Story-A-Day #315: How ' Bout Lunch?

HOW 'BOUT LUNCH?

He sat alone at a table for four, surrounded by noisy, smoking French women.  Their husky voices swirled and melded into a cacophonous symphony of guttural barks and bleats, a barnyard of confusing conversation.  Aimlessly, he picked up his fork with his left hand and sketched out anonymous forms on the cottony white surface of his napkin as he watched a soft, white cloud drift across the cerulean blue sky outside.

It was a beautiful day, that perfect beautiful day that only ever seems to happen during the first couple weeks of summer.  The air was warm and clear, yet invigorating.  The leaves in the trees were slowly unfurling and darkening, from the fresh, light green of Spring into the richer hues of summer.  The sun shone brightly in the sky above, beaming down upon all creation.

“That looks nice,” he whispered to himself.

A woman sitting at a nearby table turned and peered inquisitively at him.  He smiled crookedly at her and she quickly looked away.

"Good-bye," he breathed.

The door of the restaurant opened with the merry jingling of bells and, with a deep, expectant breath, he turned towards it.  There she was, standing there in the doorway, glowing in the backlight of the mid-afternoon sun – an ethereal beauty.  She quickly scanned the room before stepping into the smoky room and walking purposefully across to the table where he sat.  All the men in the restaurant watched her with desire.  All the women watched her with envy.  Sitting at the small table for four, he watched her with love.  She sat down across from him and smiled, a warm and innocent smile.

"You have a gorgeous smile," he informed her.  "It makes me happy."

"Thank you," she replied.  "That is a very nice thing for you to say."  Her smile widened, igniting the twinkle in her eyes.  They were the same colour as the summer skies outside, only cooler, deeper and richer.

A busy waitress bustled over, scrawled their orders onto a tattered notepad and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

He gazed longingly across the table at his companion; she was beautiful, perhaps even beauty defined.  She was the stuff of epic poems and angst-ridden ballads.  She was inspiration and inspired, the very definition of what the world should be.  With every effortless smile, her eyes twinkled like summer stars.  She was slim (though she'd hate to be told so) and she had the uncanny ability to put everyone around her at ease.  Even the people who did not know her best immediately felt soothed and comforted in her presence.  She had a boyfriend but that didn't matter.  Friends could love couldn't they?

The waitress returned and delivered their food; typical fast food that they ate around mouthfuls of profound conversation.  The food was greasy, but to them it was divine, a feast of the finest flavours and most sublime textures that no master-chef could hope to usurp it.  They ate slowly, a subconscious attempt to prolong their time together.  Fries saturated with oil and big, juicy burgers; bite by bite it disappeared.

Like all things, however, their meal was not destined to last forever.  The waitress ran over as soon as they were done and delivered the bill.  A busboy trailed in her wake and was quick to clear away their dishes.

Rushed, he thought.  They want us out of here.

He peered across the table at her, suddenly feeling the weight of awkward uncertainty looming over him.  Oblivious to the shadow, she peered back at him and smiled.  There was a degree of finality in the glance that passed between them, a quiver in the faint static current.  There was something that he wanted to tell her.  He’d be meaning to for longer than he cared to admit but there always seemed to be a reason not to.  Today was different though.  Today he was going to tell her how he felt.

“You know,” he began, “you look really real today.”

“Thank you,” she replied.  “So do you.”

“That’s not actually what I wanted to say,” he stammered.

“It isn’t?”  She sounded sincerely confused, as though what he had said made perfect sense to her.

“I, uh, I guess what I meant to say,” he was fumbling, trying to find the right words.  He looked at the floor, hoping to somehow find them down there, scattered about his feet.  “I find this... hard to say, but I guess I should just say it.  I love you.  I always have and I always will.  And I know you already knew this but I just wanted to say it.  To make it real.”

He looked up to see her reaction.

He looked up and she was gone.

She had disappeared in a moment that lasted no longer than the blink of an eye, the shooting of a star, the beat of a lover's heart.  His dream had faded in a swirl of mystery.

He looked up and found himself alone.

EDITORIAL NOTE:  This story inspired our latest short, now titled:  MISSING.  More to follow on that shortly.