The Bouncer

Strangers

The world is an entanglement of strangers. 

They come and go, sometimes coming close enough to touch. Occasionally close enough for me to distinguish whatever is hidden on the other side of their somatic exterior, or at least think I can see... until the spell is broken in some way or another and I realize it was another façade. 

Some strangers I know well, perhaps well enough for them to think they know me. Others pass through my life, taking no more notice of me than any other trivialities that live in the corners of their vision. I take notice, though. I notice everything. 

And so I noticed you. 

I saw you emerge as I stood under the eves of the dark, stone doorway of the Minstroff's Cove, just out of reach of the evening's icy drizzle . You were walking. Not climbing from the back of a taxi cab as most of the strangers on that chilly evening. You wore a light blue raincoat, wrapped tightly around your elegant frame. Curly hair the color of caramel peeked out from a matching blue hat that was pulled around your ears, water dripping from its brim. You didn't rush to escape the wet. You walked slowly, leisurely, hands in your coat pockets, as if you did not mind the miserable weather and did not want to escape it as quickly as possible, as most of the other strangers on this night. As you strolled, you turned your face upwards towards the drizzle, letting your eyes close and smiling as if you couldn't imagine anything better than this moment, right now, with the rain drops caressing your face and glistening on your lashes. 

The beginning of the night had begun and a line of clubgoers had formed, so I was compelled to turn my attention back to the individual directly in front of me. He was a burly man, with his hair cut close to his head and an expression that indicated he was running from something. He was no doubt coming tonight to drink until he could no longer form coherent thoughts, find someone of the opposite sex who shared his predicament, and wake up the next morning regretting his (albeit inebriated) decision to bring her home. He surely knew now that he would regret his decision in the near future, but that was the case of most strangers who frequented this establishment. 

Most people would guess that this individual was about forty years old, but I didn't have to guess. I knew for a fact that he was exactly forty-two and two months, give or take a day or two. How could I not know? It was written all over him -or, at least, hovering above his head. As I looked into the crowd of people I could observe their individual ages too, numbers hovering above them in opaque wisps of gray. It was a talent of mine. I'd had it ever since... well never mind. I try not to think of that time.

The man handed me his ID and I glanced at it out of habit --yes, forty-two years old--, then waved for him to enter. "Enjoy your night, sir.", I said. The man nodded as he walked past, already preoccupied with the initiation of his intention to forget whatever stresses life had imposed upon him. 

The next woman in line was quite short, probably Japanese, twenty-eight years and one month old. I evaluated her in a similar fashion and allowed her entry as the last man. The line grew longer and the faces more impatient to escape from the drafts of rain as I hurried to do my job. I glanced up again after a third person, wondering if the lady in the blue jacket would be part of my line of strangers tonight. You were not. But I did catch a glimpse of you disappearing into a small café across the street. 

Why were you so intriguing? It's not as if you had done anything significant to draw attention to yourself. Your coat was brighter than most of the dreary attire in this city, and your strange demeanor did leave me curious, but I met people every day who had strange attire and intriguing habits. Your uniqueness was nothing new. There was something else drawing my eyes to the door that slowly closed behind you on the other side of the street.