Day 86.

When he left, she needed a moment alone with her thoughts, with the table, with the restaurant. She looked around the room, studying everything. Although it had changed a lot over the years, some things stayed the same. The paintings and photos over the booths have been in their spots since she was a little girl. Old friends now - an old man sitting on the lip of a fountain, a little girl with a floppy hat riding a banana seat bike, a vineyard on a mountainside, a coast with hundreds of colorful homes built right into the cliffside, family portraits of people who died generations ago. The tables had been refinished some years ago. What used to be light colored wood (maple, she always assumed) was now dark brown,  "espresso", they called it. What used to be a carryout counter loaded with all sorts of gourmet pies was now a long bar. That was certainly the biggest change. But everything else was exactly as it had always been. 2 rows of 8 tables and 1 row of 6 booths (the nice rounded ones).

She reflected that she sat at this exact table every 1st Monday of every month every year for the last 10 years. That's 120 times here alone, waiting for, hoping for a ghost. She decided that this would be the last time. She needed to do one thing before she said goodbye to the chicken parmigiana, the chocolate cake, the table, the restaurant. And him. 

She needed to sit in his seat, see things from his side of the table, from his perspective, to feel his long-faded energy in the place where she last saw him. 

Day 85.

He watched as they said their goodbyes. A little peck on the cheek. Looked like there may have been numbers exchanged. He was happy to see that. After seeing her dine on her own for months, he wondered if she had anyone special in her life. Had she ever been able to love ? To trust? If she hadn't before, maybe she would now. Even if he never spoke to her tonight, he was content that at least on some level he got to be a part of some kind of life moment for her, albeit from a distance. 

As he watched, he thought she had looked his way for a spilt second. He didn't want her to see him watching. He had hoped for anonymity until he worked up the nerve to approach. If she had seen him, though, she paid it no mind and went right back to her goodbyes. 

The man helped her on with her jacket and offered her his arm to walk out. She denied it and sat back down as he left the restaurant. She seemed deep in thought, taking her time as she looked around the restaurant, absorbing everything. She sighed and smiled several times. When she finally stood, she walked to the other side of the table and sat in the other chair. He'd never seen her do that in the months he'd been watching. Now was the moment he needed to seize. He walked over to the table. 

Day 84.

She finished her cake and thanked him for his company. And the cocktail. He asked if he could see her again. Although she wasn't completely sure of his motives (why would someone so charming and clearly so confident & successful be interested in her), she felt there must be something to meeting him at this place, on this night. In all the years she had been coming here, she never met anyone, not even so much as made eye contact. Maybe she was supposed to meet this man in this place she held so sacred, so private. Maybe he'd be the one to wake her up and help her let go of the painful past she'd been holding onto so tightly. 

She'd known for some time that she should, but she hasn't been ready to make that move yet. She needed something to catapult her into the change and something to catch her when she fell. It's an awful lot to put on this man she just met. But who knew? Just maybe. 

Day 81, 2, 3.

He was about to order another scotch, but decided against it. If he did decide to speak to her, he wanted his wits about him. He wanted his words and his thoughts clear.  He glanced in her direction. She had ordered her chocolate cake. The man was still at the table. He wasn't sure; it was almost imperceptible, but he thought she seemed disinterested. After all these years, he still felt he could read her. Or maybe he never could. 

When he thought back to that day, he saw her face clearly. She didn't react at all. No tears. No words. Nothing. She just kept eating her chocolate cake. She loved that cake! But did she love him? Her lack of any sort of response made him think otherwise. He left feeling certain he was making the right decision. She wouldn't miss him anyway. 

It would be years before he realized that what he had seen in her face wasn't disinterest. It was shock. That's when decided to set things straight and apologize for not only the biggest mistake he ever made but for not understanding and for ignoring her feelings so callously that day. She would certainly have been incredibly confused by what had happened. Did she ever understand any of what he told her that day? His reasons? His choice? He assumed she didn't. 

