the rendevous

It was warm and so perfect after the torrential rains had passed through the previous evening. The winding road surrounded on both sides by overgrown shady elms stretched onwards up and around a steep climb and fell down into the vale. Along the road at one point a hawk swooped down in front of his Ducati almost as if it was an escort. He imagined reaching out and touching it. She will love to hear about this, he thought. His bike came to a screeching halt on Main Street diagonally parked in front of The Coffee House. She was waiting for him sitting by the window at a small table with a light blue checkered tablecloth. She waved and smiled at him.

She was lovelier than a lullaby. Her light skin was the same color as the foam head on her Latte. Messy silky shoulder-length hair seemed darker in contrast to her complexion. Her jean jacket was hanging on the back of the wooden chair she was sitting in and she put her cigarette out. He walked in and hugged her but she was the last to let go. It made him feel taller.

They played their little meeting game. “Nice to meet you,” and “Do you come here often?” as they sat opposite each other at the solitary window table. They looked out as the streetlights flickered on and grew bright quickly. An elderly couple holding hands strolled by on the other side of the street. They stopped and peered into a jewelry shop and their silver hair reflected like a prism in the lit window.

“I’m hungry,” he said happily, looking at her once again.
“Me too,” she replied quietly.
“I want one of everything,” he joked looking at the menu upside-down. “And, I want a side order of burnt toast.”

She laughed with her hand covering her mouth. The waitress smiled but she’d heard it a thousand times.

“I love a good joke,” the waitress deadpanned.

Waiting for the food to arrive he relished in the opportunity to talk to her.

“How have…,” he started, but her cell phone rang. Whoever it was did most of the talking. She was attentive and looked concerned. “Uh huh….yes….I see.” He felt his chance slipping away. He was looking down fumbling with the silverware with his right hand. He counted the water spots on the spoon. He thought, I’d rather count the little freckles and moles on her. He looked around the diner and saw an old man that he thought resembled Ernest Hemingway. The waitress was refilling his coffee cup and he smiled his thanks. When she left, the old man with the white beard reached into jacket and pulled out a small shiny flask, unscrewed it quickly and poured twice into the porcelain cup. He licked his lips.

He felt her fingertips gently touch his left hand. He looked up and she smiled and then made a funny face and chewed on her tongue. He laughed through his nose.

“I’m hungry,” she said, after putting her phone down.
“I am too.”
“What shall we do later?”
“Whatever you’d like. I’m at your service.” And then, “I’ll go shopping with you.”
“I’d love that,” she said.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” he said mischievously, "sticky fingers."

She turned away from him. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked out the window. Her faced burned. She was silent for a few minutes. He thought, You Bastard, you couldn’t leave it alone, you rotten stinking ignorant peasant.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but she slipped farther away it seemed.
“Do you come here often?,” he asked with no response as he began to panic.
“Please know me,” he whispered.

She looked at him after dabbing her eyes. “No harm done,” she said kindly.

“I’m so hungry.”
“Me too,” she said happily.

But they ate in silence. She really didn’t know him.
When they were done they parted.