Short Stories

The Encounter

by collette mcfarland
09/12/06
For Sale
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The Encounter He came in and took a booth in the back. I had my eyes on Him waiting to see if anyone would join Him. He wasn't a regular. I don't think I'd ever seen Him around town. After my third drink I sauntered over, my legs somewhat unsteady. He would do till some better prospects arrived.

"This seat taken?"

"No, please." Standing he pulled out a chair for me. Unusual

. "Alone?" I asked

"My friends and I are passing through. They're out grocery shopping." He answered. "Would you mind buying me a drink?"

Oh, brother. A dead beat. "Men are supposed to buy mine." But I motioned for the waitress.� What will you have?"

"Just a coke, please."

At least I won't be out much, I thought, as I ordered his drink and a refill for me. He passed his hand over my glass, "Sorry, I thought I saw something on it." He explained. He had the saddest expression as he observed the customers around us.

"So many hurting people." He said, more to himself than me.

"This is where they come all right. Alcohol is a great pain killer." I drained the last drop of my drink and ran my tongue around the rim, seductively. He didn't pick up on it. I ran my fingers down my cleavage. "So big boy, what do you do for a living?"

"I work with my dad. We have a restoration business."

His eyes looked into mine so deeply I felt my soul being stripped. I didn't mind exposing nude flesh, but my heart? Then it started, words just spilled over themselves to fall on the table. It didn't take long to fill him in on my whole life. My marriage, divorce, marriage, divorce, ad infinitum. Things I'd never told a living soul, and things I hadn't even admitted to myself. I didn't have a clue as to what caused the hinges on my jaw to flap wildly; I'm not the talkative type. It just seemed as if nothing about me was a secret to this man. I buttoned up my blouse, inconspicuously, one button at a time, and pulled my skirt down lower to cover my knees.

People started coming in for happy hour. As they passed our table their ears would bend and before long they became part and parcel of the conversation. So many recitals of hurt and agony slopped out of broken vessels. So many "let me tell you about this" stories. He just sat and listened, and let tears slide down his cheek. Then He shared truths that caused us to see things differently. Somehow all the mistakes that led me down this road seemed reversible. Chairs scrapped across the floor as our group expanded. Then tables were pushed together to add more entries to our cluster. Adulterers, drunks, gamblers, liars, thieves, and druggies, and dozens of them were patrons of mine. We all met on common ground and nothing offended this clean-cut young man. No topic was off bounds, no language was corrected, but over time foul words evaporated and were replaced with acceptable substitutes.

Alcohol flowed freely, yet no one seemed to get intoxicated. It was as though we were drinking water. In fact the more I drank the more sober I became. Someone told the manager to turn off the jukebox. None of us wanted to be distracted from this man's wisdom. It wasn't long before God became the central topic. Odd none of us took to our feet and ran, we weren't after all the church going types, more like church burners. It seemed so natural to discuss God in this bar. Never once was religion brought up, however. He made God sound like a personal friend of ours who, who'd known us from before the cradle.

"God is a spirit. He is wherever we are. He doesn't want to hear from us for just an hour on Sundays". He explained. "He loves it when he's talked about, or to, anywhere, bars included."

He sounded like he and God were on first name basis. Eventually some more strangers showed up. His friends, I guessed. One came up to him and whispered in his ear, "Sir, you don't need to be seen with this riff raff. That's a whore you're next too!"

"Look again. I think you're mistaken." He replied, firmly, laying His hand on mine. He wouldn't argue in my presence. That was obvious. So gallant. I felt esteemed. My reputation hadn't been defended in years, if ever.

"We're done shopping. Let's go eat." another friend of His suggested, meekly.

"I've already eaten." He responded.

His friends glanced at each other. Only pretzels and peanuts were on display. Surely this wasn't enough to satisfy Him after the long day of work.

We all got to our feet to beg Him to stay when He was finally ready to continue his journey. He promised this wouldn't be His last contact with us, and he was sending a friend to guide us. We all escorted him to the door like a parade. It was hard to believe we'd only known Him for hours. Some of us slipped money into His hand. Only the proprietor seemed relieved He was on his way.

I went to my car, keys ready, and I looked at the gaudy neon sign in the parking lot. Jacob's Well: Drinks and Strippers. I would never be seen here again. No part of me. Ever. I wasn't even going home to my latest shack up. He wouldn't miss me me until the rent was due. I was going home to my family, to beg their forgiveness. He never did reveal his name. I did notice initials on His shirt, though. J.C. Wonder what they stood for. For me they stood for, "Just Cured!" One thing I know for sure. He was definitely in the restoration business. Restoring souls and lives. And hope.

John 4:1-26

Math 9:11

2 Cor. 5:17

John 16:7