Few tables away

It was a guys day out.

We had made a pact not to talk about anything related to fairer sex – yes, that forbade talking about respective wives as well. And, I found our discussion to be amusing and eventually boring. Curiously, nobody talked about their kids! I wondered whether the wife-talk and my-kid-is-sooooo-clever-talk had any connections. I still do.

That’s when I noticed them. They were sitting three tables away from me and two tables away from each other. She looked as if she was going to have a lasagna and glass of red wine and he a cigarette that was too lean for a guy. I guessed he was drinking an imported Scotch.

She was sitting alone and immersed in thoughts about something or possibly about someone two tables away. He was in a group, probably his wife was also there, but so disconnected from his group and looking in her direction. They both seemed to be in some kind of intellectual tranquility. He was more direct than her in observing her. I wonder whether he even knew that she was observing him! It wasn’t the usual “exchaging looks”, it was far deeper. She seemed to want him to be puzzled and he was. I felt the peace that they seemed to share. Without their knowledge, of course.

She left without eating anything, but did finish the red wine. He did the same after her, with his wife. I felt tragic and that feeling lingers.


Related entries (in reverse chronological order): sense of purpose, spiritedness and lasagna and listlessness & lasagna

Few tables away

Spiritedness, Sense of purpose and Lasagna

It was a re-union sorts.

Everyone, who had come, in good spirits, acknowledged that it had been ages since they had such a good time. For the fear of being judged, I agreed too. The jokes ranged from first cigarettes to many of our sexual orientation. I laughed, very confidently, since the ‘mock tail’ spouses who had accompanied some of us seem to be having a good laugh at them as well. Some wise soul from the crowd declared why Little Italy was a perfect place for such a re-union and magnanimously ordered a re-fill for everyone. I repeated my favorite whiskey and added “unadulterated please”. This time the waiter acknowledged it with a wide grin as if he knew my whole past.

I was watching him walk away from our table. That’s when I noticed her. She was sitting in one of the “made for each other” table. On the table was a glass with mostly untouched red wine. Was she staring at it or into the emptiness beyond, I couldn’t tell. Her face amused me. I wondered, what would describe it best, cynicism or melancholy? Subsequently, another important question came to my mind, what would she order next? I was confident that both questions are related. The answer to one of them will lead me to the other. But which one should I solve first? I decided to wait for my next drink.

Lasagna was served at her table.

I kept staring at it for a long time.

Spiritedness, Sense of purpose and Lasagna

Listlessness & Lasagna

As she was sitting in Little Italy waiting for her Lasagna, her thoughts wandered. She wanted to put the blame on something or someone. Should she put on him? Or herself? Or some other thing like fate? A glass of red wine had just become less engaging. That didn’t stop her from taking a sip though.

She felt low, but “given how it ended, that’s expected” she thought. Why things get complicated? However hard she thought, whatever she felt was utterly simple which others are supposed to understand/accept. It was from her heart and it was pure, so it should be easy for others to comprehend. But they didn’t. That left her in dismay, in addition to the deep pain that she was feeling. She had even tried to explain to them, they wouldn’t listen. She felt as if she is locked in a room without an exit. She felt tortured.

Lasagna was served. She didn’t know whether to eat or to sip the red wine. She just kept staring at them for a long time.

Listlessness & Lasagna