Empathy In Unexpected Places…

Empathy In Unexpected Places: A Dive Bar Encounter

Nathan greeted Lizzy with a friendly smile. “Here’s your drink.” He handed her a chilled streakless mug topped with foam. Steam rose from the hot wings on the table, but it seemed she wouldn’t be touching them. Nonetheless, Nathan set them down in front of her.

“Lizzy is it?” Nathan said.

“How’d you know?”

Nathan pointed at her nametag.

Lizzy looked at her shirt, moving her long, dark bangs behind her ear. “I forgot to take the damn thing off.” She sighed, ripped it off, and put it in her pocket.

“Mind?” Nathan motioned to a seat beside her.

Lizzy glanced at the empty spot, shrugged, and lifted her palms. “Be my guest.”

“It’s a mistake,” Nathan said, plopping beside her in the crowded dive bar.

“The wings? I don’t eat them.” She chuckled and picked through chestnuts. “I just like the smell. Dad could eat a dozen,” she snapped her fingers, “like that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nathan said. “Although I like your father’s dedication to wings.”

Lizzy eased into an absent gaze. “I miss him.”

A haze of cigarette smoke hung thick through the dim lights. Classic hip-hop played through the ceiling speakers. People chatted, releasing the week’s stress.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan said, motioning. “I didn’t mean—“

“No,” Lizzy said, “I just miss him. A drunk driver crossed double yellow lines on Christmas Eve. I was twelve.” Lizzy cleared her throat. “Twelve. He’d play Santa, and Mom fed us cookies and milk. But not that night. That night, Mom went gone in her mind. She’d lived with Grandpa ever since. She hardly came out of her room until she passed away from a broken heart three years later.”

Lizzy sipped Redhook from her mug. She burped and moved her sleeve across her mouth. “What would you know about a mistake?”

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes.” Nathan stared at her, but he was thinking of his brother’s casket. “My brother.” Nathan drummed his fingers along the oak table’s edge.

“He die?” Lizzy said.

Nathan nodded. “Yes, he died. He was a drunk.” Nathan lifted and lowered his hands on the table. “I tried,” Nathan said, his voice cracking with a tear. He lowered his chin, and his eyes followed.

“What am I sipping?” Lizzy said, holding the empty mug to her eyes.

“Empathy,” Nathan said, smiling. “I serve nonalcoholic brew.”

“Okay,” she said, lifting a brow. “This is a little weird.” Lizzy reached for her keys.

Nathan put his hand over hers. “Would you rather be plastered or sober with an old friend?”

“Friend?” Lizzy scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes. “Look, dude. I’m not looking for a date.”

Nathan brought the back of his hand across his head. “Good. I almost thought you would ask me on a date, and I don’t do dates.”

Lizzy cracked.

“Are you a preacher or something?”

“Just a kid who attended the same Christian camp,” Nathan said, winking.

Lizzy covered her mouth, and her eyes turned to saucers. “Nathaniel?”

“God. That’s what my mother called me.”

“But it’s you,” Lizzy said.

“Oh, how thirty years have passed,” Nathan said.

“You haven’t changed,” Lizzy said.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Lizzy gave him an engaging glance. “It’s wonderful. I came here to see if it was really a what people said it was. I’d never heard of the concept. But here you are, helping people you don’t even know.”

“You’re not married,” Nathan said, looking at her moisturized hands.

“And neither are you,” she said, blushing.

“You’re a teacher, right?” Nathan said.

“Did you see my class in the paper?”

“I donated to your class trip to Washington, DC.”

“That was you?” Lizzy’s eyes widened.

“The least I can do is show you my classroom,” she said. “Not to be weird, but I did a background check, and even talked to your ex for a good reference.”

“What’d you find?” Nathan said.

“Empathy,” she said. “Like this place, I found empathy.”

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://writeovercoffee.blog/

X: AC0040