Yesterday's writing prompt:

Imagine you’re a bartender, and there is a sad, lonely man sitting on the corner stool. You ask him what’s wrong. What story does he tell you?

And here's the story:
~~~~~~

Don't Talk to Strangers

I'd seen him there before, but never noticed him as I did that cold, snowy Christmas Eve night. He always sat on the last stool at the end of the bar, his head lowered, eyes hooded, a big man but quiet and unobtrusive. He had longish brown hair, usually wore jeans, a pullover sweater -- just an average-looking guy, nothing special to catch my eye.

I've been a bartender for six months now, and though it was supposed to be a part-time job so I could get enough money saved to attend college, I found that I enjoyed the gig. I learned to make all the mixed drinks expertly and with flourish; pour a beer with or without a "head," ring up tabs at the cash register -- but most of all, I liked the opportunity to study the odd assortment of people who dropped in. I always wanted to be a writer, and this job was ideal for observing vastly different kinds of individuals. Everything from bored housewives who seemed to sneak in and grab a quick drink before heading out to pick up their kids at school to rich, respectable businessmen knocking one back before a big important meeting came in from time to time. The big, quiet guy though had escaped my scrutiny until this night...

It was getting late, nearly midnight, and we would be closing soon; the big guy was the only one left in the bar. An eerie absence of laughter, conversations, and the general noise usually in the bar gave me an uneasy feeling. Through the dim lighting and smoky haze, I glanced over to our bouncer, Mac, still standing at the door, his meaty arms folded in front of him and his tiny, dark eyes looking in my direction, asking an unspoken question. Glad he was still there, I shrugged, and headed over to see why the big guy was still on the stool when the clock now showed midnight.

As I approached him, I wiped the bar, moving that way slowly...putting on my sweetest smile. And if I do say so myself, I'm an attractive gal (blond, blue-eyed, good curves in the right places) and when I turn on the charm, I can be downright irresistible. As I came up close to where he had his arms folded on the bar, head down, I said, "Say mister, could I get you one last drink for the road?"

He looked up at me, and I was astonished at the melancholy, pained look on his face; he had deep brown eyes, heavy jowls, not attractive at all...but there was..something about him, something almost charismatic in his riveting gaze. I kept smiling, but it wasn't easy.

He said, "Time for me to leave, huh?" His voice was soft, low, almost a whisper and he kept his eyes pinned on me.

I shrugged, said, "Um, yeah, but you've got time for one last drink on the house." I did remember he'd only had one beer, which he'd nursed for the last hour or so. As I looked at him, I realized he was not as old as I'd first thought, probably no more than 30 or 35. Being overweight I'd just not realized he was a younger man...

"Okay, I'll take that beer, if you don't mind."

I got one from the tap, still smiling at him, and set it in front of him.

He sipped it a little, his brown eyes never leaving my face; I thought he actually might be flirting with me...but then that hang-dog sadness slumped his shoulders again, and he looked away, off into the middle-distance as if seeing something too sad to talk about.

Suddenly I heard myself say, "My name is Sharon, I've seen you here before...mister?"

"You can call me Charlie."

"Well Charlie, let me wish you a Merry Christmas."

He grimaced, shook his big head, wiped a strand of his too-long brown hair off his forehead. "Sharon, this is not going to be a good Christmas, no way."

"I'm sorry..." I could hear the loneliness in his voice, see it in his every gesture, and found myself feeling sorry for him.

"Yeah, just another day to me. Course, the way I am, guess it's just as well. I don't deserve any of the goodies Christmas usually brings."

Curiosity made me ask, "And why is that Charlie? What about family?"

He gave me a crooked, but somehow appealing, smile. "No family, none at all. Parents dead, most of my relatives way out in California, where I'm from."

"You're sure a long way from home here in Michigan."

"True. And alone."

Oddly, I suddenly felt compelled to say, "You could join my family, I'm going there tomorrow. My parents live out in the burbs, but I promise you'd have a really good meal, my mom's a great cook."

He looked up, smiled that crooked smile, said, "You serious?"

I wondered if I had gone insane, to ask a total stranger (in a bar, no less!) to my parent's home. Still, the deep sadness in his brown eyes touched my heart, and I quickly assured him, "Yes, absolutely. I could pick you up on the corner near this bar tomorrow...on my way to my folks."

He took a few more sips of the beer, studying me intently over the beer mug. As he set it down, he said, "You know, I might just take you up on that offer. I've only been here a couple weeks, and don't know anyone at all."

"No wife, kids?"

"Nah, I've never...been the marrying kind."

I thought I detected a hint of a tease, and felt I was helping him feel better already. "Well Charlie, we have a date then." I wondered about him, about his life, why he was so alone, so sad...but felt I would find out once we were better acquainted.

He swilled down the rest of the beer, set it down with a thud and stood, putting on his thick coat. "This sure is my lucky night, and I do appreciate your invite. What time should I be at the corner tomorrow?"

I took his beer mug, wiped the bar off, started doing the usual closing up tasks, saying, "Wait a sec, and I'll walk out with you."

Mac came over to the bar, but when I smiled and said, "Hey Mac, I'm about ready to leave. Sully is in back, doing the cash stuff, so maybe you won't be here too much longer."

