Tom

I went to a party last night. In Oakville. It was hosted by a woman I met on the train at work. Cathy's her name. Cathy and her sister ride the train (my train) to and from work. I sat with them one day about two years ago and we struck up an easy friendship. Other passengers joined us and now we have a group of six or seven women who visit each day on their homebound commute. It's nice. I find I actually prefer the company of women.

Anyway, our little group gets together two or three times a year for a Christmas party or a backyard barbecue. The women bring their husbands or boyfriends. Never both, though. (Wink.) Sometimes, someone will invite another friend or perhaps a neighbour. It's potluck and there's always way too much food.

There were some new faces at Cathy's last night. Chelsea works in the office with Cathy. Chelsea was there with her husband, Nick. Lovely people with delightfully accented speech. They're from South Africa. I also met a man named Tom. Tom is, I think, the brother of Cathy's boyfriend. Tom attended with his son, Grant. Grant is seventeen and quite taciturn. Or perhaps, like the rest of us, he was unable to get a word in edgewise.

Tom completely monopolized the conversation. The entire evening. The only way to visit last night, was to begin a conversation with someone else. It took a while before we discovered this.

Tom told us everything we wanted to know (and then some) about politics, trade unions, the federal penal system, municipal mass transit, as well as a number of personal anecdotes designed always to portray Tom in a positive light. His voice was deep and booming. He commanded (DE-manded?) our unwavering attention.

All the while as he spoke, his feet bounced nervously. Sometimes, I marvelled at the way his voice trembled due to his nervous bouncing. His hands fluttered before him as though he were conducting an orchestra. I noticed his fingernails, chewed down to the quick. Clearly, Tom was not a man comfortable in his own skin.

I observed this man, Ms J. I really noticed him. And I thought how miserable it must be to feel so awkward around others. And how tiring! Poor Tom must miss out on a lot. I'll bet he doesn't often benefit from social interaction. He'd rarely hear any viewpoint but his own. It's a pity, really. I felt a little sorry for him.

And then I got up and left the room to spend most of the evening in the kitchen with the women.