On a feeling one Monday, he went to the restaurant that they had visited so frequently back then. As he neared the front door,  he saw her enter. He did not follow. He went back the next month. And the next. And the next. He worked up the courage one day to look inside. He watched as she ordered. She got a cocktail instead of a soda. She really had grown up, and he missed all of it. But she was there. She got the chicken parmigiana just like she always used to. There was hope. 

Today, he went inside. Now it seemed like he waited too long. She had her company. Was she enjoying herself? Why interrupt if she was?  He could wait until she left and catch her on the way out. Or, he could come back next month, but that would be yet another month of waiting, of the guilt, of the dread, of the not knowing. Who's to say she would even come back next month? Then what would be do? No. It had to be tonight. He couldn't wait any longer. 

Day 80.

This was the first time anyone sat in that seat since that Monday the 3rd. She was thoroughly enjoying the conversation but wanted it to end all the same. She had just finished her chicken when he bought her the cocktail. She hadn't even ordered her chocolate cake yet. What would be think of her once he learned about her monthly chicken and chocolate ritual? 

She'd only ever told two people about it. One was her best friend since they were little, virtually a sister, so that didn't really count. The other was a man she was dating in college. She would disappear on what seemed to him like random Mondays. She only said it was private and personal. 

He began to suspect she was cheating on him, so he followed her. He watched from outside the restaurant until he was satisfied she was eating alone. But she saw him. That night, she told him everything. He said he understood, but tried to convince her she should stop going; she needed to move on. The next day, she broke it off. 

Day 79.

At first she completely avoided the restaurant. She couldn't bear to go back there or even walk down the street. But, she had this nagging voice that just wouldn't leave her alone. 

"What if he came back?"

After a couple months, she went back. She sat at their table. She ordered their dinner and their, well her really, chocolate cake. It was the same waiter from that awful night. When he asked her if she was ok, she simply said that she didn't want to talk about it. He obliged. 

Over the years, they became friendly. At some point along the way, he started having her chicken at the table for her when she arrived. He often wondered if she would ever bring friends with her. She never did. Always on her own. Always on the first Monday of the month. 

It was a sad day when the waiter told her he had gotten another job and would be leaving the restaurant. He had been there with her from the beginning. Now he was gone, too.

The restaurant was never quite the same after that. It lost some of its heart. Maybe it was she who had lost her heart. But the place was changing. Little by little, it became more trendy, and more people went there for their fancy cocktails than their food. To some extent, she didn't mind. As long as they still made chicken parmigiana and chocolate cake. 

Day 78.

When he stood, kissed her forehead, turned and walked out, she still wasn't sure what was happening. She went to call him, but no sound came from her mouth. She went to stand, but her legs failed her. All she could do was watch him as he passed through the door. He didn't turn around once. Just like that, he disappeared. 

When the waiter came to clear the table, that's when she realized she'd been crying. He handed her a napkin and asked if there was anything she needed. There wasn't. She wiped her tears. She sat at that table for over an hour. She ordered 2 more pieces of cake and ate every bite of both. He had left her enough money for the bill and every other Monday dinner for a year. 

When the restaurant finally closed for the evening, she was at last able to stand. She made her way home and cried herself to sleep that night and every night for a year. 

Day 77.

It was Monday, the 3rd. She met him at her favorite restaurant. She loved their meetings. She didn't get to see him often, and at that, other people were always around. Their Monday time together was the only time she got to spend just with him.

The first time they came here, she almost missed the most exciting thing that ever happened to her. She couldn't believe her eyes when she returned from the ladies room and saw Channing Tatum sitting at a table. She vowed right then and there that she would always face the door. Always. He didn't mind the seating arrangements. He just wanted her to be happy.

On Monday the 3rd, they had their chicken parmigiana, like ever other Monday. They finished their meal and ordered dessert. Oh, how she loved the chocolate cake. They always shared one, but she ate most of it.

She was a few bites away from finishing the cake when he broke the news. He told her he loved her and that their dinners together were his favorite things, that he very much looked forward to their monthly chicken parmigiana and chocolate cake and that what he was going to tell her was going to break his heart as much as hers.

