Empty Worlds (Assignments, not completed)

I leaned against the bar, my shirt front tightening against the muscle as I planted my elbows on the small bar. Swing music played and people danced and cheered unaware of my musings. I ordered another rum and Coke and dropped down into the bar stool that was equally as small to me as the bar it stood, bolted, in front of. They didn’t make them small on purpose; I was just huge is all. As I sat there, among at least a hundred or so people I couldn’t help but feel completely alone. I’ve felt like this all my life.

Being alone made no sense to me. How could it? I was brilliant and smart and enigmatic and creative. I was also tall, defined and had the classic blond hair and blue eyes look that everyone seemed to love, and I looked like I lived for fitness and sports. I loved to read, write, study, research, listen, debate, and think. I had everything going for me in almost every way. There was no reason for me to be alone, but I was.

My appearance intimidated nearly everyone I encountered. I remember once I was trying to find a seat in the ever crowded Chemistry auditorium, ten minutes late and stalking down the aisle; my mass clearly seen by the teacher who pretended not to. I had reached a seat occupied only by a backpack with a lanky human neighbor one seat over. Upon asking if I could sit in the vacant seat, he looked up at me, went pale, began mumbling and ran out of the class. Turns out my whispered request for the seat was misinterpreted as a threat to his health. Go figure.
While I don’t have the green skin and purple pants of the Hulk, there is no fundamental difference in our appearances. I’ve never entered a gym in my life, but look like I visit daily. To top it off I’m a good six and a half feet tall. Damn genetics.

If my looks didn’t send others fleeing like a pack of lambs who have just spotted the wolf, then it was my intellect. I studied and read everyday I could and had stellar grades to show for it. Sit me down in front of most of my peers, however, and watch their eyes glaze as I try to interact with them. Which is worse, the running out or the spacing out? Spacing out has fewer implications of police intervention due to the screaming co-eds.

I walked through an empty world; populated by billions of ghost, each one moving quietly among me, avoiding interaction. My first three years of college passed like this, and then I found The Time Capsule: the little night club downtown that catered to swing lovers everywhere. I found the place on Christmas Eve and thought I had been visited by the ghost of Christmas past as I walked past and heard the blaring music pouring forth from a partially opened doorway. The place was filled with people laughing and dancing. The ghosts were still around me, but they made attempts to interact with the mortal plane. I had found a small place for myself in this empty world.

So every weekend I danced the night away to the fast paced music. I’d dress to the nines as it were: shining black loafers, dark blue slacks, a grey button down shirt and rolled up sleeves, and a blue vest with pocket watch to match. I had found a place to call my own, on Saturday and Sunday at least.

And that’s where I was sitting that Saturday night, on a tiny bar stool with a glass of brown liquor encompassed by my imposing hand, thinking about nothing in particular, when he walked in.