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Every day........in cities and towns all over the world, scenarios like the one below are being played out. In this story, I try to imagine the thoughts of two people who just might be meant for each other. I try to see things from his perspective in one paragraph, then from hers in the next. My apologies if I don't do justice to the young woman. The thoughts of the young man are accurately portrayed. That I know because I WAS the young man.
*****
"The Date"
He had been standing in line for almost ten minutes. She was the second teller from the left. Twice she had looked up and seen him staring. Each time, he had looked away in embarassment. As the line moved forward, he thought about his chances of being waved to her window.........one in five....not very good odds. He mentally crossed his fingers as the line again moved forward.
She tried to concentrate on what the old woman was saying. "Can't I see my checks from 11/6/67 to 1/5/68? I'm sure that's where I made the mistake. If you will just....."
She bit her lip and looked again He was third in line now. It was going to happen again. He was going to be directed to another window. Three times a week for the last fifteen days. She had kept count.
He moved a few more feet toward the head of the line and took the day's receipts out of his jacket pocket. She appeared absorbed with a transaction that looked like it might take some time. He glanced at his watch. He still had twenty five minutes left in the time he had allotted himself for lunch. He stepped out of line and motioned several people to move up and take his place.
She had asked Marie because twice he had ended up at Marie's window. Marie would at least know what his name was. She had thought her question was asked casually enough. She knew her face must have been beet red when Marie laughed and said "You like him don't you?" His name was Tom Guthrie. He was an assistant manager at the furniture store on Third street. He had his personal account here as well. There was no wife listed on his account.
Again, he had pretended to be engrossed in making some change in his deposit slip as he stepped back to give the man behind him his place in line. Time was running out when he found himself at the front of the line. The old woman gathered up her various pieces of paper and notes and moved away from the window. She looked at him and smiled. "You're next Sir." Could someone's heart really sing? He felt his was as he walked to her window.
She wondered how she must look..........she hadn't had a break in the past two hours. Was her lipstick smeared................she had been biting her upper lip. It must be smeared all over her face. She swallowed and forced a smile. "What can I do for you" she parroted automatically. She hadn't been this nervous when she first applied for this job some seven weeks ago.
He studied her as she rapidly counted and confirmed his deposit. She had beautiful hands...........well manicured and..........there was no wedding ring. She was separating the bills now and putting them in the drawer. His next words seemed to come from someone other than himself. "Would you have dinner with me?" She looked up in astonishment. He wondered for a moment if she might call the security guard. What a stupid thing to say! Any chance he might have to get to know her had just gone right out the window. His mind went into overdrive as he tried to come up with some comment that might mitigate his stupidity.
He was asking her for a date? Duh!......her mind went blank. She opened and closed her mouth several times. What was the question? OhMyGod! "Uh......OK! Yes I will. Could you call me? I can't.....not here.......let me write down my number." He palmed the piece of paper, moved away from her window and was gone. She watched him as he walked though the crowd to the front door. "Miss........Miss, am I next?" She managed another smile and motioned the old man to her window. "Yes Sir..........what can I do for you today?"
He managed three steps from the front door before he took a running jump and leaped in the air. "She gave me her phone number" he said to a bewildered man and woman who were exiting a taxi. He stopped and took the piece of paper from his pocket. He studied the number. It was a beautiful combination of numbers. He couldn't remember ever seeing such an exciting grouping of numbers. He felt like he was walking on air as he hurried to put his workday behind him.
Marie followed her as she closed her window and headed for the lounge. "Come on, girlfriend...........tell mama everything! I saw you passing him the note. You gave him your phone number?" She couldn't help it. A grin spread across her face. "I DID! He asked me for a date. I didn't know what else to do. You won't tell anybody?" "Not a soul.........I promise. But, I get to hear all the details. Deal?" They were both grinning now.
He could think of little else as he negotiated the heavy, after work, traffic home. "Do you like Italian?" No.....he couldn't say that. What if she DIDN'T like Italian? What would he say next? "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen at your bank?" He winced. Now there was a line that would guarentee a quick hang up. He was still considering and discarding one opening comment after another as he turned onto the freeway.
She had stopped for groceries on the way home. It wasn't as though she had a choice. She could have toast and water in the morning to go with no shampoo and no toilet paper or she could stop for groceries. She stopped for groceries. It was six fifteen when she walked into her apartment. Her eyes went immediately to the red light on the answering machine. There were no messages. He hadn't called yet. She wondered if that was good or bad.
"Come on Carl.........I'm serious. This girl's special. Help me out here. What should I ask her first?" Eight months of watching his roommate score with one girl after another left little doubt in his mind that Carl was "Mr. Smooth" personified. He listened intently to his roommate's advice. "First of all.............she's a girl. A girl is a girl is a girl. She wants a meal. She wants compliments and she wants an excuse." Tom was looking through his closet as he answered. "An excuse for what?" Carl was standing his doorway now. "What do you think? An excuse to do the same thing YOU want to do after you take her home."
