A Byproduct of Living Alone

Taking a stool beside the bar at Andy and Cheryl’s Baywatch, a New Jersey style beach restaurant, I chatted with Cheryl. She and Andy used to be married but now they are co-owners of one of the most successful business’ on Orient Beach. It makes for some interesting observations sometimes like today when they were fighting as I made my way into the open air place in bare feet.

Cheryl took my entrance as an opportunity to walk away from Andy by hugging me, dragging me to the far end of the place from Andy and decided to stay close by me. Ross the bartender handed me a beer. Adrian strolls over to give me a hug; meaning he almost broke my ribs. Brilliant white teeth are a stark contrast to his black skin and the broad smile cancels out the massive biceps.

“When we going zip lining Mon,” he asks.

“Monday,” I answer.

We both laugh. It is an old joke. Once, Adrian was going to meet a group of us in the rain forest for zip lining. We planned it around his day off which is Monday. We all showed up at the place and it’s closed on Mondays. It’s been a running joke sense.

Baywatch is dead. Normally at noon it’s jammed with diners who order “Mussels a’ la Andy” or “Margarita Shrimp.” Today only one table is occupied and the staff is sitting around joking trying not to be bored. Andy sits at a table near the entrance and starts singing along to the oldies station which is a constant at the restaurant.

“How many people are on the beach?” Cheryl asks me. “This is a terrible day.”

Shrugging my shoulders I try to describe a crowd on a beach that is a mile-and-a-half long. “I don’t know Cheryl. Most of the chairs seem occupied.”

She stares at me for a moment. “What do you want to eat? We’ll make you anything that you want today. Give us a challenge.”

Ross rolls his eyes. I try to think of something that will throw them and that I can eat at the same time.

“How about a jerked Philly Cheese Steak?” I finally suggest.

She smiles. I’ve pulled it off.

“What in the hell be dat Mon!” I hear the cook in the kitchen yell when he reads the ticket. Everybody laughs.

Cheryl hands me a piece of paper with her phone numbers on it. “Let’s do dinner one night,” she says. I tuck the paper in my hat.

My mind drifts back home to all of the dinners that I’ve had alone over the past year. Cheryl lives alone now so I get what she is asking. Most nights it just doesn’t seem worth the effort to cook for one. So I don’t. Or I’ll make myself go out just to get out of the house and be with people. After a few months, I’ve eaten everything that Tybee Island has to offer on multiple occasions and am sick of it all. It becomes this vicious circle of loneliness.

Last week at a Christmas party a person I love was sitting beside me and asked, “Is that all you’re going to eat?” staring at my plate.

“Yeah,” I replied looking in her eyes shrugging my shoulders.

It is a by-product of living alone.

Thankfully other customers arrive and Cheryl rushes off to greet them.

Ross delivers my jerked Philly Cheese Steak and we both stare at it for a moment. If hell were a food, this would be it. It was literally burning on the plate.

“I’ll get you another beer,” Ross said.

“Yeah, make it two.”