But eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to the direction of the sound. And…
LeCharles…
The hell?
Does he know I’m working here?
But he wasn’t looking at me. In fact, I couldn’t even see his eyes. It was as if he was scooting backward along the shelves of beer, the better to avoid having to look at me whenever possible.
It was either a massive coincidence that he was here, or he really did know I’d be here, and he’d wanted to make conversation with me. Did he know Isaac? Was that why Isaac had just abruptly left so early?
It seemed too implausible for me. Isaac seemed like a hippie who would have been scared by the noise of motorcycles. LeCharles was the type of rugged, badass individual who didn’t give a shit what you thought about him.Unless you’re me, and unless you drive him further and further into the ground.
My mouth opened to offer him help. But the words caught in my mouth. He still had not turned around. It was like he was playing a game of only allowing me to see his ass and back, and though he had a nice ass, that most certainly wasn’t my desired focus.
He couldn’t keep up the game forever, though. Eventually, perhaps recognizing that he just needed to face me and talk, he brought up a six-pack of some stouts.
And boy, when I finally saw his face, I was shocked at how haggard he looked. The bags on his eyes were more like inflated bean bags. His eyelids could barely support themselves to stay up, and he walked in a hunched over fashion like Quasimodo.
And, on top of that, in the brief moment that I made eye contact with him, I saw far too much pain to merely attribute it to my presence. It felt like there was something much deeper going on.
“Hey,” I said.
It came out weak. I wanted to say more. LeCharles muttered something that sounded like “hey” back, but it sounded more like a hitch in the throat than an actual word. I didn’t see any point in trying to make sense of it, so I just continued to go through the motions of scanning the six-pack and ringing it up on the register.
“Anything else?” I said, more on autopilot than to be polite.
LeCharles didn’t say anything. He didn’t even shake his head. I told him it cost a little over fourteen dollars, and though he briefly looked up at me in surprise, like he couldn’t believe a six-pack would cost that much, his eyes went right back down.This is not the LeCharles I know. Even the beaten-down LeCharles still had fire to him. What the hell is going on?
He quickly produced fifteen dollars in cash, which I counted out and handed him the change. Without looking at me, he slid the coins down into the tip jar and started to leave. I was this close to just letting him go without saying a word.
But then I recognized the look he had.
It was the look I had had during my rock bottom. He may not have cried as I did, but that didn’t mean there weren’t some serious issues going on that he was struggling to deal with. And no one, not even the man who had made my life hell on Thursday and ten years ago, not even the man I had fought with so badly, not even the man who had been my ex, deserved to go through a period as rough and cruel as this.
“LeCharles,” I said, raising my voice loud enough for him to hear it.
It stopped him at the front entrance of the store. But he wasn’t ready to look back at me.
“Is everything okay?”
I spoke with genuine sincerity and concern. I hoped nothing I said sounded like it was mocking him.
When he looked back at me, I knew the image I saw of him would haunt me for a long, long time. It was the image of someone who had seemingly had their soul ripped in half, an image of profound suffering.
“I finally know what you felt the night of Brewskis,” he said.
His gaze lingered a little longer. I believed him. The man before me looked like a man who had come back from war and had no one to welcome him home, no one to comfort him. What sort of wars had he fought since Thursday in his own head—or perhaps even here in Springsville—that had dragged him down so much so quickly? What had defeated him like this?
And then he left.
“No, LeCharles—”
But this time, my voice could not stop him.
“LeCharles…”
You’re going to let a man that beaten down just leave? You’re going to let someone suffering like him leave without letting him know you’re in his corner? Even if things ended as badly as they did, you want anyone to feel like you felt?
