The Tear

Another week ebbed into memory. The pressure from production demands had left me frustrated and fatigued. Rumors were flying concerning the impending downsizing and morale was at an all time low among my coworkers. It seemed as if I was beyond caring, and had all but resigned myself to another lonely weekend when, as I punched the clock, my supervisor Ned invited me to a “dive” he’d found within a stone’s throw from the security gate. Feeling obligated to my old friend, I accepted his invitation resigned to endure whatever for the sake of our long standing friendship.

Being the lead man in the small production shop for the past three out of the fifteen years that I had worked for Ned, had given me a sense of tainted accomplishment, knowing full well that it was his recommendation that had landed me the position I currently held. Far be it for me to understand his affinity for me other than our tenure that had spanned both my maturation and the crushing divorce of my childhood sweetheart. Always supportive and understanding, he was a true friend worthy of any sacrifice I could offer. As I followed him into the disheveled parking lot however, I began to have some doubts as to the evenings outcome.

The door swung inward with an irritating squeak as if begging for oil. The dusty environment was dimly lit and reeked of cigarettes and cooking grease, and I spied the small portable cooking grill atop the back of the bar. There were no more than ten tables scattered on the creaking wooden floor, most obscured by darkness and haze. Several patrons were scattered among the worn tables muttering nonsensical expletives that were occasionally punctuated by muted laughter. As we were seated at one of the more obscured tables, I noted the walls were embellished with an assortment of paraphernalia that would make a sanitation engineer groan. There were old family photos, and articles of yellowed attire including some stained panties that resembled toxic hazardous waste.

“It’s OK Ben,” my host chuckled as his signaled the aging barmaid for a pitcher of ale; “Actually the burgers are quite good, but more importantly, my wife would fear to tread within these walls.”

“I can understand her feelings Ned,” I returned quietly still in awe of the ambiance. “May I ask what in the hell we’re doing here?”

“Ben,” he stumbled as his face suddenly grew sullen, “It appears as if I’m going to lose over half of the crew due to the recent management decisions, and I needed to talk to someone whom I can trust in confidence.”

My heart leapt to my throat as I wondered if this was where he would let me down easily. What better place, I thought, than a dive that cockroaches shied away from. Filling our chipped mugs from the pitcher that had just arrived, I scarcely noticed the waitress, that shoved the twenty that Ned handed to her into her breast pocket indifferently as she swaggered back to the refuge of the dimly lit bar stool she had occupied prior to our untimely interruption. I braced myself for my unofficial termination notice tersely, as thoughts of the impending financial insecurities danced in my head.

“You’ll probably wind up with a promotion out of this,” Ben offered as he took a long drag of his cigarette and capped it with a sip of warm beer. “How does Ben Kingsman, Production Supervisor sound to you?”

Relieved, yet remorseful, I toyed with my helping of brew and stifled my response. So many of the souls I had come to know personally on a day to day basis would suddenly join the agonizing ranks of the unemployed while I tried to motivate the remaining refugees towards the feigned security upper management would surely attempt to instill.

“What about you Ned,” I queried, almost fearful of the answer.

“I’ve been offered a position upstate at the new plant. Moving Liz and the family is not among my list of desired tasks, but the alternative is not conducive to our financial security. There are still too many years before I can retire, especially with Jenny starting college next fall.”

“Damn,” I offered.

“Yeah.” he returned, and we both became lost in our memories of the good years gone by. A tear trickled down his cheek. Despite the muted sounds around us, the room became silent and removed as we searched for consolation. Moments later, some laborers, mostly middle aged women from the “sweatshop” across the street, began to file in amidst a babble of expletives that stirred Ned and I from our sorrows. A chorus of laughter erupted from one of the groups that had formed around a table nearby, and the chubbiest gals laughter had an almost addictive affect that made us both grin despite ourselves.

The molested waitress reappeared and advised us that if we had any intention of ordering, we better do it now before everyone else gets started. Ned complimented her on her thoughtfulness as he studied the weathered menu. She shrugged it aside and stood impatiently as she studied his suit incredulously. We both went for the grease burger and fries with a warm-up on the beer, perhaps silently hoping a heart attack would put an end to our heavy hearts. She turned on her heel producing a squeak that rivaled a bean taco fart. We laughed, despite ourselves.

