I was sitting at the diner on the corner. I was waiting for coffee
and getting more and more inpatient as the time passed. The man behind the
counter finally came down my way, but filled my cup only half way. Before I
could even argue, he looked at out the window at somebody coming in.
I muttered under my breath, “You might want to wait on the people that are already here before starting to ogle the girl coming in.” Then I saw her.
She was slight, and had dark hair and eyes—classically beautiful. And she was powerful, at least powerful enough to grab his attention. She obviously knew him and was staring right through his chest at his heart. She had a suit case with her, and was a little more dressed up than you usually see anyone at the corner diner these days.
After a long pause, he said, “Hey, Baby! Thanks for coming by.” This wasn’t sarcastic or a pick up line. He obviously knew her very well and was very glad she’d stopped by his place of work to see him.
She looked at him, without saying a word, and motioned for him to come down to the other end of the counter. After whispering something to him for what must have been 60 seconds, she hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, said, “Goodbye” and turned around and walked out.
I didn’t know what to think of this, but it was obvious that his mood would not be improving. I decided at this point to let the whole coffee thing go and to see where this ended up going. Then the guy, who hasn’t said two words to me all morning, turns around and starts to vent to anyone sitting at the counter who will listen, or more accurately to no one in particular.
At the counter there was only another man in a business suit reading a newspaper, an older woman with a little girl who was really cute and who appeared to be her granddaughter, and a middle aged man of Indian decent.
As I listened to his soliloquy I saw what must have been years of sadness, great memories, love, trial, disappointments and great victories come out. He talked about his friend in terms that make you want to get to know her a little better or maybe even to hear her side of the story. We heard about a romance for the ages and listened to all the pomp and circumstance of what was a relationship in definition only—in spirit, he’d had more of a powerful, passionate eight year dance with the woman than a mere ‘relationship’.
And now, it was over.
The businessman was trying unsuccessfully to ignore the monologue, the grandma had great sympathy, the little girl was oblivious, and the Indian man didn’t have any reaction all. As for me, I was, well, as my friend Brian would say, “hooked like a fish”. South Africans have a saying “hanging on his lips” meaning that you are so interested in what is being said that you are waiting impatiently on every word, just like I was waiting impatiently for my coffee only 10 minutes ago.
As he continued, we realized that she wasn’t leaving for another man, or just to get away from him, or because of irreconcilable differences. Her mother back in Brazil was dying and she had to go be by her side. She would not come back to the states after going back home.
He would now be forever confined to a life of lamenting Lucia.
As a single tear streamed down his face he said that her last words to him, before her ‘Goodbye’, would forever by tattooed on his soul….
“I fed the goldfish before I left the house.”
I muttered under my breath, “You might want to wait on the people that are already here before starting to ogle the girl coming in.” Then I saw her.
She was slight, and had dark hair and eyes—classically beautiful. And she was powerful, at least powerful enough to grab his attention. She obviously knew him and was staring right through his chest at his heart. She had a suit case with her, and was a little more dressed up than you usually see anyone at the corner diner these days.
After a long pause, he said, “Hey, Baby! Thanks for coming by.” This wasn’t sarcastic or a pick up line. He obviously knew her very well and was very glad she’d stopped by his place of work to see him.
She looked at him, without saying a word, and motioned for him to come down to the other end of the counter. After whispering something to him for what must have been 60 seconds, she hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, said, “Goodbye” and turned around and walked out.
I didn’t know what to think of this, but it was obvious that his mood would not be improving. I decided at this point to let the whole coffee thing go and to see where this ended up going. Then the guy, who hasn’t said two words to me all morning, turns around and starts to vent to anyone sitting at the counter who will listen, or more accurately to no one in particular.
At the counter there was only another man in a business suit reading a newspaper, an older woman with a little girl who was really cute and who appeared to be her granddaughter, and a middle aged man of Indian decent.
As I listened to his soliloquy I saw what must have been years of sadness, great memories, love, trial, disappointments and great victories come out. He talked about his friend in terms that make you want to get to know her a little better or maybe even to hear her side of the story. We heard about a romance for the ages and listened to all the pomp and circumstance of what was a relationship in definition only—in spirit, he’d had more of a powerful, passionate eight year dance with the woman than a mere ‘relationship’.
And now, it was over.
The businessman was trying unsuccessfully to ignore the monologue, the grandma had great sympathy, the little girl was oblivious, and the Indian man didn’t have any reaction all. As for me, I was, well, as my friend Brian would say, “hooked like a fish”. South Africans have a saying “hanging on his lips” meaning that you are so interested in what is being said that you are waiting impatiently on every word, just like I was waiting impatiently for my coffee only 10 minutes ago.
As he continued, we realized that she wasn’t leaving for another man, or just to get away from him, or because of irreconcilable differences. Her mother back in Brazil was dying and she had to go be by her side. She would not come back to the states after going back home.
He would now be forever confined to a life of lamenting Lucia.
As a single tear streamed down his face he said that her last words to him, before her ‘Goodbye’, would forever by tattooed on his soul….
“I fed the goldfish before I left the house.”
No comments:
Post a Comment