Here's a story. I usually write poetry, but had to write a story for a friend of mine. Obviously, the following is a product of my imagination. I apologize in advance, when I copy from my documents to something else, the lines are spaced too far apart on the copies and I don't know how to fix that. I hope it won't obstruct the reading too much.
A Few Inches
“Your total will be thirteen dollars, please”.
Waldo’s bony hand disappeared into his pocket and produced a brown leather wallet with the swiftness of a magician. He couldn’t help wondering if she ever noticed that the grocery total always amounted to thirteen dollars. There was something about the way she pronounced ‘thirteen’. The last syllable sounded like a breeze sliding off a maple leaf. He needed to hear it, as much as he needed food and water. While fishing a twenty out of his wallet, he watched her putting the groceries in a flimsy plastic bag. The words ‘thank you’ were scattered all over the bag in various colors and sizes. With a slight ripping sound, one of his soda bottles pierced through the A of a green thank you, making it th(soda bottle cap)nk you. Now, there was a reason for true gratefulness. A simple bottle of soda had just turned on the lights in the usually dark alley of conversation. “Excuse me Miss, would you mind double bagging this? It seems they don’t make the bags as strong as they used to”, he said. She looked at the bottle trying to escape from the bag. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth and worked its way up to her eyes. That smile was more than he had bargained for. Encouraged, he spoke without thinking. His words found their way across the messy counter and left an echo of anticipation. “Should you have some time to spare this evening, I’d love to take you out for dinner”.
How many times had he practiced this line in front of the mirror? How many times had he startled the cat in the middle of the night, repeating those words inside the safety of his bedroom?
The smile had left her face. He waited, as waiting is often the only thing a man can do when facing the unknown. She double bagged the groceries. Without another word, she handed him the seven dollars in change. Knowing that the past few minutes would be added to the long chapter of ‘mistakes’ in his diary, he started to turn toward the door. Suddenly, her voice closed that imaginary chapter with a bang. “Do you like Greek food?” she asked.
Although he found Greek food rather repulsive, and the thought of swallowing a mouthful of moussaka made him want to run, he assured her that Greek food was the best. She said “Perhaps we can meet at Athens’ Corner at seven.”
The time between ‘Do you like Greek food’, and the moment of meeting was immeasurable. Seven that night might as well have been next year around Thanksgiving. But even eternity ended at seven pm in front of Athens’ Corner.
Ever so tenderly, Waldo held his left arm curved around a half dozen of Golden Ophelia’s, which he had selected from his grandfather’s greenhouse. The art of breeding uncommon roses had been handed down from father to son throughout many generations. He considered it an heirloom, treated with the utmost respect.
He did not expect her to see the difference between a Golden Ophelia and any ordinary rose. Rather than an attempt to impress her, carrying the roses was a means of comforting himself, much like bringing his own pillow to a sleepover.
It occurred to him that he didn’t know anything about her. Even her countless beautiful smiles had been unable to part the curtains of his shyness long enough to inquire about something as simple as her name. Waldo often had fantasies about breaking through his shyness. Sometimes he’d imagine walking up to a lady and asking her “How much did you weigh at birth, ma’am?” Or he’d picture himself traveling around the world, giving convincing lectures on his favorite subject, the spontaneous mutation of maggots. Now he was standing before a large audience at the university of Barcelona. Both, students and professors clung to every interesting word he had to say. The podium was cluttered with wires and cables, necessary to run extensions into the street where an eager crowd had gathered.
She pulled him away from his maggots, out of Barcelona, and into reality by crossing the street.
For the second time that day, she surprised him. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing at work. He recognized the red stain on her shirt, the one he had tried to ignore earlier that day. He remembered thinking it might have been a leftover from a mid-morning snack, but now he started to wonder if perhaps she had eaten spaghetti for dinner yesterday. His eyes rested on the stain a few seconds too long. As if reading his mind, she reassured him. “My body is only a shell to carry my soul around, and clothes are merely a way to hide the beating this shell endured in world war two.”
