Sitting On Shoes

That night last March didn’t start out the way the worst night of my life should have. Nothing about the beginning of the night indicated I would be on an emotional roller-coaster.

It began the way Saturday night always began. I was at a local bar with my two best friends, Boots and Keith. We’d been friends since high school, and we spent most of our weekends together at whichever bar had a game on. That particular night, the NCAA Basketball Tournament was in full swing. We were there early, tracking the results on our bracket sheets and slapping our foreheads every time there was an upset.

As the day slipped into night, we’d had more beer inside us than we’d realized. Feeling good, we made our way downstairs to the dance floor. Although we didn't dance much, it didn’t stop us from setting up to the right of the DJ booth along the rail. Standing where we did didn't offer many opportunities for us to dance, as we appeared desperate and creepy. Knowing that never stopped us from standing close to the floor in hopes of getting out there. Whenever it happened, we were ready to celebrate the victory with a round of shots.

That particular Saturday night, things were relatively slow. There was a bachelorette party in full swing across the room, and that was about it. The DJ was in an oldies mood, and the dance floor was full of older couples in their mid-to-late 30’s dancing to the grooves they remembered from their youth. I settled in along the rail with a Budweiser, looking for a way to entertain myself.

Then, Anna walked by. She was a pretty brunette, about 5’9” or so, with nice teeth and a pretty smile. Her long hair shone just right in the light, and her emerald green eyes brought about a softer aura in me. She walked by me behind the rail, holding a Michelob Golden Draft Light. I was just hoping to catch her eye.

She noticed me. She stopped and looked up at me. “Say Tall Man,” she said. “You like the classics?”

It was a miracle. I had her attention. Did I like the classics? Hell, I do now. I’d like polka if she’d asked. I nodded furiously. “Oh yeah!” I exclaimed. “This is my music, right here!”

She raised her eyebrow seductively. “Really?” she said. She set her beer down next to mine and took my hand. “How about a dance?” She led me around the rail towards the opening. I was in the game, dancing with a beautiful woman, and I was loving every minute of it.

As we danced, I looked into her eyes. Something inside me told me to come clean right away or pay a heavy price down the road. “I have a confession to make here,” I said. “This isn’t my music. I couldn’t tell you who this is if you put a gun to my head. I’m into country and ‘70’s rock. I’m sorry.”

I expected her to walk away. Instead, she pulled me closer. “It’s Bill Withers,” she said patiently. “Name of the song is ‘Use Me.” Don’t worry about it, Tall Man. To tell you the truth, I was intent on getting you out here for a dance, even if you were into polka.”

I began to laugh nervously. Then, something dawned on me. “Bill Withers? He did the song ‘Grandma’s Hands,’ right?

She stopped dancing and looked up in amazement. “Yes!” she said. “Wow, that’s a deep cut. How did you know that?”

“It was a song played at a funeral I was at last year for my buddy’s mom,” I said, knowing damn well I only knew of the title because I read it on a juke box last week. For all I knew, it could have been that song playing right now.

It didn't seem to phase her. She snuggled closer to me. I hoped that song would play on all night. I liked the way her soft body felt against mine. She smelled like lilacs.

I began to wonder if Keith and Boots were looking on. I began to pray they'd find something to do so I could continue on with Anna without interruption. It was going great, and if Keith were to approach me with that damn tin of Kodiak, it would ruin everything.

“Use Me” gave way to a Bee Gees song. We stood together as people rushed to and away from the dance floor, staring into each other’s eyes. She spoke first. “My name is Anna,” she said. “I gotta get back to the party. It’s for my best friend. Can we dance again before the night is through?”

My eyes fell to her left hand. No ring! It was going to be my night! I nodded again and turned back to the rail. Three shots of tequila were next to my beer. Boots and Keith were waiting for me with 30 questions. I began to wonder if either of them could find the dance floor without asking for directions. Even though they were going overboard with their questions, I didn’t care. I was in heaven.

