OB - Odd Ball

We push our way through the doors and I look over to John, my eyebrows raised. I don’t need to say "told you so", he can see for himself. The bistro is noisy and full. People are talking, laughing and sharing stories. I spot two empty seats opposite a man sitting alone and perform my well-developed calculation of pros and cons. A glance is enough. The man is staring at his book. He hasn’t shaved. Some of his clothes don’t fit him. The arms of his jacket end six inches above his wrist. The sleeves of his shirt are dirty. I take a quick look around but there are no other seats, it’s this or nothing. I sit down and John follows suit.

"Kirsten are you sure that you’re comfortable sitting here" he says.

I laugh at the sudden interest John has in my comfort. It would be nice to think that at this very moment John is being sincere. If only...
The truth is that John doesn’t like sitting opposite the grimy man. I want a pleasant evening so I resist the temptation to point this out. In fact I want more than just a pleasant evening, I want to sort out the row we’ve had and get back to the loving. John is good at that. But he has to understand my point of view and I will make sure that he does.

I sense that John isn’t alone in feeling some discomfort. We keep getting odd darting looks from people sitting near us and the waiter just passed by. I am sure that he had a smirk on his face. ‘Another waiter who thinks he is God's gift!’
I start to chat to John about the film we are going to see. I like psychological thrillers and this is a good one. But my attention is drawn to the grimy man. I lean over to John and whisper

"The OB (odd ball) is mumbling." I say in the abbreviation John and I use.
We both giggle but I’m halted in midstream by the sudden clarity of his voice.

"You’re laughing and my friend has committed suicide" he says.

That isn’t what I expected at all. Neither is it for John who looks uneasy. What a contrast John is to OB. John is good looking in his designer tee shirt and ear rings. But it’s OB who fascinates me. It looks as though he’s taking notes in his book. The book is dog-eared and old, a cheap thriller. As I look closer it’s clear to me that the OB isn’t really taking notes at all.
Why would anyone sit in the farthest corner of a crowded bistro and pretend to take notes from a book and mumble things about suicide?

No wonder these two seats were the only ones free when we came into the place.

It feels strange. I wanted to have a good night out with John, but now it feels like our little bubble has burst. He is still mumbling, but at least he’s not talking to us. I don't suppose John will do anything if the OB gets difficult. It will be left to me to sort it out as usual. He’s not looking at us directly. He’s sort of looking into mid space. He’s creepy.

John crosses and then uncrosses his legs; he still looks edgy, as if some strange and unknown creature has crept into the corner of the bistro and could pounce on him at any time. John looks at the new tattoo on his arm for some reassurance. It’s a bleeding heart with the words ‘I love you’ written with blood from a dripping dagger. I like it.

Our attention is drawn back to OB who’s not behaving normally. I know what John is thinking; he’s wondering why we have to sit here next to the him. He’s probably worried that OB might be more than just a harmless misfit. He’s wondering if this is a door opening to something a bit more sinister.

John begins talking to me in a purposeful tone, covering up the creeping uneasiness that has arisen. He looks around but there’s nowhere else we can sit. He looks trapped and uncomfortable sitting next to OB.

Across the room the waiter looks to where the young couple are sitting. He noticed the girls' dark hair when he crossed the room and he likes her tanned shoulders. Perhaps he should go over and take the order. The young girl and her boyfriend look uncomfortable. It’s because they are sitting opposite Harry. He’s been in a few times before and hasn't caused any problems. Once some customers complained about his mumbling but the waiter thinks that people should live and let live. Tonight Harry looks more agitated than he has been before. The waiter thinks he will keep an eye on him. In order to get across the room to the young couple the waiter has to perform his usual dance. The whole place is full of people on their way somewhere, to a film or a festival show. There are couples or groups of friends everywhere. It seems that the only exception is the Harry and his book.

"Hello, what can I get you?" The waiter looks at John but I reply "A coke for me and a bottle of Becks".

The waiter looks over at Harry who keeps his eyes down staring at the book.

"Anything for you?" he asks. Harry shakes his head. The shake could be yes or no, it’s not very clear. The waiter heads back to the bar.

OB is mumbling again, I could say something to him. But he’s odd, so odd, who knows what sort of response I will get! I wonder what he sees looking out from under his eyebrows at all these people, friends and couples sitting together.
We are all with someone. I feel a bit sorry for him and I’m just about to say hello when he gasps loudly as though in pain, a shudder runs through his body, he whimpers, bites his lip and tears well up in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

He doesn't answer me and looks straight at John

"You’re missing out," he hisses through clenched teeth and then bows his head to his book again. He looks in pain, but is this part of his routine?

"Sorry I d..d..don't ..." stammers John, but he is interrupted.