She just looked at him, staring at his mouth. She could hear sound but no actual words. He said something about needing to leave and not come back. Anything else was just static.

He saw the look in her face and all the dread he'd had leading up to this moment swelled through his body, up his legs causing them to tremor, through his stomach like waking one million butterflies, inside his chest pumping his heart like a jackhammer, up his chest and neck inflaming his skin, filling his entire head with pins and needles and flames. He immediately wanted to take it back, change his mind, but everything was set in motion. He couldn't charge any of it.

Day 76.

When he walked away that afternoon, his heart broke. He had to be strong. It was the right thing to do. He needed to protect her. This was the only way. He had thought about it for weeks, weighed every possible option. This was the only way. If he kept telling himself that eventually he would believe it. How could it be right when every cell in his body was fighting it?

Day 75.

She was trying to enjoy her conversation with this attractive stranger, but she just couldn't detach from the reason she was there to begin with. She had been coming here every month for years, and all those years she kept going that he would keep his promise. He never did. Instead, month after month, year after year, she sat alone at the same table, watching the door thinking this could be the day. It never was.

Day 74.

Another drink to think. He saw himself back then. He saw her sitting across the table. She always sat facing the door in the off chance that a celebrity might walk in. Unlikely, but that was her thing. He asked her about her day, and she told him stories that made him laugh. He realized what a smart young woman she was. It was only a matter of minutes before he wound break her heart. He wouldn't be able to explain why, she wouldn't understand. He just wanted to make their last moments special. That's why he took her to her favorite restaurant, let her sit in her favorite seat, ordered her favorite meal, her favorite dessert. It was all about her that night. The smile on her face was his greatest joy and greatest sadness. He knew he would never see it again.  He knew that he would be the one to destroy it.

Day 73.

He finished his scotch and knew it was the moment of truth. Now or never. He had two options. Leave and leave her to her life, knowing that he would once again be disappointing her. Or go over to her table and possibly ruin her chance at happiness. Leaving would be easier. He wouldn't have to explain himself. But, he would have to live with knowing he walked out on her again. That she might keep on coming back to this place, sitting at that table month after month for the rest of her life.

Day 72.

He introduced himself and asked her in return. She couldn't help but be enthralled. He was very handsome, charming, engaging. As they chatted, she looked over his shoulder toward the door. What if he showed up right now? So what. She really didn't owe him anything. She had come here once a month for years. He never showed. Why would tonight be any different? The man she thought might be him was still at the bar, confirming it couldn't be him. Just enjoy this moment with this man.

Day 69-71.

She thought she saw someone that looked like him come into the restaurant. Him, but much older than she thought he should be. She thought she could feel actual butterflies in her stomach. A sledgehammer in her heart. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She didn't want to stare or stand up or say anything in case it wasn't him. Or in case it was him for that matter. She had been a fool once before. Never again. 

He turned and sat at the bar instead of heading right to her. Was she at the wrong table? It couldn't be. It's exactly where she always sat.  It must not be him. Look away. 

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He finished his second scotch and decided that was enough. Enough procrastinating. Enough fear. Enough dreading. Enough guilt. He paid his tab, tipped the bartender and stood. Deep breath. Move. He turned to start walking toward her but was stopped dead in his tracks. Someone was at the table with her. Maybe that wasn't her after all. She was smiling and seemed to be enjoying his company. They clinked glasses and were talking. She laughed, tossing her head back just a little. He went back to his seat at the bar and ordered one more scotch. 

-----------------------------------

When she turned her head away from him at the bar, she unexpectedly made eye contact with the most handsome man. He had apparently been watching her for some time and did not turn away or shy when their eyes met. He raised his glass to her in a toast. She mouthed, "thank you" as the waiter delivered the cocktail he bought for her. She suddenly felt nervous and excited and... what was that feeling? Oh, right. Happy. Hopeful. She sipped her drink and gestured with the glass for him to join her. 

Day 66-68.

I've got some catching up to do. Here is my weekend writing. 

