Sunday night at the Olive Garden
She was happy to bring them the check. She wanted them gone.
Not their fault of course, but they had turned into her toughest table of the night. The kitchen pulled their entrees before their appetizer. Then the woman had found plastic in her pasta.
They had been polite and congenial about the whole matter, but it didn’t help her fluster. She wanted to close out their ticket, wipe the table, and be one order closer to closing. Her mascara was starting to weep from the heat. Every time she spread her hand wide for a tray, pain radiated in an almost delicious manner up her arm. It felt decedent, to spend energy and attention noticing such a minute issue.
She was about to plop the check right in the middle of the table – company policy, plus she wouldn’t be surprised if the woman was paying as she was the one to speak up over the kitchen errors – but found herself blocked by their arms.
She stepped back. They hadn’t noticed her. They were holding hands across the large blond oak table. The woman had to lean almost out of her seat. Thumbs were stroking and their eyes were locked. The smiles on their faces were naked.
She started to tear up. Her hand went to her mouth. All of a sudden they looked so much younger to her. And she wanted to keep them forever, in her pocket to take out and look at on days she was blue.
tender moments between other people have been making me cry lately.
i watched that show “little people, big world” and the husband said something so nice to his wife and started bawling and Boy did not get it at all.
Wow. I love catching meaningful moments between others. Voyeuristic, I know, but it brings a smile to my heart (and more often than not, a tear to my eye). :O)