It was just a typical weekday; I'd gotten bored of working in my dull little cubicle, and had decided to stop and take an early lunch break. I'd followed the familiar path to that little diner, the one that most people forgot was there. I ordered my normal meal, with a coffee instead of a soda—I really needed the pick-me-up, with such an uneventful day—and took a seat in the booth made for two that I normally occupied.
I really needed a new lunchtime routine.
Just as I was picking at the chicken fingers I had ordered, the bells that hung up against the door jingled as a couple walked in. Of all of the people I'd seen during my visits, they were the oddest pair—and that was saying a lot; I once saw a really old, tattooed man with a girl about eighteen start making out in the booth in the back corner—and it had nothing to do with age. The woman was tall, long auburn hair falling over her shoulders, a confident smile on her lips as she ordered her meal. The man was almost her height, and seemed to let his nerves shrink him. He was constantly playing with his hands in a paranoid habit, and he asked the man working the cash register, "Is there any kind of meal where everything is white?"
The woman chuckled to herself, and then told the cashier, "He'll just have the burger, fries, and, umm, what did you want to drink?" Her eyes focused on her date, a fond smile on her lips.
"Umm, do you have iced tea?" he asked, and told the cashier to add that to the bill when he received confirmation. Their order in, they shuffled off to the side, both of their eyes scanning the room for a place to sit as they waited.
I wondered briefly if they would take the booth opposite of mine.
Watching as they waited—well, doing my best to appear as though I was entirely focused on my food, and not eavesdropping—I observed that the man had a nervous habit of babbling about things the woman didn't understand, science related things that went way over my own head. And, surprisingly, the woman wouldn't pretend to understand what he was talking about, like I would've done. Instead, she'd stop him and have him explain various details in normal-person terms, which he would gladly do. It was shocking, but the woman seemed extremely into whatever he was rambling about.
Once their food was prepared, the two of them took the seat in the booth opposite of mine, a perfect location for me to continue with my eavesdropping. Glancing sideways at them, I saw the man grimace when he took one look at his burger. "Megan," he said, "are you really sure they didn't have anything that was all white?"
While I would've been annoyed, the woman—Megan—only laughed. "Larry, I've eaten here many times, and I've tried everything on the menu. There is nothing that is entirely white." Noticing his disdainful look, she said, "Oh, come on, Larry! It's just a burger. Have you never eaten a burger before?"
Startled from examining his meal by her teasing accusation, he announced, "No, I have eaten a burger before. I've just never eaten one so… greasy." He lifted it up to demonstrate, revealing the soaked paper that the burger sat on. "I'm scared to see what the fries are like."
"Hey," she debated, "you told me to pick where I wanted to eat. I wanted to eat here. So…" She leaned in close, a smirk on her face. In a low voice, she said, "Eat your burger."
Larry chuckled nervously, holding it up to his face and studying it one last time. "Oh, very well," he said, moving it to his mouth and taking a bite.
I watched as he chewed it, Megan looking at him expectantly, and I half expected for him to spit it out. Instead, much to my surprise, he swallowed it, a little smile on his face. "Okay, fine, that was good," he confessed, pointing at it for emphasis.
"Good!" she said, reaching over and grabbing the ketchup for her chicken sandwich.
As an afterthought, he set his hamburger down and said, "But, if I get diabetes later in life, I'm blaming it on you." There was a smile on his face; he didn't even seem like the teasing type, but here he was, teasing her.
Megan laughed, replying, "Okay, fair enough," as he asked, "Can I have some of that?" referring to the ketchup that she had just finished using. "Here," she said, reaching over and lifting up the bun for him, applying the ketchup onto the meat patty.
He let out a little noise in protest, declaring, "Hey, that's mine! Why are you touching it?" He snatched it back from her, as if he was a kindergartener and she was touching one of his toys. Smirking, she squirted ketchup onto his basket, and he let out a little noise.
"Sorry, it's a bad habit," she told him, not at all sounding apologetic. "When my sisters and I were little, we'd all end up passing around our food and sharing."
Acting defensive, he retorted, "Well, regardless, please don't touch my food."
"Here," she said, reaching over to grab the silverware that she had grabbed on her way to her seat, using it to cut off a part of her sandwich. "Try a bit of my chicken sandwich; maybe that'll make it up to you."
After Larry sampled a bit of Megan's sandwich, I continued watching them discuss it, finally deciding that they would trade half of the sandwich after Larry announced that the chicken was much better than the hamburger. It was a rather amusing scene, and there were several moments when I had to quickly stifle a laugh.
However, rather quickly, the conversation took on a somber tone. "How are you doing, Megan?" Larry asked cautiously, as if something disastrous had happened to her. I leaned slightly to the side, definitely wanting to hear this.
From her tone, I knew something awful had happened to her. "I-I'm fine, Larry. Really." She certainly didn't sound confident of assurances.
He seemed to agree with my thoughts. "Really, Megan, it is socially acceptable to not be okay. I mean, when you're faced with mortality, when you see someone die—"
"Larry," she snapped, stopping to rub her hands over her face before she looked back at him. "Larry, I really don't want to talk about it. Yes, it was horrifying, okay? I just… dammit, I'm talking about it anyways." She let out a sigh, rubbing her hand over her face.
"What?" he asked, leaning forward. "What were you going to say, Megan?"
For a moment, all she did was sit there, her hands covering her eyes. When she finally removed them, her eyes were shimmering just slightly, indicating she was fighting back tears. Letting out a sigh, a sad smile on her lips, she told him honestly, "I just wish it had been me, not him."
Silence took over the couple, and when I managed to sneak a glance at them again, Larry had taken both of her hands and was holding them, one thumb grazing over her knuckles in a manner meant to sooth. She had let a few tears through, and was staring at his hands, as if she didn't want to look him in the face.
Finally, when words were shared, it was Larry. His voice was so soft that I struggled to hear it, but I managed to catch him saying, "I'm glad it hadn't been you."
Even though she was still crying, a huge smile lit up her face, and I had to glance away to not reveal my own grin. "Thank you," she said, and her tone held just a snippet of love in it. Deep down, I knew that those two had a chance in this world, a chance for love.
Of course, just as I had recovered myself, my phone began blaring obnoxiously. I had to fumble through my purse, and was very aware that they were now looking at me. It ended up being my boss, wondering where I was and then demanding that I get back to the office. Once I hung up, I gathered up the remains of my trash and the last bit of food, fumbling with the zipper on my purse and standing to feet. He'd sounded mad, and I needed to make a quick exit.
But, just as I was beginning to open the doors to leave, I glanced over my shoulder, smiling at the couple. Megan had her back to me, but the look in Larry's eyes confirmed that he felt the same as her.
Taking a deep breath, I shoved through the door, stopping to let out a loud squeal as the door closed behind me.