His gaze lifts to mine and I smile at the surprise I can see in his whole face. Eyes wide, lips parted, shoulders more relaxed.
“Of course, I meant my stupid face. The sketch is… Well, I want to say it’s terrifyingly accurate.”
I pause as his eyes drift to the paper again, giving him time to study it the way I studied him. Is he seeing what I saw? Is he picturing what I would have drawn if he came here in another mood? Faces change with emotions. It would have been a completely different drawing if he came here wearing a smile. Maybe he would have had a coffee instead of a bourbon. I would havecharged him only $1.50, and he would have sat in a booth, scrolling his phone with a smile, or reading with a serene face. But I felt like sketching him like he was. Not like he could have been. It’s a rainy Wednesday after all, sadness and sourness seemed more appropriate.
“Did you draw all those too?” He asks, tilting his head towards the large cork board taking up nearly a whole wall.
I nod. Since I started working here five months ago, barely a week after we moved here, I’ve been drawing random customers every time I get bored. Mike, the manager, liked the sketches and the idea of decorating the place with all their faces, frozen in different moods over time. Customers also liked when I handed over a copy to them and they gave me nice tips. Win-win.
“Is my face good enough to join them on the wall? Or am I going to scare people away?”
The corner of his lips’ tilt up slightly. An imperceptible smile.
“I’m not sure… ‘Grumpy Late Guy, in a shithole on a rainy Wednesday’ is definitely not someone fun to be around.”
He tilts his head back and a real laugh escapes him, lighting up the whole room and warming up my heart a little. Watching him, I realize there is no way this man and the one I drew are the same person.
“I’d like to keep this, so I’m not sure I want to be on the wall after all anyway.” He smiles.
“It’s a copy.” I smile back. “You can keep itandbe pinned against the wall, no need to choose.”
One of his brows lifts up to his hairline and I pause, realizing how what I said just sounded.
“I’m talking about the sketch. Obviously,” I quickly rectify, clearing my throat.
“Obviously.”
He holds my gaze for a few seconds, his irises so dark they look black. There is a small beauty mark above the arch of his left eyebrow that I didn’t notice before, and a pale thin scar on his cheekbone. A remnant of his hypothetical bad boy days? Or a silent and discreet reminder of something somber? Maybe he fell as a child while he was having fun with siblings on a swing. Maybe a great uncle twice removed hit him once after one too many drinks. Maybe he’s clumsy and just hit the corner of a door while he wasfocused on something else.
So many hypothetical stories. Jack would love it. If he were here right now, we would probably invent a past for each and every person coming through that door, like we used to when we were kids.
But he’s not. And he can’t. Because now that he can barely get out of his wheelchair, there are many places he can’t go to, and unfortunately, this bar doesn’t have a ramp. So, I bring new sketches home every workday. We spend our nights talking about his new chapters and creating new lives for my drawings.
“Are you always studying random people so shamelessly?” Grumpy Late Guy asks.
I chuckle, not sure how long I’ve been watching him and picturing different scenarios just for this tiny scar.
“I’m sorry.” I shrug with a shy smile. “Usually, I do it when people aren’t looking.”
“And they never called you out on this?”
“Not really.” I shrug again. “I’m the bartender. People don’t notice me as long as they don’t need me to refill their drinks.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
I arch a brow. “I’m the most banal face there is. My hair and eyes are just a dull brown, I’m neither nicely tanned or pale. I’m not tall nor short. I’m like an old forgotten bookcase; people know I’m here, but they don’t look at me to check if I moved from my spot in the last ten years.”
Banal. I never gave much thought about the way I looked. At least in High School… It all changed when I started college and guys had their little fun standing me up. Even though it changed in my second year when I started to date one of those particular assholes, my self confidence never really came back. And it’s okay, you know, since I’m actually quite ordinary.
At least I don’t see myself as an ugly troll anymore.Small victories and all that.
Grumpy Guy laughs and after a second of shock, I can’t hold my smile. His laugh is contagious. He should do it all the time.
“Well I, for one, watched you a couple of times while you were… drawing.” He points to the sketch placed flat in front of him. “And I didn’t see an old forgotten bookcase.”
I lean forward a little until my elbows are on the bar top and put my face between my hands.
“What did you see? I love to know what people see when they look at strangers.”
