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who masquerades as an artist, musician, and writer, and
enjoys referring to himself in the third person.
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a motive for mr blathering
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[i].
one morning early in the new year, on a weekday no less, our mr blathering suddenly found himself searching for a motive to stop at a local establishment for a drop of solace on his way to work. it was one of those crisp, clear, icy mornings which prompts most to head for their destinations with a brisk, purposeful gait. yet mr blathering, with hat, gloves, collar raised, cashmere scarf tied noose-like around his neck, seemed decidedly undecided as he shuffled along in the general direction of the subway.
it was not an easy task, justifying the indefensible. having exhausted all remotely plausible excuses by the time he approached the station entrance, mr blathering finally mumbled something about the triumph of free will over the tyranny of logic, and veered off to the café.
[ii].
- "hey there, mr b!" came the feminine greeting from behind the bar, a burst of casual optimism with just a sparkle of seduction (which mr blathering liked to imagine was solely for his benefit).
- "hello, scotch please, neat."
- "a bit early in the day, even for you, no?" she teased.
mr blathering did not respond, but merely watched as the lithe figure gracefully attended to his request. he watched as a measure was poured without aid of measurement, and his gaze followed the bottle to the delicate hand that held it, up past the elbow, around the curve of the shoulder, past the ivory black locks that framed an alabaster smile, finally to those unexpected azure eyes that never failed to startle him.
suddenly embarassed by his effrontery, mr blathering shuddered and lowered his head. he was ashamed to be there, leering at this statuesque presence, unable to account for himself. taking a long, lingering sip, he trembled as the fiery liquid burned his throat and warmed his entire body.
-"here's to a man of principle!"
-"eh?"
-"that's what you are, mr b--a man of principle."
-"how's that?"
-"well, ever since i've known you--and it's been a while, hasn't it--you've never wavered."
-"wavered...from what?"
-"why, chilled martinis when warm, scotch when cold, of course!"
mr blathering looked up. there were faint signs of wrinkles around those laughing blue eyes, he thought, that lent credence to a gratuitous generosity. he wanted to kiss her, or at least hold her pale hands in his for just a moment. he wanted to tell her something he had known for certain a long time ago, but had since forgotten. or had he imagined it all along?
[iii].
it was getting late. though his presence at work was hardly essential, mr blathering knew that his absence would be noticed. comments would be made, snide remarks exchanged. there was nothing left to do and the entire responsibility of that insurmountable task lay squarely on his shoulders.
mr blathering finished the last drop and placed a few notes next to the empty glass. he buttoned his coat, put on his hat, his gloves, and tightened the scarf around his neck. then, with an air of indefensible dignity, our mr blathering quietly shuffled along in the general direction of the subway.
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