A Little More Advice...

I hope you'll enjoy this follow up to a piece I originally posted February 29, 2012, entitled "A Little Advice..."

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Tom sat at the bar full of pride. In a little over a year since graduation he had not only gotten a job, but a good one at that, and found himself a nice, two-bedroom apartment with a garage near his downtown office. He'd been back to Coltrane's with the boys a few times, but after a while Tom had decided that Coltrane's wasn't the place for them. If they went there, Tom politely declined their invitation.  Instead, he went there alone, and enjoyed the pensive solitude he had been able to experience without juvenile interference. No longer referring to himself as "Tommy," he had done his best to shake off the shackles of drunken fraternity life. Tom wanted to be a man, not a "guy" or just one of the boys.

Staring at the watch on his wrist gave him a serene sense of satisfaction. "Always wear a good watch," the man had said to him. "It shows you to be a complete man, one conscious of what's going on around him." Tom had taken those words, and the other advice the man had given him that night, very much to heart. His shirts were always neatly pressed and he read at every opportunity. The second bedroom of his apartment had turned into a small library, complete with a large, overstuffed leather chair that was similar in most respects to those that rested a few feet behind him, and in which the man of mystery had been seated when he gave Tom the advice he now followed.

"Hey Tom. Usual?" the bartender asked.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby."

Bobby grinned and reached to the top shelf behind the bar, from which he removed a bottle of 15-year Glenfiddich, single malt scotch. Into a double old fashioned he poured just over two fingers worth of the elixir before adding just a splash of distilled water. Tom accepted it graciously and swirled the mixture in his glass. The motion allowed the water to release the treasures of flavor the scotch had to offer. Tom inhaled the aroma deeply before taking a short sip and letting it linger on his tongue.

"Damn, that's good," he remarked. "You want to start a tab for me, Bobby?" Tom asked as he reached for his wallet.

"You're all set, Tom. Put your money away." Tom looked at him, puzzled. "This one's on the house."

"Thanks man," Tom said with a smile. His smile quickly gave way to shock as he turned around and saw the man sitting there, in the same chair as he had before. After the gasp of initial shock passed, Tom grinned, picked up his glass, and walked over to the lounge to greet his one-time mentor.

As Tom approached, he noticed that the man wore nearly the exact same, timelessly classic ensemble he had been wearing the night they had met: custom-tailored, pin stripe suit; leather loafers; white-collared, blue dress shirt with French cuffs; and gold tie. The only difference was the watch he wore. Previously it had been a Breitling. This time a stainless steel Omega adorned his wrist. Aside from that small detail, it was as if they were meeting again later the same evening, not over a year and a half later.

"Nice to see you again, Thomas. Please, sit," the man offered with his hand outstretched. He did not rise. Tom shook his hand and accepted the offer to sit.

"Nice to see you as well," Tom replied awkwardly. Frankly he wasn't sure what to say to the stranger.

"You're wondering why I'm here, speaking to you again, aren't you?"

"Yes," Tom answered, dumbfounded.

"It's time for more advice, Thomas. Are you ready?" the strange man asked as he leaned forward. Tom tilted his head and stared into the man's eyes in a vain attempt to find any kind of familiarity. There was none. A sip of his scotch calmed Tom's nerves slightly, but there was something both frightening and compulsive in his desire to hear what the man had to say.

"I think I am."

The man laughed at Tom's response. "My dear boy, let me assure you – nothing is as you think. That leads me to my first of three more pieces of advice for you: Never assume. Ever. History has proven time and again that assumptions are nearly always wrong. Science is based in fact, not speculation. If you make assumptions, about what will happen, what others think, or what you think they will do, then you are bound for a life of disappointment. Are you clear on this?"

Tom nodded in the affirmative.

"Good," the man continued. "Next, never promise. There is no truer cliché than the phrase 'promises were meant to be broken.' We exist in a constantly spinning vortex of perpetual complexity and uncertainty. We are cosmically incapable of keeping our promises on purpose. To the extent we are able to keep such fanciful assurances, it is by luck and luck alone that circumstances would come to pass such that our foolish predictions of future acts were able to come to fruition. For example, I could promise to buy you another drink, only to be robbed of my wallet before I ever make it to the bar. Husbands and wives say vows to profess the promise of a lifelong bond, yet over fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. No, promises are not only meant to be broken, they are destined to be broken. So never promise, for to do so only sets yourself up for failure, and others for disappointment."