As the evening hours quickly slid into nightfall, we nursed our heartburn and dug deep into our reserves to console each other while cursing the inevitable. By the time the second sweatshop shift arrived, Ned and I were both oblivious to much of anything other than the camaraderie that held us together for so many years. As gracefully as a drugged elephant, he excused himself amidst his ever present recommendation for me to get laid. I dismissed him with a playful gesture as he swaggered out the squeaking door, and I silently prayed he would make it home safely.

Surrounded by no names, I felt alone, and silently observed the room the had just recently began a slow cylindrical spin around my seat. The hangover was going to be atrocious. Trying to appear sober, I gazed about the smoky room at the various groups of women as they babbled about their mundane routines and their families latest crises. Ned was right, I felt terribly alone this night, and the thought of driving home depressed me even further. I ordered a cup of strong coffee.

Another group of babbling workers entered and with nary an open table, they curtly asked me to surrender mine. Not wanting to be part of a conversation in which I didn’t belong, I politely excused himself to seek refuge in my coffee at the bar. It wasn’t until after I had stumbled up to the oak stained mantle that I realized all the weathered stools were occupied by the male minority from across the street. Knowing my capacity to drive through the myriad of Friday night lunatics was greatly reduced, I sought a landing site anywhere within the dive that would offer even the slightest hint of tranquility. A song of long ago began to replay it’s somber notes in my memory and I began to hum to myself.

In one of the dark corners, a somber figure sat silently, almost entirely obscured by shadows. As I stumbled over to the two seat table, I interrupted the melody long enough to curse myself for being so short-sighted - a characteristic I rarely displayed. The tired face that looked up at me when I arrived almost made me turn back to the bar. Yet there was a silent desperation in her deep brown eyes that somehow urged me to continue. She wasn’t particularly attractive I mused. But then a full figured middle-aged female laborer posed little threat to my misery, I concluded as I tried to assemble a non-threatening request.

After an awkward silence, I awkwardly gestured at the vacant chair. She studied my face pensively for a few moments before she nodded. I damn near fell into the hardwood seat. Her gaze was distant as she studied me indifferently before turning her eyes back to the worn hewn table that trembled slightly as I shifted into a more comfortable position. Her long gray coat was opened just enough for me to glimpse the sagging breasts that pressed firmly against the white on gray polka-dot dress that seemed to go on forever. I wondered for a brief instant if she belonged to some obscure religious cult with a strict dress code, yet dismissed the thought quickly as I reasoned polka-dots have never been considered commensurate with conservative attire.

Her glass of poison was empty and she gazed about somewhat wistfully as I offered to buy her another.

“Coffee looks good,” she offered in a timid whisper. Her eyes rose to meet mine, and there was a profound sadness within that bore through the beer induced haze into my deepest being. I signaled the waitress who arrived presently with another mug and a pot of year old coffee syrup. I asked for some water and diluted the contents of my mug before offering it to my companion. She smiled vaguely and turned away at my request. Taking that as a signal, I turned my thoughts back to my earlier conversation with Ned, and all of the problems it left unresolved. The world can sure be cruel.

Somewhere between the call of nature, and my attempt to rise, I realized that a long night lay ahead. The room still spun at random intervals, but now the grease was beginning to churn the sudsy contents it accompanied. I soon found myself making an embarrassingly hasty retreat toward the dimly lit mens room a scant distance from where we sat. The bathroom was a dive, and the after taste was almost as nauseating as the initial taste that stirred me into action. Trying to clean up with paper towels left me lacking also as I returned to the table well expecting my silent partner to have made a hasty retreat.

She remained, studying me intently as I weakly resumed my berth across from her. As my urge to return to the mens room subsided, a screeching voice straight from a mans worst nightmare blurted “LAST CALL” with such intensity I damn near fell off of my chair.

“Do you live far from here?” Her suddenness startled me further, and I nodded half-heartedly.

