Nurse the Hate: The Strangers In The Photo

He was sitting in the company lunch room, a bleak industrial space without windows and under fluorescent light.  A slight buzz could be heard from a failing bulb.  He had decided to trade in the desperate loneliness of wondering about his lost love for the piercing pain of certainty in searching out photographs of her on social media. He was staring at a photo of her in a group.  It was a mixed group of men and women, smiling with the shared comraderie of a night out.  He studied it like the Zapruder film of the Kennedy assassination.  What did the subtle facial expressions indicate?  Each hand location implied familiarity and no doubt created dozens of potential scenarios in his head.  He stared over at me.  “I never should have looked for her.”

I, on the other hand, had hoped to slip by and go out to the parking lot with that nod of acknowledgement that signified “Hello.  I see you.  Greetings, but I cannot stop due to inflexible time constraints.”  He was deep in it though.  There was no way I could avoid it.  I was going to have to fill the role of priest, advisor, and most likely liar.  He needed someone to throw him a rope. 

“What do you think?  Is she with one of these guys?  Or is this just like a bunch of people from the office that went out?”  Now I didn’t know any of these people.  I had never seen them before.  And these photos were frivolous instants in stranger’s lives.  What did I know?  It was a group of people in their late 20s/early 30s.  Everybody had probably fucked everybody or was at least trying to.  I looked at it closely.  Somebody was fucking the cute little brown girl.  That was clear.  Probably the guy in the baseball cap.  His ex-girl was in the back of the group smiling, not wanting to be the center of attention.  She was probably just out with the group.  Yet…  Who was that guy back there near her?  He seemed a bit meek, like he was under the sway of the girl in question.  Hmmm…  Something was going on there.

“I don’t know.  Who are these people?”  He wasn’t sure.  Work friends he thought.  They were all on some sort of outing.  “Well, someone is hooked up with that girl in the green.  I think it’s that douche baseball hat guy.  One of the two dorks is probably with that puffy pale girl in the sundress.  It looks like your girl is just hanging out.” 

“Really?  Do you think so?  I think that guy back there next to her might be her new boyfriend.  See how he’s lurking near her?”  Uh-oh.  He saw the same thing I did.  I looked over at my co-worker, knowing full well what he expected.  He needed me to provide him with a scenario where he could have the willing suspension of disbelief that his girl was still like he remembered her, thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her, that somehow, they would get back together.  He needed me to tell him a lie that he could cling to for combating the misery of imagining her happy, in constant coital bliss, and having totally forgotten him.  He needed a lie that would work.

“No way.  She would never go out with that pussy.  Look at him.  He’s probably just trying to get in there.  Look how uncomfortable he looks, like he’s got no game.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”  He stared back at his phone, trying on my scenario, seeing if it fit.  I took that pause as my way out.  “Hey, I gotta go.  Don’t let it bother you.  It’s her loss.”  I walked out the door, a successful escape.  I still had the image of the photo in my mind, of the girl and the thin uncomfortable man.  There was no doubt. 

They looked like a couple.