He just grunted, nodded and headed toward the back office where Sully was working.

I got my coat, yelled a quick, "Merry Christmas Sully, Mac..." then joined Charlie at the door. As we headed outside, the wind was so fierce it nearly took my breath away. I wrapped my coat tightly to my shivering body, and Charlie and I stood underneath the awning, looking at the few passing cars, fat snowflakes starting to fall.

"Wow, looks like a white Christmas," I gushed, teeth chattering.

Charlie said, "Do you have a car? I'll walk you to it, if you want." His voice sounded a little strange, husky almost.

I felt a slight tremor of fear, as if...as if something wasn't quite right. As I looked up at Charlie, I'm sure my face showed my sudden uneasiness, for he said, "Or you can go on, and I'll head back to my room."

I just stood there, feeling foolish, but I turned slightly toward the corner, about to head for the parking lot across the street where my car was parked.

I felt Charlie's sudden grasp on my arm, and then, his other arm went behind me, and I felt something hard at my back. "Just walk toward your car, like you do every night when you get off work." His voice had changed again, deeper, menacing.

I trembled, tried to pull back from him, but he pushed the hard object into my back, demanding in a scary whisper, "I said, walk to your car...I've got a gun."

I did as I was told, trembling and shaking, wanting to motion to a car...seeing that no one was out on the street this late, everyone no doubt at home, planning on Christmas with their family. "Please...don't hurt me," I begged in a breathless plea.

"Just get in the car."

We were at my car. I fumbled for my keys in my purse, got the door unlocked, and got in behind the driver's wheel; Charlie quickly got in behind me, in the backseat, and told me to get going. I started the car, turned the lights and windshield wipers on and started out of the lot and then onto the street. I knew my life was over, I just knew it...but I couldn't think of anything to do, anyway to stop Charlie. He had the gun at my neck, and I was at his mercy.

He told me to turn down a deserted alleyway and then said, the fury and rage in his voice merciless, "I know I look sad, and I am. You know why I'm sad? I'll tell you why, it's because I can't help myself, can't quit killing women, I just can't!"

Those were the last words I ever heard....

Today is my 52nd birthday.

I wish I had some words of wisdom to impart on growing older, but I'm not sure I do. However, I DO have much to be appreciative of, having lived this long.

I appreciate simply being ALIVE! After all, due to a genetic metabolism problem that results in kidney stones, I was told at the age of 23 that I would probably NOT live to be 30. Oh how wrong the doctors were! So I'll impart this wisdom born of experience: Don't believe everything a doctor predicts. Sometimes the human body surprises even them. In fact, first with medication, and later simply adjusting my diet, I haven't had a kidney stone since I was age 23!

I appreciate that DH and I are doing well financially. If someone had told me at age 30 that we'd one day own TWO houses debt-free, I would have laughed at them. Particularly since I've never worked full-time over long periods, instead being frugal and careful with DH's modest (and I DO mean modest) income. So wisdom born of experience: Get out of debt. No matter what you want, it's not worth debt. IF you have to get a home via a mortgage (and most of us do when young) pay it off as quickly as possible, no matter what else you have to do without. A "home owner" with a mortgage is NOT a home owner; the bank owns that house until it is paid for. And believe me, the bank won't hesitate to foreclose on it, if necessary. Without debt, you can save and move forward; with debt, you are a slave eternally.

I appreciate life, but there are times I've been suicidal. On reflection, I'd say almost without exception, most suicidal tendencies I've had are either hormonal or an emotional imbalance...both of which pass eventually. Therefore, suicide is NOT a solution to any problem. I agree with this quote: "Suicide is an irreversible solution to a temporary problem." Think about that when you are feeling depressed and fear life is a cruel joke (which it can sometimes seem, regarding almost all aspects).

All in all, I'm just grateful to still be alive, to be relatively healthy, active and still intellectually/mentally alert. If I can say this at 80, then I'll STILL be glad to be alive.

Regrets? A few, but none that are worth being miserable about. For certain, I have NO REGRETS about choosing NOT to have children. I appreciate that DH and I chose not to reproduce, and I'm sure some of our happiness NOW is due to that decision long ago.

I went on my bike ride around 1:00 today, and the wind was fierce! I had to struggle every bit of the ride, but I DID make it. Now it's pouring rain, a cold, dark rain...which should remain with us until around noon tomorrow. DH and I will eat out tonight, and my sister called for a long chat earlier, and to wish me happy birthday.

On this rainy afternoon, I believe it might be a good time to start a creative writing exercise, the results of which I'll post later.

Here's the writing prompt from a Writer's Digest website:

Imagine you’re a bartender, and there is a sad, lonely man sitting on the corner stool. You ask him what’s wrong. What story does he tell you?

Stay tuned for the story, coming soon!

I finally had time to visit the library today, and got some good novels. I am especially eager to read Joy Fielding's latest suspense novel, "Lost." I was a fan of her novels long before she became famous. I also got several other suspense novels, but to tell you the truth, I've NEVER come across an author who can beat Thomas Cook for suspense thrillers.