“I live close by - you can stay if you want.”

While the thought of sharing a bed with a whale was distasteful, a night in the back seat of his car was even less appealing. With limited options on the horizon, I solemnly accepted her offer amidst a flurry of slurred apologies.

Even now, I can hardly remember the walk to her apartment in the chill, other than watching her flanks as they jiggled and swayed. I followed several paces behind her, trying to clear my head while subduing my self-recriminations. As we entered her second story flat, a stifling muskiness entered my nostrils and I remember seeing a small two-burner electric stove and a weathered rose-colored sofa with several rips that spewed discolored matting. My host gestured towards the sofa and disappeared behind a rotting door. Moments later, I heard the all too familiar sound of a toilet flushing, but was too far gone to care. Darkness covered me like a warm blanket.

The morning sun greeted me through moth-eaten curtains as my host gently caressed my forehead with a warm washcloth. As my eyes began to focus on her, I felt a wave of panic sweep over me when I realized she had spent the night on the floor next to me with a small pillow and stained comforter. Her thin gown was riddled with holes from hand washing but her face was radiant in the dawns light. I studied her manner as she continued to gently bathe my unshaven face with her soft calloused hands. The smooth creamy skin of her unhindered breasts peeked provocatively from an opening in the front of her gown where a button was missing.

“I’m losing it,” I thought silently to myself as I eased her hand away and sat up slowly. For a moment I heard the same drums that summoned King Kong play in the back of my head. Once they retreated somewhat, I took stock of my surroundings. It was a tiny flat that could probably fit into my living room with room to spare. The tiny kitchen had a midget refrigerator and a couple of shelves stacked with chipped dishes and dried food. The front room had the sofa, a small single bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser covered with pictures of a beautiful young girl, and an old wooden rocker where my host had retreated too. The rocker was next to the only window that overlooked a wall of similar windows a few meters distant. She stared out at them and on into oblivion.

There was now way to hide my discomfort. I fumbled with my shirt buttons and the words to dismiss myself politely. I felt like an idiot. “I gotta go,” I muttered, resigned to the hopelessness of my position.

“I know,” she returned quietly without averting her gaze.

As I walked towards the door, my heart fell around my ankles. I turned just before reaching for the doorknob and gazed at the photos of the child, with dark flowing hair and the same miniature features as the silent figure that sat across the room from me. Mustering the last frayed threads of my torn self esteem, I turned to face my host with the closest photo in my hand.

“This yours?”

“My only.”

“Where is she?”

“The State took her Friday.”

“Where?”

“They didn’t say.” She slowly retrieved some disarrayed legal papers next to her chair and held them out to me.

I scanned them briefly without the slightest idea of what they said until my eyes found the words “unhealthy environment.” My mind began to race despite the return of the King Kong drummers. All I could think of was a philosophy my beloved Grandfather taught me when I was still too young to understand. He told me that my life will be filled with decisions and consequences. When it appears as if all is lost remember, the good Lord let you get there, and he’ll surely get you out.

“Mind if I ask where the Father is?”

“He left long before my Tara knew life.” A tear that had been forming around her eye finally spilled onto her cheek and slowly began to glide down her face, pausing only briefly at her trembling upper lip before continuing down her chin and onto the exposed portion of her heaving breast.

Now I’ve always preferred my women slim, young and sassy. But all that ever got me was some banged bones, an empty feeling and, in the case of my ex, an empty wallet. Here I was, on the verge of a promotion, with a solid bank account and an empty abode. At that moment however, the empty abode was far more oppressive than the sum of all the consequences for my earlier mistaken decisions. Never having a child of my own, I could only vaguely imagine the pain she was feeling, but I knew it would be far more than I could endure. The world can be so cruel.

Gingerly restoring the photo to it’s resting place, I faced my host directly as the tears cascaded freely down her face. Taking a deep breath, I strolled over to her trembling form, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders with all the love I had within me. Her sobs began to subside.

“We got work to do.”

“What?”

“If you want to get your daughter back, we best get started before the State has its way with her.”

“I don’t need sympathy,” she responded meekly.

