Want Versus Need

The smell of something normal lingers in the office as the mouse click, click, clicks through the various windows that stopped amusing Lisa hours ago.



It’s Friday afternoon again, and she knows she’ll never muster up the courage to tell John that she doesn’t want to go.



They’ve gone to the bar every Friday for the past two years, and they’ve had nothing to talk about for at least six months of it.


It’s without question that he comes to her desk as she’s putting the last folder in her briefcase. “Another week” – a phrase that he adds some variation to occasionally, but it always means the same thing.



There was a time that Lisa thought she’d marry John. Of course, it was so long ago now that she couldn’t pinpoint a reason she ever truly thought it. It was back when she had been burned by lifeless relationships, he had never touched another human being intimately, and all that mattered was that they laughed heartily at each other’s jokes.



The town is nothing special and neither is the bar. The exterior of the place, a brilliant mix of green and purple, might make you think that its inside will be some departure from the woody décor of every bar in any town. But once inside you could be anywhere, or nowhere, and you’d never know to care.



She sits click, click, clicking some more – a glance at the clock tells her that only eleven more minutes will elapse before he comes to her desk and they go on their way.



Staring at the blinking cursor in her email – a note not worth sending to her sister, for what will she say – she has the image of what will ensue in her mind.



He’ll order them beer, which will come in unmatching mugs. She’ll take her first sip, the bitterly amber liquid with just the slightest bit of fizz will slide down her throat as he will look toward the window, dusty haze coming through it and illuminating the reality that it’s five-fifteen in Watervliet, NY, and they’re in a bar called Muddy’s.



He’ll sigh, loudly, and lisp out some sentence about there not being any good men in this town. She’ll commiserate, but the words are worn and so is her nod. It’s as though they’ve gone to a thrift store every day for a month, never finding what they need and yet still discussing the monotony of the objects. She knows that there won’t be color added to a place if she searches for it every day, but he seems to need to bring it up anyway. She thinks it makes him feel better to be aware of the shit. He doesn’t do anything about it, but at least he can acknowledge it.



They’ll drink two beers or so and then go home. By then it’ll be seven and she can make dinner and watch a made-for-TV movie – some Lifetime bullshit.



It’s so monotonous they could both scream at the top of their lungs and probably no one would hear them – the cushion of it would just suck in their rebellion.



Click, click, clicking of the mouse stops as she shuts down her computer and starts to pack her bag. As she sees him approach the desk, with all her might she builds it up in her mind. Sure, it’s their tradition – but wouldn’t it be nice to be home at five-fifteen, and watch TV, or do some laundry?



“Another day, another dollar, right Lis?”



She smiles, nods. Puts the last folder in her bag, and looks up at his face – expecting to go, but she wonders how he could possibly want to.



The heavy glass doors of the office building swing open and they are released into the dulled fluorescent light of the sun, tired and retreating to a place behind some low buildings. The air is cold and she is glad as they approach their cars, parked next to each other. Without a word they get behind similar steering wheels, and are ready to drive to Muddy’s, but she rolls down the passenger side window and honks the horn. He rolls down his window.



“Hey – what if we don’t…”



He looks at her without a word.



“I mean, what if we try somewhere new? Take a road trip or something? Get outta here for once?”



He smiles, and nods. He gets out of his car and into hers, and they drive away.



The highway has exits they’ve never tried before.