanced at the large bay window across from him. It
was well dark
now. Where are you? There was at least a dozen or more bars around
here. The thought
depressed him. Shifting in his seat he felt the Guinness getting the
better of his bladder.
Time to empty his clog. Leaving his drink and a still smouldering
cigarette in the ashtray
he headed off for the toilets hoping that would be enough to keep his
place at the bar. As
he stood at the stall gratefully depositing his expensively filled
bladder he noticed the
array of condom machines on the far wall. He smiled to himself. Chance
would be a fine
thing.
As he exited the Gents swaying somewhat he heard a loud bell ringing.
Shit! Eleven bells
already! Oh well one more then home. Feeling somewhat relieved that his
place at the bar
was still vacant he mounted his stool somewhat like a cowboy mounting a
horse and
attempted to catch the Barmaids attention. That was when he noticed
her. Stood at the
opposite end of the bar with two other women.
His stomach flipped and he was vaguely aware that he was sweating
slightly. She looked
just like he remembered. She was beautiful. Probably not to anyone else
but to him she
was. Right. Here we go. He remained in his seat staring across at her.
What to say? There
were a million things he had rehearsed but now his mind was a blank.
God she looked
perfect. She looked radiant. She looked happy.
Of course she was happy. She was bright, attractive, and single. Why
shouldn't she look
happy? Carl stared down at his third finger, left hand. And he knew he
could never
approach her. What the hell had he been thinking? Infatuation at his
age? God no. She
was looking across in his direction with a slightly puzzled expression.
That did it. He
stood up and made a hasty retreat for the door, colliding with a few
people on route,
which brought warning glances from the bouncers on the door. Avoiding
their eyes he
stepped past them and crossed the road. He was gasping slightly and
felling slightly sick.
His new shirt was stuck to his back. Slowly he began to calm down. He
turned and
looked at the mass of people through the bay window. So there she was.
After all this
time she had reduced him to a scared schoolboy. He took a deep breath
and allowed
himself a sad smile. If only he could have told her. She was still the
best, still beautiful,
still the one- then maybe she would still have been his wife.
With a deep sigh he turned and headed for the last bus home.