Friday, March 21, 2014

A Dinner

A Dinner


I should be asleep.  

In my warm cozy bed.

Actually...

I am pretty sure I should be in Italy eating tortellini bathed in a basil and lemon pesto, drinking a lovely semi-sweet white with Jason Isaacs while the soft breeze from the ocean flicks lovingly at the leaves of nearby trees and flowers.

Heady on wine and carbs I would tell him how I only saw The Night of the Hunter for the first time a few years ago. And how that whole Buffy/Caleb thing made much more creepy sense afterwards,he smiles and laughs at my naive silliness.

His laughter upsets me.  I reach for a glass, his hand taking mine pulls me to him and he smiles.  My lips dance softly on his then I rest against him watching as the Italian sun sets in new colors.  Because Italian colors, I am certain, are far better than the common colors of home.

Instead I'm here listening to this bonehead yammer on about his car battery.  

Again.

I want to grab him. Scream at him.

"Stop being a cheap ass!  Buy a fucking new one already!"

But I don't. 

I take my glass and sip quietly the bland red he ordered before I arrived.

How does he stand himself?

I can feel my karma stock plummet like the 2010 NASDAQ.

My mind wanders. 

Is Train on Fallon tonight?

I like Train.

He's looking at me.

"Can you believe that?

"No. I certainly can't." I say.

"Yeah. Well, I told the guy I'd get myself a new one soon."

"That should reduce a lot of your stress." I answer. I smile.

"Stress? You don't know what real stress is. At work I got this guy..." He says.

I wander again.

What was that one song?  Neptune? No. Jupiter. Something Jupiter? Jupiter something? My brain won't bring it forward.

"You'll love him. Really. He's very funny."

I glace up from my plate. Damn. Who? The guy from work? That can't be right. 

" I'm sure I will.  He sounds great."

"He is. He really is. I never would have made it through that week  without his help." He says.

"I remember when I started at the office, one of the older woman took me under her wing. She showed..." I start.

"Well, we're going to Vegas." He finishes.

"Vegas? Not tonight?" I ask.

"No. Ralph, Joe and me. Next month. Why would I take you to Vegas?"

"I don't know."  I say. I speak slowly. Clearly. I have missed something.

I look down at my plate of over cooked pasta in a pale red sauce. Small flakes of dried parsley speckled through out.

And a truly awful thought strikes me as if a physical force.

What if this is the best there is? Not him specifically. But all of it.

What if all the inspirational posters and movies are wrong. What if there is no "if you want it bad enough it'll happen"? What if it is all just a mediocre life? 
The kind thousands and thousands live. Everyday. What if it doesn't matter how hard you work? Or how hard you dream? What if there is no...no...yay?

“David. " I say,

"This has been. Well, interesting. But I just don't think it's going to work. It was nice to met you and I hope you do find that special someone." I fold my napkin and rest ion the table. 

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?" the poor guy looks confused. Not upset, just confused.

"No. I'm sorry." I stand, "I hope you have a good time in Vegas. I'll be in Italy."

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