IMAGINE THE UNIMAGINABLE

 

Reese was at peace with himself. Life hadn’t been that good to Reese, but he’d had it better than most. Could not complain, and if he did, no one was there to hear, so hardly worth the effort. He finally grew lonely after so many years of being alone. Just a ‘twinge’, he’d say, yet a lifetime of loneliness becomes unbearable in the end…. whenever that comes. So best the end not come just yet, there’s time to be made up, as best one can.

Yes, he was at peace, as he lay out his Sunday suit, starched shirt, spit-polished shoes, and new sundries.

Nothing to be nervous about…nothing at all.

Now for the ‘getting ready’ but already he started feelin’ unsteady. He unfolded his shirt, slid the suit from it’s bag…and then it struck. There was no way he was going through with this…this craziness…madness…for what? Entertainment? Company? Companionship?

Ol’ Charley was good enough at that, and comes a lot cheaper…a walk, a scratch and pat, and maybe a soup bone on Sunday.

( If ever there was a hint of any relations of a more carnal nature, it would scare the bejesus out of Reese. Please don’t go proposing he start something “sordid”. He’d fail miserably and with no purpose. Best keep him calm and un-intimidated.)

So after showering, and shaving, and while climbing into his underwear, he hop-ops…slips, trips…and crashes.

While realizing nothing was broken, and no blood was flowing, he got such a laugh out of it, he thought, what the hell, and despite a battle with some buttons, an over-starched shirt that audibly crinkled when he moved, a stiff zipper upper, he managed, and finally he was ready.

And, much to his surprise, the gentleman reflected in the mirror was someone else, someone of substance, but he knew that was only the illusion. Tonight he would attempt it. He was ready, finally, to be the illusion, to someone lonely too. If only for the evening…if not a lifetime…You never know. Imagine the unimaginable…

Tina had trepidation. It was not every night, in fact it was damn few nights, that she would muster the courage to step out of her comfort zone and go to dinner with friends. On this occasion she’d been invited by Amanda and Grace, and even though they were happily gay, and Tina was not, they decided she needed a change and invited her along. It wouldn’t be romantic, so don’t panic, they said they would rather be romantic at home, so come on along.

It’s a night out with the girls, what the hell?

Won’t have the pressure of a fellow hitting on you…as if that’s a problem. At her age, at her weight, she’d rather have the company of women and feel comfort in her own skin. Getting out meant a lot. So the trepidation eased as the ladies assured her it would be casual, discrete and cozy.

The best laid plans went to waste, however, as the club had to shut down due to “plumbing”. So, the girls had to rethink, and in doing so, made some calls…chat chat…until one, overheard, chilled Tina to the quick, and she realized she was the outsider. So she opted out, and felt better for it in the end. No one needs a third wheel. Nothing negative about the hosts, quite the contrary, it’s the load that Tina brought that caused the meltdown, and she wandered aimlessly, finally aiming for the bar and grill just down the street. It was a bit of a slum but it fit…it was fine.

A booth for one hardly seemed necessary, but that’s all that was available at this hour.

– no counter service –

(…had to keep the waitress busy)

So there she sat in a booth for eight, and suddenly her weight wasn’t a problem. She was a butterfly, bejeweled and belittled, by the booth, while in full bloom.  Embraced by tufted red leatherette, with faux-gold button accents, she was a princess in a spotlight.

 (…due primarily to electrical cutbacks)

And, he, found himself a failure floundering on the streets and stumbling into this joint and for no reason at all, except he was suddenly, “really hungry…”

“Would you mind sharing a booth…?” the waitress asked.

“Why?” he wondered aloud.

“They’re very roomy, make my job easier, and cuts cleanup in half. Com’on give me a break, it’s late…it’s past two…”

He agreed to it, but ‘under protest’, and a lot of good that did at this hour. But, he came to be seated at the table with A Princess, and he was Struck. 
Struck for the night…struck for his life.
Sometimes you just never know. 

V