"Do you know who your best friend is?" The OB looks down again and stares at the page.

John looks at me; I turn my eyes up in mock derision. John does the same thing at the same time. We smile at each other and laugh. The tension seems to lessen. I’m amazed because the OB seems to take this as a cue to talk to us again.

"Do you feel alone?" he asks.

John looks at me but before I can answer the OB continues.

"There’s sadness, emotion and laughter, all of life is in this book."

I have to restrain a wayward strand of hair and hook it behind my ear. I’m warming to OB. His last remark means he is thinking about his life. He’s trying to talk to us. Perhaps I could help him.

"I am not alone" OB says
"I have one of man's best friends".

"A dog, what is he called" John asks,...
"What breed is he?"

A silence follows.

"Is he a mongrel?"

"No" OB says.
"You don't understand how could you understand? I’ve got more than one friend. They’re always there when I want them" he says.

I’m feeling sympathetic.
"I’m glad that you have friends, we all need them" I say.

John looks bored with this. His threshold is so low. He’s probably wondering why we are bothering with this OB, this loser. If he takes the piss I’ll kick him.

"Yes, I’m sure that you’re really popular, a well-read person like you!" John says and a sneer appears on his face. I give John a kick in the shins.

OB looks John in the eye.

"Sometimes they challenge me, all that raw emotion, but I can pick them up and put them down whenever I want...until now that is"

"How do you do that?" I ask.

I'm startled by the way he reacts. He begins to get agitated; he’s shaking and talking quite loudly again.

"I live the life I have chosen; it’s all a drama, like an Arthur Miller play" he says.

After a pause, tears well up in his eyes.

"That is why this is so difficult for me" he sobs.

"OK" I say soothingly."Don't get upset"

But he’s angry again.

"You have no respect, you’re laughing and joking and that makes me angry". Spittle sprays from his mouth and he nearly shouts the last words.

Three young men sitting opposite look over at the trendy couple and the scruffy, pot bellied man. They avoided sitting next to him when they came in.
“Just another one of life's sad misfits" the tall one said to the others, loud enough for the man to hear. Now the tall one speaks again.
"There might be a bit of entertainment over there" he says nodding his head towards the threesome. They look over to the scruffy man talking to the young couple, he is talking loudly.
"If anyone needs rescuing, I’ll look after the girl," he says.
They all laugh and pick up their beers.

"I pity you" OB says to the young couple.

"I pity you because you just read books".

"I...I'm sorry, I don't understand"

John’s superior smirk has disappeared now.

"No you don't understand"

"My relationship with my friend has gone on to a whole new dimension. I take my friend out with me, just as I have tonight"

I start to think that OB has really flipped and I look at John. I turn my head and point to the direction of the door. Before I can move OB says

"If there’s a question, it deserves an answer... That is why I always bring a pen with me so that I can write answers to the book in the margins".

It dawns on me that OB means that the book is his friend. He goes out to places like this with his book for company.

"Oh, the book" I say.

"The book is your friend".

"Yes" OB says.

"That’s why I was writing to it"

"Why?" I ask.

"To try and persuade it to change the conclusion of the story line".

"Err...how can you do that?" John is sneering again.

OB’s eyes fill with fear.

"This book is my best friend and he has taken me past the point of no return... I had to do it".
After a pause he repeats

"You have no respect".

"Now that’s a bit too dramatic" I say.

I’m starting to loose my patience.

OB is looking into my eyes and I’m amazed to see his pupils turn upwards, and keep moving higher, until only the whites are showing.He stays like that for a moment and then his head falls forward and hits the table hard. I scream and the noisy chatter in the bistro switches off like a light. Everyone is looking towards our table.
John jumps up and puts his arm around the OB’s shoulder, expecting him to get up and say
"Fooled you".

But he doesn't move.
John gives him a shake but there’s no response.
John notices something under his foot, something sticky.
He turns grey and gags. He looks like the contents of his stomach will come up.

"What's wrong? I ask.

"It’s blood" John manages to reply.

I follow John’s eyes and look down to OB’s arm.
Now I realise that after pretending to write in his book, OB has kept his hands under the table.
He didn’t want anyone to see what was happening.
I move over to take a closer look.
I see blood trickling down the OBs fingers.
I trace the flow of blood up to a crimson bracelet, jagged and gruesome cut into his left wrist.
It’s a long, deep wound.
Blood is pumping out; pumping weakly now, but still spilling his life onto the bistro floor.
John picks up the book with trembling fingers and shows it to me.
We read the title together and our eyes communicate an understanding deeper than words could achieve.

"Let’s plan a quiet suicide" By Peter Ridley.

The End

2101 Words