When I got home, I went on the bike ride; it's still somewhat cold here, in the 40s today and becoming increasingly overcast. We're supposed to get rain (possibly mixed with sleet) Thursday and Friday. I bet folks will make a run on the grocery store to "stock up" on milk, bread, etc. And then probably the bad weather will fail to materialize! I sure hope the front clears out before Saturday, since we plan to work at the old house.

Not much else happening here...so I'll close today with the lyrics from a song popular in the early 90s that always reminded me of the young guy on death row I wrote before he killed himself.

Runaway Train  by  Soul Asylum




Call you up in the middle of the night

Like a firefly without a light

You were there like a blowtorch burning

I was a key that could use a little turning

So tired that I couldn't even sleep

So many secrets I couldn't keep

Promised myself I wouldn't weep

One more promise I couldn't keep

It seems no one can help me now

I'm in too deep there's no way out

This time I have really led myself astray

Runaway train never going back

Wrong way on a one way track

Seems like I should be getting somewhere

Somehow I'm neither here nor there

Can you help me remember how to smile

Make it somehow all seem worthwhile

How on earth did I get so jaded

Life's mystery seems so faded

I can go where no one else can go 

I know what no one else knows

Here I am just drownin' in the rain

With a ticket for a runaway train

Everything is cut and dry

Day and night, earth and sky

Somehow I just don't believe it

Bought a ticket for a runaway train

Like a madman just a laughin' at the rain

Little out of touch, little insane

Just easier than dealing with the pain

Runaway train never comin' back

Runaway train tearin' up the track

Runaway train burnin' in my veins

Runaway but it always seems the same

Not much new to report, except that I went on my bike ride this morning...and it was a brisk, cold ride too!

Last week I didn't ride at all, and today it seemed as if I were starting all over again. I did use the ski machine last week, but that is not like riding a bike. Plus, it was windy this morning, but I got too warm in my wind-breaker jacket as I rode in the park. I had gained up to 97 last week, but cut down on calories the past few days and I'm back to 95. If I ride the bike, I can eat more calories; and yet, it's amazing I can eat as much as I have been and not get back to 100. I think the hard work at the old house has helped me stay this lower weight, and I DO gain when I'm not exercising and/or working.

I have the new photos online, although there are only three. These are all outside shots, since I walked around the pasture/yard Saturday since it was too cold to work inside the house. You can either find those on the right side link to "Renovations" or click here and look at the bottom of the page.

Yesterday we went on a rambling drive, which used to be our regular Sunday afternoon outings. It was nice to get away from work for awhile, but we ended up back at the old house -- to feed the horses and just look around. DH straightened the fence that runs alongside the highway yesterday morning, as well as cut some of the overgrown hedge-bushes off of it. He's also straightened the fence beside the barn, and will next straighten the fencing along the narrow dirt road. This weathered wooden fencing looks really picturesque, and we are going to keep it, just needs a bit of TLC. I already have the barn-red paint for the barn, but haven't had a chance to paint it yet; and the trim will be white. I think that will make an immediate improvement in how the barn looks, and add to the overall "farm" look.

One thing the real estate ads in this area use to sell a small acreage (like ours) is to call it a "mini-farm." I've seen ads for places no better than ours will be (when finished) for as much as $150,000.00. Another attraction to our location: Birmingham people who are heading north out of the city, but within a reasonable commute back to their workplace. Our place is located near the southern end of this county, closer to Birmingham, and a few miles south of the house, there's already a rush of new people out of the city looking for "mini-farms." ;-) And of course, it's within a couple miles of the only junior college here, as well as another safe, small town.

We currently live in the county seat, but the small town near our old house/land is quaint and picturesque too...much smaller and more like the typical small southern towns of yesteryear. I think the population is only a little over 2,000. Of course, across from the community college is the small strip-mall, where there's chain department and grocery stores, fast food establishments, etc. -- which makes it very convenient. I believe it would be safe to say our location there will be "country living with city conveniences!"

Oh yes, there's a slight possibility we may be getting Igor, the miniature donkey back. I think the girl's parents are growing tired of taking care of him for her. Also, I hope at some time in the future (after we're moved) to get a miniature horse, although I have no idea about what kind.

About five miles from the old houseplace, there's an exotic animal auction, which handles all kinds of exotic animals. That's where Igor came from, and we might go there eventually. DH knows of several local people who breed miniature horses, and they are sold at horse sales too. I just want one because they are so cute and small, and seem like they'd be a good pet -- I'd rather have one of those, I think, than a dog. I'd be afraid a dog would get run over on the nearby highway, and I can't bear the thought of penning up a dog. We'll see, I guess.

I've actually been reading a great novel, almost finished with it. Good time to read in the evenings when there is NOTHING but sentimental crap on TV for Christmas. The title is "Guest Shot" by David Locke. It is a thriller, and deals with a plot I've often wanted to develop myself: What if a billionaire became a serial killer? All that money at his disposal would surely make him harder to nail, right? And what if he managed to go on a nationwide TV talk show, without revealing his identity by electronic means, and talked about his killing? This novel would make a great movie.

And that's all she wrote today, folks.