A restaurant is a small microcosm of life... lovers sneaking gestures in between duties and behind the columns; men gawking at pretty ladies, believing that they might have the cure for their desperate loneliness and boredom; a married couple searching for a romantic getaway to spark their repressed passion for each other; groups of old ladies having a 'girls' night out' as their husbands take care of the kids and grandkids; groups of religious widows planning yet another funeral...
Lovers, strugglers, pretenders - you will find it all: Old men on their birthdays longing for their party days full of tennis and women, successful younger (but aging) men postponing their downfall by hanging on to sexy, tattooed bombshells and whiskey bottles, women holding their bibles tight to their chests, faithful wives loving their husbands from afar...
It is curious to watch people project their best characters onto me... who knew that what I am best at is being a little treasure box - epitomizing perfection as it exists in the corrupted human psyche?
The big, wooden shelves here make me think of home... and when I think of home, I think of him. When I think of 'cozy', I think of the warm smell from the base of his neck... Does it mean I associate him with home? To associate your sense of belonging to one individual you love is an interesting concept, is it not?
As I watch the graceful waitress, Jane, and her husband, the Chef, my mind begins to wander... Their story is beautiful. She believed in his dream and lived through all the disappointments and loss of hope with him. She became a waitress at his newly opened restaurant to be close to him. Her eyes are so pure when she speaks of him... His eyes so full of love and appreciation when he speaks to her... they are so supportive of each other. It makes my mind twirl...
Might it be better to just have him the way I have him now: in my mind, as a sanctuary - as a 'forever'?
I don't know anymore.
I would love to ask Jane if it lasts... that cozy "we can do anything if we are together" feeling - ask her if she believes in a forever - if I am being blind by not holding on to him more firmly. But I know that she will tell me what I want to hear - or I will hear what I want to... I know that no two circumstances are the same. Except for in our need for relation and our thirst for togetherness, our stories will be different.
No, I will not fly to New York to spend a day with him, even if every fiber in my being wishes to... I have made it: I am independent, loved, wanted, appreciated, desired even. I do not cry when the darkness takes me by surprise and leaves me alone with the memory of him. I am no longer phased by being alone - no longer afraid of not finding someone else. Life moves on, and so have I - but I still do not know how he is - what be wants - and sometimes, it bothers me. He has become a major part of me. I am grateful for that. And I am accepting of our change. I cannot, however, stop remembering or recreating the feeling in order to survive difficulties.
One of the most fascinating things I have been witnessing as a new hostess is the way people develop crushes on me... They look at me with hungry eyes and speak to me about their dreams, their past successes, their potentials... They share their most intimate stories with me in hopes that I will cure them, somehow. I know that they are not falling in love with me for who I am, but are enamored with who I could be. I am new meat, and as new meat, I encompass their every wish.
It disgusts me to feel the customers' eyes scan my body with a certain desire... making me into an object of fantasy as opposed to a fellow human being... It equally disgusts me to stand idly as my boss treats other women with the same ideal in mind because he knows that "the old hags" are looking for it... and it is true! the ladies melt at his sexual innuendos... they walk up to him totally drunk and tell him he is incredibly sexy; that they've always been attracted to french accents - even when their husbands are sitting in the next room. But it is not my place to stand up against promiscuity and if it insults me so, then there is something in me that I need to fix.... maybe it is that sex has become such a beautiful demonstration of true love and connection that it breaks my heart when people jeopardize it so... It makes me feel anger because it is these people that are indirectly responsible for my friend's rape, and for the millions of rapes that occur each year. It is repulsive. But the fact that I am witnessing this behavior makes me understand much more. All of it is learning... every single day. And to get to know the people that have originally desired my body in such ways is quite the journey because they do transform, and under all of the disgustingness lies a hurt child who has not been cared for correctly... Everyone here is a child longing for proper attention, and they all look to me hoping I will give it to them. I am not magical. And I am also still a child. It will be interesting to see how long it will take them to realize this.
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