An Ally

by Meredith McKinnie

A

bout nine years ago, before my husband and toddlers, I was more footloose and fancy free. I adored the nightlife – not the typical club scene, but the more relaxed pub environment. I enjoyed the freedom to just be for hours amongst others my age and well above. Ironically, I didn’t indulge liquor at the time. I would just continually smile at the staff I knew by name when my Styrofoam cup needed more cola. I felt comfortable in that environment and frequently brought my work with me on a typical Tuesday evening. I would hole up in the corner of the patio, a six-foot picnic table all to myself, and intently focus on my papers with the music blurring the nearby conversations. Combining work and leisure was one of my favorite discoveries of my early thirties.

On one such night, I was in that same corner, about an hour into my work, when I noticed a man staring at me -intently staring, territorially staring. I felt uncomfortable immediately. I didn’t recognize his face, an unusual occurrence in this place. Other than the staff, not many other people I knew were at the establishment either. I tried to ignore him, kept looking down and planned to call over a staff member when one returned outside. But he didn’t give me the time. He sauntered over to my table and plopped down right across from me, setting his sweating glass on my ungraded papers. The wet ring immediately began to expand. I was annoyed and stared at him, biting my lower lip, unsure how to handle the situation. Should I be polite and hope for the best? Should I be assertive and ask him to leave? He hadn’t said or done anything offensive yet, but he was making me uneasy. Either he couldn’t see it or he didn’t care – I’d bet on the latter. He kept trying to ask about me, insisted on buying me a drink, and asked what I was doing. I insisted, politely, that I was working and wasn’t there to socialize. He countered that I wouldn’t be in a bar if I didn’t want to socialize. Here he was telling me what I wanted, as if I didn’t know.

I considered just vacating the table, but gathering my belongings would have taken minutes and the removal of his dripping glass, and I’m not one to cause a scene. I just wanted him to disappear, to take a hint, to make this awkward interaction easier on me by leaving. But as these situations go, he assumed persistence was a virtue. If I made a break for my car only a few steps away, would he follow? Would I be more unsafe in the parking lot? – such was the montage running through my head. I searched frantically around for a familiar face, for a source to convey my discomfort. I don’t often feel I need rescuing, but I craved rescue at that moment – and then she appeared. 

With grayish, fluffy hair and a dominating stance, a woman I’d never met suddenly towered over both of us.

“Sorry I was late…mind if I sit here?” she asked the unwelcome man across from me.

“Oh, sure, can I stay?” he asked her.

“No.” she responded and motioned for him to leave.

He begrudgingly unfolded himself from the picnic table, slid his glass off my papers, dropping three in the process, and exited the patio. She took his place and started making small talk. After he couldn’t be seen anymore, she casually said “You looked like you wanted him to go, sorry if I overstepped. I’ll be just three tables over. If you need me, just nod.”

And with that, she left. I sat stunned for a moment. It was as if I had willed her into existence, as I hadn’t noticed her before. I sat comfortably for three more hours working peacefully while she perched less than ten feet away. I knew I was okay. Many more times over the years I would stake out that corner booth, and often I would catch her eye. We would exchange a nod, and I knew someone was looking out for me. Even though I consider myself a strong woman who doesn’t need saving or protection, in a moment when I wanted an ally, a woman appeared.