Lonely People

She wondered where they all went to when they went home. She, well, she was just here. And she watched. While juggling orders of Bud Light and Buffalo wings, she overheard snippets from some, and none from the others who just stared straight ahead, looking at, but not watching, the newscasters on the television screens over the bar. Some talked too loudly, too fast, trying to disguise the emptiness inside with witty banter and desperately eager laughs. But she saw it. The emptiness, that is. Saw it when they finally shut up and sat silently, gazing down to the bottom of their foam-streaked glass. Saw the loneliness, the desperation.

She had the feeling t hat if she just smiled at them it would make their night so much better, leave a warm glow to remember later. But then they would notice her. She preferred to stay hidden. Hidden in this corner bar, known only as ‘the server’. So she did not smile, and they received no warm glow to remember later. It was a grim place, a grim state of mind.

She wondered what they did when they went home. If they, like her, went home to a dark empty house and stared at their reflections in a gritty mirror, wondering what had happened, how they had ended up here with no one to love, to be loved by. Did they sometimes, maybe, deep down, wonder about ending it all? Wonder who would notice, maybe care?

Maybe if she smiled, they wouldn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t. But she couldn’t. So she didn’t. And they had no warm glow to think about when they finally went home.