A Shark Came Into The Bar

I’ve seen him before. Shiny. Full of teeth. Swishing around like he owns the place. A predator.

I met him when I bought a car.

When I had to go to court, I met him again.

I see him every Sunday, preaching to the high heavens and asking for money.

He was up on the stage holding a microphone during the last election.

Back in college, when I was naïve, there were so many – Just. Like. Him.

I used to work for him, but I had to quit because he wouldn’t leave me alone. His wife found out and said it was my fault. How? All I wanted was a paycheck. I didn’t ask for anything more. Didn’t want anything more. Nobody asked me, but I was forced into… it. And then I got the blame, and so I had to leave.

I once had him as an instructor for a night class I was taking at community college. I ended up having to choose between my grade and me.

Sometimes he follows me when I walk home at night from work at the job I had to take with low pay, crappy hours and no future.

I see him looking at me on the bus.

He’s everywhere.

And now, he’s here.

It’s been a long week and I just want to sit in the corner. Please – everyone – please just leave me alone and let me be. But, to him, it doesn’t matter that I don’t want to talk. When he sees me, he doesn’t see me – he just sees an appetizer. Something to satiate his immediate needs. To him, I’m chum, just waiting to be swallowed and all the little bits spit out. He thinks he’s so charming, in his shiny suit. That huge smile with all those teeth flashing at me. The only reason I’m still here is because I’m frozen. In fright.

He hands me a trinket. It’s a little shark that he unpinned from his lapel. I don’t want it. He doesn’t care. He says it’s him and I’ll hurt his feelings if I don’t take it. Does he not notice that I don’t want him here? No, he doesn’t notice – because he doesn’t care enough to take a moment to notice.

I try to move away, but – stupid, stupid me! – in my desire to be left alone, I chose the seat in the corner. There’s no escape.

He’s moving in for the kill. I know it.

“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice calls from across the room.

I look around and see a woman waving at me.

She swoops across the room, squeezes around him and wraps me in a giant hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?” She’s exuberant.

I don’t know her.

“You have to come with me,” she takes my hand and starts to pull me off my chair. “You don’t want to miss this!”

Her hand around my wrist, I’m dragged out of the corner and to a table far away from him.

“Hi,” she says. “My name’s Rochelle.” She looks across the room, at him. “You looked like you needed some rescuing.”

I nod. “Thank you,” I say, feeling a bit numb. A bit silly. A bit fragile. A whole lot saved.

Over in my corner, he looks at me for a minute. Probably wondering how he messed up. Taking note how to not let it happen again.

He reaches for the silver shark lapel pin, still laying where he’d put it as his barter, and sticks it in his pocket. I’ll bet he’s got a dozen of them in there.

~~~~~

Sorcha Monk lives in a small town in a desert near a river. She belongs to four dogs who love her, and four cats who occasionally acknowledge her existence but always allow her to feed them. Sorcha used to be a middle school teacher, but now that she has her life back she writes stories, rides a large motorcycle, dabbles in ceramics and reads a lot.

If you liked the story, please click the little heart. Thanks!