She walks in with a deeply thoughtful face like she was carrying half of the world’s pains and sadness. She sits at the far end of the table, closes her eyes and gives a long sigh. She opens her eyes just as the waitress is placing a cold glass of water in front of her. She tries to stare down the glass like some pet. She finally notices me staring. She offers a faint smile of acknowledgement and brings out a familiar book — The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy.
I have the same book in my backpack.
The heart skips a beat and I take a quick deep breath. She notices me looking at her book and slightly raises her eyebrows in question. I take out my well-worn and dog-eared copy of the book and show it to her. She flashes a wide and surprised smile. She looks at me. From across the table I see can her attempting to read me. I look back, matching her stare. Black eyes. Wide eyes. Beautiful eyes.
She finally looks away and stares back at her glass of water. She gives out a sigh that sounded like infinite relief. She closes her eyes, relaxes her shoulders, and slowly sits back in her chair. I keep staring at her closed eyes. At her. I finally notice my heart racing like tomorrow will never come.
I was still looking at her when she opens her eyes and looks at me with tenderness like I’ve never known tenderness before. Then the tenderness is slowly replaced by sadness. She closed her eyes once more, gathered her things and stood up to leave. She walks slowly towards my side of the table and stops in front of me . With a wane smile she reaches out to my arm and give it a soft squeeze that felt infinitely familiar.
I belatedly notice the gold band around her finger as I watch the love of this life reluctantly walk out the door.
[ written at The Curator, 26 June 2015 ]