They were standing on the threshold of Athens’ Corner on a mid-June evening in the year 2004, the war had ended almost sixty years ago and she could not have been a day over thirty. He was speechless, as tiny fingers of fear had started to squeeze his throat. “Relax”, she said, “I’m only joking”.
She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the restaurant. About eighteen people were waiting in line to be seated. Oblivious to the line of hungry souls, she cut to the front desk, still dragging a now overwhelmed Waldo behind her. She took a piece of candy out of the jar that surely was meant for children on their way out, as a reward for being good and not throwing a fit during dinner.
“Hello handsome” she said to the host. “Would you happen to have a table for two in a quiet corner?”
Handsome looked up and asked if they had a reservation.
“I have a ton of reservations about many things, but no, I don’t have one here and I hope this is not going to be a problem”, she said. Handsome’s laughter suggested that it would not be a problem. Problems are relative after all.
They were seated in the quiet corner she had asked for. Waldo put the roses on the table. The appropriate moment to hand over the roses had slipped past, somewhere between her arrival and the candy jar. He would wait for a different moment.
She signed a waitress and ordered six old wine bottles, half filled with water and a touch of banana flavoring. If the waitress was dumbfounded, her mask of professionalism hid it well enough. She returned promptly with the ordered items. Waldo’s date, still without a name, carefully picked up the roses and put each one in a bottle. “My goodness” she muttered, more to herself than to Waldo, “it is a sin to watch Golden Ophelia’s dry out. The banana water will revive them.”
“How do you know these are Golden Ophelias?” he asked, his voice revealing true admiration.
She simply told him that there was a difference between a twelve-dollar rose and twelve roses for a dollar, as if that explained everything.
A different waitress brought the menus to their table. While looking at the menu, Maria Farantouri’s attractive voice carried them through Greece. They had been seated next to a painting of Sitia, one of the most beautiful cities on the island Crete. Waldo peeked across the table from behind his menu. His nameless date had closed her eyes and a mysterious smile slightly parted her lips. He could tell that she was miles away. Perhaps she was tanning on a Greek beach, or could she be listening to his reading in Barcelona? This reminded him that he should order rice. Should the dinner conversation take a turn onto a boring path, he would be able to perform some experiments with the grains of rice. To Waldo, rice and maggots were basically the same. One moved and the other did not, but both could equally capture his attention for hours.
She opened her eyes, called the waitress and ordered dinner for both of them without asking Waldo’s opinion. Waldo quickly asked for a side order of rice. He glanced at the Ophelias. Were they laughing, or was it just his imagination? He decided to ignore the strange fact that she had ordered for him. Waldo was not a worldly man. He had trouble handling anything out of the ordinary.
Perhaps a rather banal question could start off a good conversation.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Her answer made him long for that bowl of rice.
“It wasn’t too bad, it was only a few inches. Some days seem as short as ten inches, while other days can grow as long as 8 feet.”
He could have sworn that one of the Ophelias moved. Must be a belly laugh, he thought. She continued. “I lost an inch this morning, searching for the keys to my car. Of course I was late for work, but since I’ve been working at the grocery store for at least twenty miles now, and I’m usually right on time, the owner wasn’t mad at all. The day always seems shorter when nice customers linger. I can’t believe you’ve never stayed for more than a few inches.”
Her monologue was interrupted by the arrival of the food. Waldo looked at his plate, trying to identify the foreign objects, hoping they would be edible.
“So?” The voice came from somewhere in the room, too weak to penetrate his wall of anxiety.
While Waldo lined up the grains of rice around his plate, she went on chatting in a most relaxed manner. She started to talk about her family.
“My dad is only a week tall, and mom beats him by a day. Surprisingly, I’ve been 10 days tall since my senior year in high school.”
“So?” The voice had grown more insistent now.
“So what?” he asked with a deep sigh.
“Is Athens’ Corner all right for dinner tonight, or would you rather go to a different restaurant?” Her eyes unfolded more gentleness than he had ever seen before. Waldo realized that his mind had wandered off. Darn prescriptions, the bottles always ran empty at the wrong moment.
“I’m not hungry at all”, Waldo stammered. He ran for the door, leaving his double bagged groceries on the floor.
© copyright Chris W. June 19 th , 2004