It was all the same. The swish of the revolving door as I entered, the dimly lit room, the anonymity of the corner table I always went straight over to, the all-too familiar bourbon going down my throat as the time on my watch showed 1:03 am.
It was an unusually cold night at the resto-bar, and I saw people pull their coats around them a little tighter. I revelled in my body quivering. Had grown used to the cold. In more ways than one.
Oh yes, this was the one place I could bare my soul and walk away, and no one would even look up.
As I downed my drink — and it felt good — it was her voice that first caught my attention. I turned around to look at the makeshift stage in the other corner of the room where she sat at the piano, wearing a faded dress. And I couldn’t look away.
Her fingers floated over the keys with grace. Her fingers floated over the keys in pain.
It was the most beautiful music I had ever heard.
She sang out softly, throatily, about love lost, and I was entranced by the light ripples her music was making in the stillness of the night. I forgot where I was as she took me to another time.
Then she turned her face towards me, and I really saw her for the first time. Dear Lord….she looked……exactly like …..
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The same willowy frame, black hair curtaining her face, the proud chin, the all knowing look…like she could see right through me. My head was pounding. Could this be real? This couldn’t be happening.
This place was giving me a glimpse of the same bittersweet hell I came here to forget.
She played a magical tune then, looking at me – or through me – all the time. An hour passed, maybe two. Or just a moment. But when I found the strength to look away, I noticed we were the only ones left in the room.
She finished with a flourish the piece she had been playing, its soft notes fading away into the night, and stood up.
Like a vision, she walked towards me till we were standing just half a feet apart. To anyone watching in through the window, we’d probably look like lovers sharing a moment.
Ever so slowly, she lifted her hand and touched my face….tracing the rough stubble, almost as though memorising the contours, and her eyes followed her every move till she finally met mine.She was even more striking than I had thought. A painful reminder. Jesus, she looked just like her.
She said something before she walked away, leaving me with me.
Her words, “You look just like him…” stayed with me long after she had gone.
