Photo by Zoey Punteney
The Corkscrew is in a quaint little commercial area called Rockbrook on 108th and Center, just off the interstate. The shop is in a glorified strip mall with a brick facade and a lovely shaded patio that faces west. I’m alone and elect to sit inside at a two-top in the center of a busy happy-hour crowd. I’ve been here at this time of day and know that the crowd will thin considerably as evening approaches. By 8 PM it will be deserted. Did I mention I’m alone?
The table I am at feels like the bullseye of the room. I face a wall lined with shelves full of wine bottles and a door that leads to the kitchen. There’s another door behind me to the patio which means I’m in the direct path of servers rushing back and forth; close enough to feel a bit of a tail wind in their wake. I’m concerned about their gaze and attention. I’m preoccupied with the notion that people are staring at me or can read what I’m typing and will learn of my concern or worse – they might discover I’m a woman with anxiety who is dealing with some flavor of an identity crisis.
I’m not exactly suffering from an identity crisis. I’m approaching 50 years old, distancing myself from my career, and can’t seem to commit to a task to occupy my fingers while I wait. Wait for what?
The bar directly on my right also has a facade, but this one is made to look like wooden wine boxes with labels from different wineries. The bar top is clean and white and stocked with the usual. The barstools are also stocked with the usual. The room encapsulates conversations with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Glasses clink. Forks scrape plates. There is occasional laughter.
I sip my OZV red blend and see only one other person who appears to be sitting alone. I wonder if they are waiting for someone or if they are going to order food. Is it a faux pas to eat alone in a place like this – a hot spot for meet-ups with friends or coworkers after a taxing day at the office? I don’t have a “job” anymore so I don’t feel like I fit in. Why do I want to put the word “job” in quotes?
Can I be honest with you? I hate the fact that I have to navigate this space with reading glasses. It disturbs me to constantly take them off or move them up on my head and back down in front of my eyes to get a good look at my surroundings. I just want to see naturally and am put off by the parts of my body that are beginning to fail me. New problems appear every month – eyesight, fatigue, brain fog, sudden shifts in body temp. It’s probably part of whatever kind of crisis this is. I’m sure of it.
I came here in an attempt to reflect and perhaps re-orient myself with the outside world, finally open again after a global pandemic. When I leave, I will go home to my family – a hard-working man, two smart, independent children, and our four cats. Mi Familia. Home to the familiar spaces of my kitchen, living room, and bedroom – welcoming and warm. Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy the good life I’ve found?
“Earned” would be a better word but I struggle with that. I fail to reconcile that what I’ve accomplished is because I’ve worked hard and have been diligent in my pursuits. I followed the prescribed, socially acceptable plan for a happy, fulfilling life – education, marriage, kids, and career. I spent many years on a routine that put everyone and everything else in my life before myself. Even when my first marriage failed, I pressed forward with my career. 45+ hours a week for 25 years at various healthcare organizations. That’s about 54,000 hours. That’s the very definition of dedication. And also, purpose. What’s my purpose now?
As I sip my second glass and the warmth of it settles in, I begin to feel a little less worried about the bustle of patrons and wait staff; a little less concerned that there’s some focus on me. I find myself staring longer (sans glasses) out the picture window to my left – cars on Center Street speeding past and a few winding up the on-ramp of I-680 North. The weeds and prairie grass between the building and the street look as if they have been left alone, to grow as wild and tall as nature will allow. The ridge on the opposite side has more of the same. The foliage flaunts its freedom with reckless abandon and ascends the slope into a copse of trees. It’s summer now, and the trees are in full sway, dancing casually with the wind. They make it look so easy.
Shyla Shehan is an analytical Virgo from the Midwest. She has an MFA from the University of Nebraska where she received an Academy of American Poets Prize. Her work has appeared in The Pinch, Moon City Review, Door is a Jar Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Whitefish Review, and elsewhere, and she’s co-founder and curator of The Good Life Review. ❀ For more, please visit shylashehan.com.