The Meeting

Ok guys, this is finally it. The first thing I have started for my creative writing class. I feel so good about this I almost had the confidence to read it out loud in class when we were given the chance, then I chickened out. But I am feeling good enough about this draft to share with you all! Please feel free to honestly critic me.

What am I doing here? I always told myself I wasn’t one of those girls, the kind who run backwards instead of forwards. Yet, here I am, and she’s waiting. If I were as smart as I’d always believed I was, I’d turn around and walk away. I’d really not look back this time. But I won’t leave, and I’ll regret it later.

I pull on the door to Anita’s, that old Italian place she used to call ‘Our Place’. It takes a moment for the door to respond to my tug. It seems no matter how strong I get this door will always win out that first moment, giving me just enough time to wish I could let go before it relinquished its hold of the aromas that will always grab my heart and refuse to let go without just one taste. My feet walk a path too often travelled and the smile that greets me is foreign.

“Table for one?”

“Two, I’m actually meeting someone who should be here,” I halfheartedly scan the patrons. “but she’s late.”

“Follow me. I’ll show your friend to you once she gets here.” I almost open my mouth to correct her, but follow silently instead. This hostess doesn’t care one way or the other. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.” A smile, far too perky to be real, and then she’s gone. I won’t see her again until she smiles and gives a rehearsed goodbye, then never again if I’m smart.

“Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?” The deep voice would be soothing if it were kinder, or perhaps any other day but today, I glance out the window, tonight. This face is familiar, and it seems for just an instant to feel the same about mine. It must be the hair, my hair is hard to forget.

“Just water for now.” He nods and disappears. When he returns he brings what always comes, my water and bread sticks. Both help calm me. As I eat the bread sticks, one at a time, piece by piece, I think. Anita’s will never change, a thought I become more sure of each time I cave and agree to meet her here. The deep emerald table cloths are so amazingly soft, I wonder what type of fabric softener their dry cleaner uses. The wooden chairs are brilliantly designed, the slight couching on the back and seat of the chairs are perfectly matched to the cloth and just comfortable enough to make you want to stay and eat, but also uncomfortable enough so you’re not tempted to linger too long.

I never open the menu anymore, but I can tell by the cover it too, has not changed. The same fancy looking cursive points out key items on the menu with the caption ‘An Authentic Taste of Italy’. That wasn’t really true though. I remembered authentic Italian food, Anita’s was more of a watered down American Italian, like Dominos.

That’s as far as I got before we were stopped. So, tell me what you guys think. I really enjoy feedback. Until next time, or next story worth of such a wonderful audience. Bye!



Filed under college, family, life, thoughts, writing

2 responses to “The Meeting

  1. Your little details are nice to read. I like the feel as if I am inside the persons head and the thought process is quite nice.


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