Needless to say, we danced several times that night. Actually, our third trip to the floor wasn’t really dancing. She found enough courage to kiss me, and we remained lip-locked throughout the entire song. Boots and Keith left before last-call with the assumption that I had plans afterwards. I felt bad, as I drove them there and they now had to find a cab.

When the house lights came on, I asked her if there was a boyfriend in her life. She turned away, then looked at me and told me she was divorced. I thought for a minute that she was lying, but all reason was lost on me when she asked me for a ride back to her place.

We drove back to her house west of town on HWY 45. I entered the house through the kitchen, taking my shoes off. Holding onto a table for balance, I noticed some legal documents on the table. She appeared around the corner and saw me staring at them. Sensing the questions, she took my hand. “It’s not exactly finalized yet,” she said in a calm voice. Before I could get clarification on the Finalized part, she kissed me and led me to the bedroom.

Our clothes came off, and we did it. It happened way too fast. I wanted to do more, but the tequila caught up with me, and darkness began to settle in on me. We snuggled close to each other, as the bass rift from the first song we danced to ran through my head.

I had daydreams of moments like this one. In my dreams, I awaken to her on top of me, smiling. Our night of excellence is followed with more of the same, then a sensible breakfast. I see myself reluctantly leaving to the most beautiful sunrise ever, knowing we’ll be together again, sooner or later.

Such daydreams do not include a slap to the chest and a direct order to get into a closet. Reality was ice-cold that morning, and I went from a peaceful sleep in a double bed to sitting in a dark closet on a pair of shoes. She was standing at the door. “Stay in here, no matter what!” she hissed. “He’s armed and dangerous. I’ll calm him down! Stay ultra-quiet!”

I began to piece together what was going on. It appeared that he was the last to know about this divorce. He came home from a long week of work to find a strange truck in his driveway and size 13 Nikes underneath his kitchen table—where the divorce papers were—and wasn’t accepting this so well. I couldn’t blame him. I was inside his walk-in closet, too groggy to argue about it. I was shaking in fear, knowing that this mad man could stomp into the room and blow me away at any moment. I’d read about this sort of thing in magazines back in high school. I dismissed those stories as fluff. I was wrong again.

It felt like I was in that closet for three days. My backside was sore from sitting on those shoes, and my legs began to fall asleep. The voices were muffled, yet loud. Anna must have had a case to argue, too. She was doing most of the yelling, a brave feat considering she knew this man had a gun. Whatever she said had an effect on him. I felt the door slam, then heard a car squeal its tires out of the driveway. Seconds later, she opened the door. “He left, she said quickly. “His buddy with the towing company is on his way, and I don’t know if he’s coming back. You gotta get out of here.”

I got dressed in record time and headed to the door. Before I left, I turned to her one last time. Last night's angel was this morning’s ball of nerves, seated at the kitchen table smoking a cigarrette. “Someday, you’ll tell me what this is all about, won’t you?” I asked. She didn’t respond. She just stared at the stove.

I left her driveway and sped back to town. I was a mile out when a tow truck met me on the highway. I began to drive faster, as if I was trying to outrun the Grim Reaper. It was a fitting response to it all, seeing as felt as if I had just cheated death.

I hid my truck in the garage for a few days. Boots drove me to work. I told him the brakes were bad, and parts were on order. This guy might eventually find me, but I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

I ran into Anna six months later. She met me on the rail downstairs again. She said the divorce was final, and she was a free woman. She was living in town up the street in an apartment with a girlfriend. She invited me back for a nightcap, but I declined. The marriage may have been over for good, and all parties may have moved on, and it still didn't sound like an appealing idea. At least, not that night.

She walked away, rejected. Keith cheered me up with an old joke he’d heard a long time ago. “You know the worst thing about sex with farm animals? The next day, they act as if they don’t know you!” I smiled. Everything was going to be OK.