“You’re going to have to learn the difference between sympathy and support, sweetheart. Now I’d like to know the name of the girl I’m going to help support.

“Cindy.”

“OK; Mine’s Ben. Why don’t you get into something a little more appropriate then explain what those damn papers say on the way over to my place. I gotta get out of these clothes - they smell rather stinky, don’t they.”

“Yeah, they kinda do,” she whispered and smiled for an instant as she rose shakily. As she took some neatly folded clothes from the bottom drawer, I touched her hand gently. She hesitated for an eternity, then rose and embraced me with such intensity that I damn near blacked out. Then she darted to the bathroom as her face turned crimson. I grabbed a cup of cold coffee but couldn’t find any aspirin, so I guzzled the foul brew quickly to keep my blood flowing and clear my head. It was Sunday so the legal offices would be closed but by Monday I intended to have all of our “ducks in a row.”

When she emerged from the bathroom with her tight jeans and a blue cotton knit sweater, I had to pause to admire her. With her fine long brown hair framing her pixie face, she was absolutely adorable, and somehow, the clothes highlighted her figure in such a way to make it nicely appealing. When I complimented her, she blushed shyly, adding even more to her attractiveness. I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving under my breath as we headed past the “dive” to my snow covered Ford. Once Cindy was securely on board, I scraped the windshield and brushed the snow from the roof of the truck. The instant response from beneath the hood reminded me of home, and with the heater on full bore, I eased out into the Sunday morning traffic. At the first stop light, I turned to my passenger with all the seriousness I could muster and said; “Cindy, I can’t make any guarantees, but I will endeavor to. . .”

She leaned over and kissed me. How many years of pent-up emotions she demonstrated I can scarcely say, but the wind was literally sucked out of me. I sat there with my eyes wide and mouth wide open. The blaring horn of the car behind me brought me back to reality and I half skidded, half slid through the intersection to the next stoplight where I bluntly returned the favor. Her lips were sweeter than anything I ever tasted, and I’m certain the windows steamed over despite the best efforts of the heater motor. This was getting good! She slumped in her seat, obviously overcome with the moment and we spent the remaining twenty minute drive in silent anticipation.

By the time I eased the truck into its covered parking slot (thank heaven I opted to pay the additional $15-per month to rent it) our sensory overload had dissipated to a manageable level, and we were able to enter my townhouse with a reasonable level of respectability. Skags, my worthless tomcat met us at the door and brushed by me to seek Cindy’s attention

“Traitor,” I hissed under my breath as the cat poured on enough charm to melt the heart of a junk yard dog. I cranked up the thermostat and headed into the kitchen to get the coffee going. The aspirin bottle was nestled right where I left it, thankfully. I turned to Cindy who stood in awe of my humble abode. Now I’m pretty proud of what I got beings that I’ve worked quite hard to get it, but most of my furniture is run-of-the-mill bargain basement stuff that barely compares to some of the quality things that are available at the Bon. Looking at her face though, I felt like the richest man on earth and immediately set out to show her the floor plan. My two-story townhouse has three bedrooms upstairs and the living quarters on the entry level. Actually, with its two and a half bathrooms, it’s almost two large for me to where last year I had considered selling it in favor of a small mobile home on the outskirts of town. The deal fell through at the last moment though, and my work commitments had kept me from any further serious searches. The smallest bedroom was converted into a study as it overlooked the park and was perfect for my PC. I had a housekeeper come in once a week to keep the place tidy and she did a pretty good job albeit her liberal use of air freshener was somewhat disconcerting.

As I showed Cindy around, her eyes became larger and I could almost hear the gears cranking in her cranium. Finally, fearful that my mouth had overshot my assets, I excused myself after showing her how to use the remote on the TV. The shower was heaven sent, washing away the grime and uncertainties resident from the night before. I donned some comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt and thundered down the stairs to behold Cindy fully involved with Skags on her lap and a rerun of “I Love Lucy” on the tube. She was chuckling absently to herself as the coffee maker gurgled its final throes in the background. I paused just long enough to realize that my home was no longer empty.