This time Tom sat back in his chair and took a long, slow sip of his scotch. He felt as if he was the man's apprentice, and to him and him alone the master was imparting wisdom that no others shared.

"Lastly, and most importantly, love." He paused for a moment to let the import of his words filter its way into Tom's comprehension. "Just love. Do not try to love. Do not seek love. Do not force love. If you give it, freely, truly, and wholly, love will find you. Love is a phenomenon that occurs in its own time, at its own pace, in its own majesty. You will know love when you feel it, and when you do, express it. Embrace it. Share it. Even if your love is not returned, you will be enriched for having given of yourself in the first place. The greatest gift we can give another is love, because you cannot share your love without sharing your soul, the single-most precious aspect of our very being. If love is what you feel, then feel it. Do you understand?"

Tom had neither noticed that he leaned in to listen more intently, nor did he notice that the man had grabbed his arm in the same, emphatic fashion as he had done the last time he delivered a most important piece of advice. Again there was a melancholic sense of urgency in the man's words.

"Who are you?" Tom finally asked.

"Do you really not know me, Thomas?"

"No."

           

"Oh, but you do," the man informed him. He rose, patted Tom on the shoulder, and walked from the lounge towards the bar. "You know me all too well."

Tom wracked his brain, searching for any thought or memory that might reveal the man's identity, yet there was nothing. "How can I –" Tom began to inquire as he turned around, only to discover that, once again, the man was gone. He shook his head and scoffed. "I must be losing my mind."

"Hey, Tom!" Bobby called from the bar. Tom rose and walked back over towards Bobby. "I almost forgot. Someone left this for you this morning," Bobby yelled as he reached beneath the bar and removed a small box. There was no note – merely a small tag bearing Tom's name that had been affixed to the length of brown twine that secured the package.

"What is it?" Tom asked skeptically.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Well, who left it?"

"Don't know that either. Wasn't here."

"Ok," Tom said with pause. "Thanks." Tom took the package back to the lounge where he set it on the table and stared at it for several minutes before opening it. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he pulled on the twine, releasing it easily. Upon removing the top of the white, cardboard box, Tom found within it a red, leather jewelry box. He removed it carefully and lifted the lid. The sight of its contents caused his jaw to drop.

Carefully, Tom removed the Omega Seamaster wristwatch from its cradle and held it in his hands. It was a magnificent timepiece, thought it seemed lighter, and smaller, than a brand new watch should have been. "Nah, couldn't be," Tom remarked before testing his theory. He carefully removed the Tag Heuer he was wearing, set it carefully on the lounge table, and placed the Omega around his wrist. Once clasped, the watch slid snugly into place, a perfect fit.

"This is impossible," he whispered aloud. There was no question in his mind that the Omega was one and the same as the one his mysterious mentor had been wearing just minutes before.

"Bobby, when you say someone dropped this off?"

"It must have been this morning. It was already here when I got here at eleven. Nice lookin' watch."

"Yeah," Tom said absently as he stared at the incredibly generous gift.

"Who's it from?"

Tom sat silently as he removed the watch to examine it more closely. "I, I don't know. Did you see the guy I was talking to earlier?"

"What guy?"

"The guy I was sitting with in the lounge."

"Brother, I don't know how many of those things you've had, but I think maybe a few too many."

"Why?"

"Tommy boy, this place ain't that busy tonight. You got up and sat in the lounge, and I could see you the whole time. There was no one else there."

Tom shook his head in disbelief while Bobby went to attend to other bar patrons. When he looked at the watch again, Tom noticed something odd. He removed it and held it up close to his eyes. The band and back of the case were slightly worn. When he put the watch back on, the areas of dullness on the metal band aligned perfectly with the contours of his wrist – It was not just a watch, it was his watch.

Tom smirked, then laughed heartily. Suddenly everything became clear. "Son of a bitch," he remarked. He continued laughing as he left Coltrane's. The door close quietly behind him.

© J.J. Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.