Table For Two
TABLE FOR TWO
by Kirsten Burgess
He sits by himself at a table for two.
The uniformed waiter returns to his side and ask, "Would you
like
to go ahead and order, sir?" The man has, after all, been
waiting
since seven o'clock--almost half an hour.
"No, thank you," the man smiles. "I'll wait for her a while
longer.
How about some more coffee?"
"Certainly, sir."
The man sits, his clear blue eyes gazing straight through the
flowered centerpiece. He fingers his napkin, allowing the sounds
of
light chatter, tinkling silverware, and mellow music to fill his
mind. He is dressed in sport coat and tie. His dark brown hair
is
neatly combed, but one stray lock insists on dropping to his
forehead. The scent of his cologne adds to his clean cut image.
He
is dressed up enough to make a companion feel important,
respected,
loved. Yet he is not so formal as to make one uncomfortable. It
seems that he has taken every precaution to make others feel at
ease
with him. Still, he sits alone.
The waiter returns to fill the man's coffee cup. "Is there anything else I can do??
"No, thank you."
The waiter remains standing at the table. Something tugs at his
curiosity. "I don't mean to pry, but..." His voice trails off.
This
line of
conversation could jeopardize his tip.
"Go ahead," the man encourages. His is strong, yet sensitive,
inviting
conversation. "Why do you bother waiting for her?" the waiter
finally
blurts
out.
This man has been at the restaurant other evenings, always
patiently alone.
Says the man quietly, "Because she needs me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir, no offense, but assuming that she needs you, she
sure
isn't acting much like it. She's stood you up three times just
this
week."
The man winces, and looks down at the table. "Yes, I know."
"Then why do you still come here and wait?"
"Cassie said that she would be here."
"She's said that before," the waiter protests. "I wouldn't put
up
with it. Why do you?"
Now the man looks up, smiles at the waiter, and says simply,
"Because I love her."
The waiter walks away, wondering how one could love a girl who
stands him up three times a week. The man must be crazy, he
decides.
Across the room, he turns to look at the man again. The man
slowly
pours
cream into his coffee. He twirls his spoon between his fingers a
few
times before stirring sweetener into his cup. After staring for
a moment into the liquid, the man brings the cup to his mouth and
sips,
silently watching those around him. He doesn't look crazy, the
waiter admits. Maybe the girl has qualities that I don't know
about.
Or maybe the man's love is stronger than most. The waiter
shakes himself out of his musings to take an order from a party
of
five.
The man watches the waiter, wonders if he's ever been stood up.
The man has, many times. But he still can't get used to it. Each
time,
it hurts.
He's looked forward to this evening all day. He has many
things,
exciting things, to tell Cassie. But, more importantly, he wants
to
hear Cassie's voice. He wants her to tell him all about her
day,
her
triumphs, her defeats....anything, really. He has tried so many
times to show Cassie how much he loves her. He'd just like to
know
that
she
cares for him, too. He sips sporadically at the coffee, and
loses himself in thought, knowing that Cassie is late, but still
hoping
that she will arrive.
The clock says nine-thirty when the waiter returns to the man's
table. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
The still empty chair stabs at the man. "No, I think that will
be
all
for tonight. May I have the check please?"
"Yes, sir."
When the waiter leaves, the man picks up the check. He pulls
out
his wallet and sighs. He has enough money to have given Cassie a
feast.
But he takes out only enough to pay for his five cups of coffee
and
the tip. Why do you do this, Cassie, his mind cries as he gets
up
from the table.
"Good-bye," the waiter says, as the man walks towards the door.
"Good night. Thank you for your service."
"You're welcome, sir," says the waiter softly, for he sees the
hurt in the man's eyes that his smile doesn't hide.
The man passes a laughing young couple on his way out, and his
eyes glisten as he thinks of the good time he and Cassie could
have
had.He stops at the front and makes reservations for tomorrow.
Maybe
Cassie will be able to make it, he thinks.
"Seven o'clock tomorrow for party of two?" the hostess
confirms.
"That"s right," the man replies.
"Do you think she'll come"" asks the hostess. She doesn't mean
to
be
rude,
but she has watched the man many times alone at his table for
two.
"Someday, yes. And I will be waiting for her." The man buttons
his
overcoat and walks out of the restaurant, alone. His shoulders
are
hunched, but through the windows the hostess can only guess
whether
they are hunched against the wind or against the man's hurt.
As the man turns toward home, Cassie turns into bed. She is
tired
after an evening out with friends. As she reaches toward her
night
stand to set the alarm, she sees the note that she scribbled to
herself last night. '7:00,' it says. 'Spend some time in
prayer.'
Darn, she thinks. She forgot again. She feels a twinge of
guilt,
but
quickly pushes it aside. She needed that time with her friends.
And
now she needs her sleep. She can pray tomorrow night.
Jesus will forgive her. And she's sure he doesn't mind.