He sat at the bar, deciding it would be a good idea to cool his nerves with a scotch. He was certain she didn't see him. He kept looking over his left shoulder toward her table. Why was this the night he decided to go inside? He knew he aged, and not just in his grey hair and wrinkles. Life had not been kind to him. He hasn't been kind to himself. The guilt he felt every day ate away at his very essence. He kept hoping that someday he'd be able to overcome it and truly become a happy person. But that wasn't his life. He would never be able to break through that guilt and become successful in anything. He self-sabotaged every opportunity he ever had. Why should he be entitled to happiness when he robbed her of it so many years ago? 

He hoped that she had become successful and happy. She looked it, but you just can't tell sometimes. 

Day 65.

At first he didn't recognize her. She had changed so much. Her hair was much longer, much darker, much straighter than he remembered. She was obviously much older, but he expected that. He had gotten older, too, and only just that morning realized how deeply grey his hair had become; how much deeper his wrinkles had become. He barely recognized himself. Why should be expect anything different from her? He had expected some change, but this was an entirely new woman. Where a scrawny, insecure, acne-ridden child had once been was now a voluptuos, confident, spectacularly beautiful woman, meticulous in every way. A far cry from the torn sweats and hoodie he last saw her in.

Day 64/65

It had been years since he'd seen her. He wronged her, and he knew it. His conscience would never forgive him. Would she? He wouldn't be surprised if she just stood up and walked out without a word or if she didn't even show at all. 

He had walked down this street many times. He had looked inside the restaurant many times. He had even reached out and took hold of the door handle many times. But many times, he turned and kept on walking, not looking back. He simply couldn't bear to see her face and all the hatred and anger and disappointment in it. It wasn't like he even knew if she would be there. They hadn't spoken in years. His fear kept him from opening that door. He knew he would come face to face with the biggest mistake he had ever made. So, he kept on walking many times. 

But not this time. This time, he opened the door. This time, he went in.

Day 63.

She watched the door. Every time it opened, she tensed, her body getting just a little warmer, just enough to start her skin to ridden from her chest up. She should've grabbed that scarf. No amount of makeup could disguise the heat, excitement, anxiety, embarrassment and shame she was feeling. And no amount of wine could ease it.

Day 62.

As the time past, she felt what little selfassuredness she had devolve, melting away into a sad puddle at her feet. The doubt stole into her soul, a bank robber acrobatically avoiding the laser beams she thought she had created for just this thing. Once in the vault, it sat staring out through her eyes and back into her heart, forcing her to recoil.

Day 61.

With her painted on confidence,
she continued.
She sat where she always sat.
She ordered what she always ordered.
She drank what she always drank.
She gazed around the room,
avoiding eye contact with everyone. 
She could feel them looking at her,
judging her.
She didn't need to engage their stares to prove it.
The butterflies were very active today.
More than usual.
Good sign? Bad sign?
She had learned long ago that they were often one in the same. 
She waited.
She ate.
She drank.
She never wanted to be in this position, yet here she was.
Drinking.
Eating.
Waiting.

Day 60.

She felt it when she walked in though she didn't really know exactly what it was.
She could feel them looking at her, more like looking through her, through her perfect appearance she crafted for over an hour that morning. Through the impeccably tailored dress. Through the pin straight hair.
They can tell. They know who I really am.
She thought that if she put enough effort in, she could pull it off. She could be what she wanted and they would always go along with it, no one the wiser.
Of course, she was wrong just like she'd always been. No matter how perfect she was, she wasn't.

Day 56 thru Day 59.

I've been a little sloppy lately and haven't been writing and/or posting every day. So, I'm catching up. Here are several "rapid fire", sort stream of consciousness poems.


Day 56.
In the space where
we once were sprawling
out on the floor,
love pours through flesh and bone
filling every surface with
heat and passion.

Day 57.
Tumbling down the road of ice,
we scratch and claw our way back up to the top,
so we can once again live our strengths.

Day 58.
With the mountains in the distance,
we cry,
longing for the crisp, clean air
that only billy goats and eagles
dare to breathe.

Day 59.
As the air grows thinner,
our breathing grows deeper,
our thoughts grow thicker
and our hearts grow bigger.