Seated At The End

Every time the door opens she looks up. This time it’s a woman with two small children and not the person she is supposed to meet. She arrived an hour ahead of time in order to calm her nerves with a cup of tea. It’s been years since the word “date” had any meaning in her life and the idea going back into the proverbial sea of fish is terrifying, not to mention humiliating.

Her best friend picked the guy. She said he was nice looking and knew the feeling of a divorce. This could be good or bad. Two souls ripe with hurt had a shot of finding comfort in one another, but they could also feed each other’s insecurities and open a new door to Relationship Hell. Then again, nothing could happen as well. Some people just don’t click no matter what they have in common.

She rubs her temples and takes a deep breath. Once again, she’s over analyzing the situation. All those self-help and pop psychology books on her shelf have screwed up her mind more than the trauma of having to start over again. Those books are full of advice, but short on the truth. No one likes to talk about the tricky business of accepting how nothing will ever be the same. It doesn’t matter how much you reinvent yourself because the past you loved is gone. And it’s never coming back.

Fifteen minutes before he is supposed to arrive, the door opens. A man walks in and eyes each table in the cafe as if he’s looking for someone. Could this be him? He is tall with salt and pepper hair and has a kind face. Not bad at all, she thinks. She sits up straight and adjusts her red sweater. In her last text message to him, she told him to look for the woman in red.

His eyes catch hers and then look past her to someone sitting two tables down. His face lights up with a smile and twinkling eyes when he recognizes a woman who is probably half his age. In the name of preserving what is left of her self-esteem, she decides the youngster is his daughter.

Laughter and conversation surround her on all sides. So many people having fun with friends, family, or new acquaintances. And here she is sitting all alone, wondering if she looks as lost and out of place as she feels. She tried to hide it with make-up and the red sweater, but who is she fooling, anyway? Certainly not herself.

The negative thoughts are starting to win, again. Stop. Stop. Stop. Good things are the result of good thoughts. Right? At least they are according to Dr. Whoever and his latest bestselling fix-all solution. Stop. Sarcasm doesn’t help, either.

With only ten minutes to meeting time, she swishes what remains of her black tea to stir up the flavor. There is nothing worse than a bitter end.

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c.b.w. 2014