How long must I wait?
He sits by himself at a table for two.
The uniformed waiter returns to his side and asks, "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 brown 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
get for you, sir?" "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 PM," 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.
© Robyn Cavalera
robyajesusfreak@bellsouth.net
Please contact Robyn Cavalera if you are planning to use her writings. Thanks.