I had heard the door to the quaint little sports bar open several times since I had arrived, but for some reason I turned to look this time and was surprised at what I saw. As she walked in, I could tell that something was wrong. Her normal posture - usually very tall and proud - was instead slumped over, her shoulders drooping. Instead of her normal smile - the smile that made her look like she had 50 teeth - she was displaying a sad frown. Her bright eyes were dull, and maybe even tinged with red. If it was visible in the muted light of the bar, I knew she was upset. I could tell all these things even though I had never met her before in person.
So how did I know that she was upset, and not her usual perky self? Because she's on my television every weekday at 12:30 p.m. She's one of the co-hosts of a show produced by our local television station. It's advertised as "Good Day Iowa, with Tracey Willis and Steve Ransom" a community action and awareness program featuring items of local interest. Of course, the reality is that it's basically a 30-minute commercial, where businesses purchase time selling their product in exchange for a nice advertisement package on the station. To their credit, they also use the show to highlight area non-profit agencies whose purpose is to improve life in Iowa. It's produced on a very low budget, and the currently sad host who just walked into the bar is one of the reasons the show is so successful.
That's why I watch - I love watching Tracey's cheery disposition as she interviews guests and often gets to do whatever it is the sponsor is promoting. I've seen her take grounders on the infield of the local minor league baseball team, jump out of an airplane, and play soccer with an energized group of kids at the local Y. Soccer is her jam, since she has told us several times on the show that she played soccer through college, and she has the legs to prove it.
That's another reason I watch her show. She's cute, in a very playful way. I wasn't kidding about her smile. I know that her personality and her willingness to do just about anything to promote the show to potential advertisers makes all her guests feel important. But back to the cuteness - she has long brunette hair that she can put up in several different ways. She's nicely shaped, with pert breasts a little larger than the ones sported by most of the soccer players on the Women's National Team. But her legs are truly tremendous, and while I didn't think I was a leg man, I am when I think about her. Of course, she's also half my age, so she would always remain just a cute co-host of a local TV show, and a pleasant lunchtime distraction on the television in my office.
There was no smile tonight, and it was evident as she trudged in, taking her place a few stools down from me at the bar. I tried not to stare at her, since she was already feeling lowly, and I didn't want to make it worse. But I was stealing an occasional glance, enough to see that she was wearing a dark, long-sleeved sweater and very nicely fitted blue jeans. Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders, before ending midway down her back.
It was a late fall Wednesday night, so there were no games of significance on the screens - at least none of the games had caught my attention. I had been preparing to leave before she walked in. But I had nothing pressing to do the rest of the evening, and since my career was working with people to help them with their problems, I was drawn to stay for at least a little while longer. Being lonely here was better than being lonely at home.
It's difficult being a single man just past sixty. I hated the dating scene, so I rarely tried to participate. I knew part of the reason for my hesitancy could be attributed to the fact that I would never find anyone to replace my late wife. Many women had tried, but there was always something holding me back from getting too serious with any of them. It was as if I hated conflict so much that I didn't let any relationship get to the point where conflict could possibly happen.
My Lucy died several years ago after a long and brave fight with ALS - "Lou Gehrig's Disease." It was difficult watching her waste away while knowing there was nothing that could be done to stop it. I stayed strong with her to the end. Ours was a marriage that I felt was truly idyllic. Because of that, I could easily find faults in the women who now claimed they were interested in me, and I was afraid I'd be unhappier with a new woman than I am now without anyone.
We had two boys, but both got educated in college and thought they needed to escape what they felt was the stifling boredom of living in a flyover state. They both found successful careers in big cities, about 500 miles apart from each other and about 1,000 miles away from me. I don't get to see them that often, and since they both seem happy with their careers and locations, I'm afraid opportunities to see them will be few and far between.
I spend my time working Monday through Friday as a relationship therapist - I try to help couples and even some individuals and families work through problems that are causing tension and unrest. I think in the past I would be known as a marriage counselor, but I try not to limit myself to working with couples only. I work for a privately owned mental health agency, which means most of my clients aren't receiving any kind of assistance in paying for my services. I probably make a little more than those in similar positions but working for a governmental health agency, although that part doesn't really matter to me anymore. With the life insurance we purchased for each other twenty years ago, I'm not really hurting for money.
Outside of work, I try to stay fit by walking and riding my bicycle. After Lucy died, I became somewhat of a hermit, coming outside only to go to and from work, and spending too much time looking for happiness in a bottle of wine. Because of that, I began to gain weight, until I looked at my puffy face in the mirror one day and was disgusted with what I saw. After that, I learned to cook healthy foods, though I'm not a vegetarian: I eat a lot of chicken and fish. I forced myself to quit drinking at home while I was alone and set limits for how much I'd drink when I was out. I've joined up with a local bicycle club and on good weekends there is usually a group ride. But I also enjoy walking or riding by myself, spending that time thinking of Lucy and the great life we shared.
When Lucy was first diagnosed with ALS, I also immersed myself in helping the local ALS awareness chapter do whatever I could to bring an awareness of this terrible disease, including raising money to donate to research. After watching Lucy die a little every day as the disease took control of her body, I didn't want another family to ever experience the pain I did, and I didn't want another victim of ALS to be held prisoner by a disease they could not control.
But all those thoughts were temporarily pushed aside as I stole glances in Tracey's direction. Soon I could see a tear rolling down her cheek, and at that moment I dropped the fantasy part of my interest in her and switched into therapist mode - something that had always been an occupational hazard for me. If someone was struggling and looked like they needed help, it didn't matter when or where it was - if I could help in any way at all, it was worth trying.
I looked over at her and said, "You look like somebody who is having a rotten evening. Is there anything I can do to help?"
She turned to me and tried to force a smile, but it wasn't nearly as full and bright as her TV smiles. "Thanks for asking," Tracey replied, "but I wouldn't want to drag anybody else's evening down."
That was my cue as a therapist to make sure she knew I was serious about being able to help her, and not some leering old man who only had one thing on his mind...although I had to admit I didn't watch her show daily on my lunch break to see how she was feeling.
I reached for my wallet and pulled out one of my business cards. I learned a long time ago that there are people in need everywhere you turn, and having a business card available at an instant authenticated my claim that I could help them.
I moved over one stool closer to her and leaned her way, stretching my arm out to offer her the card I held in my fingers. "That's okay, I promise you I've talked with people who have some pretty serious problems, and I really would like to help if it would make you feel better."
She picked her head up a little and looked at the card before cautiously taking it from my hand. She looked down again and read the printed words - "Brian Stewart, licensed therapist specializing in group and individual counseling." It had my office address and phone number as well.
Tracey studied the card as if she was looking for a loophole. After a few seconds, she turned her head back to me and asked, "So why are you so interested in me, Brian Stewart?"
I smiled and replied, "Well, Tracey Willis, this is a side of you that the public normally doesn't see, and to be honest I'd rather see you as your happy self on your show than your sad and upset self here tonight."
She shrugged her shoulders and said, "So you know who I am. How do I know you're not just perving on me hoping to find me at a vulnerable time?"
