It was a rainy week night and I was at a local bar getting dinner by myself. Cup of clam chowder and buffalo chicken tenders. I vacantly stared at the tv mounted above the bar pretending to be engaged in the basketball game in progress. I could be questioned about the status of the game at any moment and this was an unsettling thought. I watched intently for a few minutes until I at least knew which team was which color. I felt comfortable knowing I was slightly more prepared now for any basic questioning.

An older woman came into the bar and took a stool two down from me. She was in tears. Blubbering. My head remained up, eyes transfixed on the game with a geniune purpose now. I did not want to be drawn in. Her sobs seemed obvious and loud to me and whether she was meaning to or not, I felt like she was trying to engage me. But I wouldn’t bite. This was a very important game. The blue guys were winning! They try to score when they run to the right. I congratulated myself on becoming quite the b-ball expert.

I felt guilty about not wanting to interact with the woman. How dare I withold sensitivity and sympathy from someone when I know how much I crave it in my own life? I stopped mentally flogging myself when the female bartender came to the rescue. They were obviously familiar with each other and they chatted and the bartender asked her if everything was ok. The woman waved her off, still in tears. “I’m ok. Nothing bad has happened,” she said. “It’s just.. what is happening to this world?” Upon being pressed, “Have something to eat, you’ll feel better dear”, she ordered a pint of beer and a bowl of chili.

By now the buffalo tenders were kicking in and I was blowing my nose into my napkin. Lovely. This always puts me in an awkward spot. I’m ok with blowing my nose in public if I have to but I can’t get myself to hand over the results to anyone. I just can’t make someone else handle this object, it’s just not fair. Even the idea of putting it on a finished dinner plate where maybe it can just be dumped into the trash doesn’t work for me. So the napkin ends up in my pocket for me to dispose of later on my own.

The woman got up to go to the bathroom and I asked for my bill. I gave the bartender my card and asked her to put the woman’s beer and chili on my tab but made it very clear not to tell her about it. I didn’t want to be thanked and I didn’t want this to be a big deal. The bartender immediately loved me for this and told me that she was so surprised to see the woman this way since she’s “normally such a classy lady.”

I settled the tab and made it out the door before the woman returned from the bathroom, just like I had hoped. I had a pleasant image of her asking for the bill in 30 minutes only to find out that the young man, who didn’t talk to her and is no longer there, took care of it. At a time in her life when she was feeling overwhelmed and lost I showed her there is kindess in the world.

I felt the moist napkin in my jacket pocket and headed home to discard of what I didn’t want others to touch. And to hide the fragile parts of me that I didn’t want others to see.

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