This was really dumb. How many times had she looked at the clock in the last fifteen minutes? Five? Six? She looked around for the remote. She would watch CNN while she fixed dinner. This was Thursday. He wouldn't be calling tonight. He might not call tomorrow either. Sometime Saturday was more likely........if he called at all. Maybe he had just been teasing her with his comment about dinner. Maybe he had walked out laughing when she acted like an idiot and shoved her phone number at him.
He had tired of listening to Carl's comments and gone to bed early Thursday night. Friday, he had to work late and didn't want to ruin his chances by calling her after she was in bed. Saturday morning he woke with a knot in his stomach. He couldn't do this. He was debating not calling at all when an image of her as she dealt with the old woman crossed his mind. He picked up the piece of paper and dialed the number he saw there.
*****
She had worn her favorite dress. One she had worn to her brother's high school graduation. She hoped it would send the right message. Conservative with it's high neckline, yet short enough to showcase her legs. She felt her legs were her best feature. She had spent more than a day's pay having her hair and nails done. The look on his face when she opened her apartment door told her she had chosen well.
Dinner had gone well. She seemed genuinely interested in him. There were several uncomfortable silences, but he had managed to compliment her more than once and had even managed to tell a joke without stammering as he often did when he tried to act casual in the company of a young woman. He felt even more relaxed as they continued the process of getting more aquainted with one another over a glass of wine. They looked up as several couples stood and walked onto the dance floor. He was considering asking her to dance when she spoke first.
He was so self possessed. She hoped he hadn't noticed when her hand trembled as she put her glass down. She clasped her hands together and said the first thing that popped into her head. "I did that for a few months." She nodded at the dance floor. "I worked for a dance studio. It didn't pay very much. I answered an ad and it was fun for a few.........." Her voice trailed off as she realized he was looking at her as though she had just admitted to having worked as a prostitute.
Any idea of asking her to dance vanished from his mind. He should have known. She was pretty enough to be a model. She would be a natural as a dance instructor. The thought of how close he had come to embarassing himself with his clumsy attempts on the dance floor made him wince. He quickly finished his wine and asked if she was ready to leave. The ride back to her apartment was an uncomfortable one. She continued to make small talk and he felt more tongue tied by the minute.
Why in Heaven's name had she told him about the dance studio? She had felt like a fool as she kept prattling on about one thing and another on the ride home. He seemed relaxed and confident with only an occasional reply to her nervous ramblings. He had even hesitated when she had asked him in for a cup of coffee.
He tried to imagine what Carl would do if he were in his shoes. Carl was a great dancer. Carl would still be at the restuarant.........showing up everyone else on the floor as the two of them performed intricate moves he himself could only watch and envy. He stood at the counter and watched as she poured water into the coffee maker. His hands felt awkward at his sides. He put them in his pockets. That made him feel even more foolish. He tried to think of something to break the lengthening silence. Maybe if she weren't so pretty........if she didn't seem so confident in everything she did. God! A dance instructor. No wonder she was so confident. She must have men falling all over themselves just for one of her smiles. He took his hands out of his pockets and laced them together. The sound of his knuckles cracking startled them both.
He was BORED. He was bored with her and he wanted to leave. She bit her lip and wondered what she should do or say now. She decided against putting the cup in a saucer. That would be the final humiliation. Standing there with a cup and saucer rattling in her trembling hands. She put the cup down in front of him and made one last attempt to salvage the evening. "I really enjoyed this evening. The meal was great and you are a fun person to be with." He was the most attractive man she had ever dated. He wasn't handsome.......just nice looking and ATTRACTIVE. She wished she had the nerve to tell him so.
Fun?" What did "Fun" mean? Suddenly, he felt like a geek. He couldn't even remember what he said next. Something about getting to work early the next day. He was still stammering excuses when the door closed behind him. Sitting there behind the wheel, he cursed himself for a fool. Where had he gotten the idea that a girl like that would be interested in HIM? He wondered if she had laughed after she closed the door. She was probably on the phone now. Telling a girlfriend what a crummy evening she had just had. He tried not to think about the questions Carl would have when he got home.
She sat there with her hands folded in her lap. She looked up and saw her reflection in the mirror. The sixty five dollar hairdo sat there on her head like some sort of wig. She looked like an idiot. She didn't even try to hold back the tears. She sat there and tore at her stupid hair and cried till her hair hung over her face and fused with her tears. She brushed her hair till her head felt like it was bleeding before she went to bed. She lay awake for a long time. She kept looking at the empty pillow on the other side of her bed. She imagined his head on the pillow. She imagined him smiling at her. There were no more tears. There was only the emptiness. Finally her eyes closed and she slept.
He dreamed that night. He dreamed of a different kind of date. One where he said all the right things. One where he took her onto the dance floor and where they floated on clouds as they held one another and talked of things lovers needed to say. One where he could finally talk about loneliness and how much he had to give to a woman who could see beyond his clumsiness and inability to express himself. It was a happy dream.
"For want of a nail,
the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe,
the horse was lost.
For want of a horse,
the battle was lost."
For want of the right words,
love is often lost.
And that's so very sad......... because love is truly a beautiful and wonderous thing.
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