June 18, 1999

This piece was written on June 19, 1999, when I was still a very young, naive, and very isolated sixteen year old. I grew up in a small town in the middle of Nebraska. My brothers and I went to the bar downtown all the time and spent our allowance on candy (but my sister was always frugal, she saved her money.) Our entire family would walk over for burger nights on Fridays. This is something I wrote after observing a local man having his supper there. 

According to my typed draft from 1999, it went through several revisions, and I finally stopped rewriting it in December of that year; and, although there are parts I'd like to change, I chose not to edit it again today.

There's melodrama, and blunt honesty, but also kindness... 

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He sits there at the counter, his legs dangling gracefully around the bar stool. He orders a glass of yellow beer, and hamburgers; and waits. I see him light a cigarette and blow the smoke through his nostrils.

A man is restocking the live lobster tanks over in the corner: Norman turns his head and watches. And smiles at someone's conversation.

His face and hands are grizzled and begrimed by black grease. He wears a pale blue work shirt, open at his throat in a sharp V. His pants look as if they are part of a uniform. His clothes are dirty and greasy - I have never seen them otherwise.

Norman watches the big TV in the corner on the wall; commercials seem interesting. He becomes engrossed in the television, pausing only for a drag on his cigarette. He downs another glass of beer in one swallow. I hear his soft mellow voice. He's talking to one of the waitresses. I wonder why. He always seems like such a quiet man.

Norman's face is a somewhat hollow, worn face. His mouth, surrounded by a week of unshaven beard, is thin, but the upper lip has two distinct curves. Nothing at all could be said about his nose; it is a normal one, and not worth mentioning. His eyes are deep-set in his face, very hollow eyes, and they are always rimmed with black. He has dark hair but he is nearly bald on top. He always wears a teal-colored cap, and I honestly think he looks better with it than without it.

Norman's food arrives, and he eats; adding another beer to wash it all down. I wonder if he ever drinks water. He lights another cigarette and rests his chin on his hand.

I wonder where Russell is. Russell is almost always with Norman, and he does not talk much, so I call him "Norman's shadow". No, the shadow did not come tonight; and Norman is alone, and looking lonely.

Greg comes in and talks to Norman. They smile and laugh like best friends; maybe they are. I watch as Greg walks away. Norman looks at the lobsters again.

He orders a pie and laughs with the waitress. It's an apple pie; that must be his favorite, I think to myself.