Paths -dinner time

I stop at a place to have dinner. Sit a table right in the middle of the dinning hall. In front of me a woman in her mid-seventies is eating alone. Hands on the table. Legs held together as tightly as lips. Looking at her plate, she rarely smiles. The back is straight and the face is sad. I want to join her, but feel the moment is past. Silly how I didn’t notice awkwardness as it joined me at the table.

I check the menu and place my order. Something easy. Now it’s a matter of just waiting. To my left, sits a man, alone, bald and round at the waist, maybe in his late sixties. He’s handling his meal quickly, glancing every now and then around him, as if worried he might miss something important, or juicy. I see him fitting better in an Irish pub, with friends around, laughing and joking.

The woman is eating, and so is the man. My mind starts working, wants to play cupid. A match-maker, what a great idea, says my heart, without wasting a second to consider the thought. The food arrives, I put the pen down and fold my piece of paper. In it are all the sentences I’ve 'doodled' since I arrived. Nothing important, nothing worth revisiting.

The woman is eating, and so is the man. Her posture is too tight. His, too lax. Enveloped in their respective loneliness, they refuse to look at each other. The other tables are of no help, and cupid forgot his arrows tonight. To my right are four Spanish girls, early twenties, having a closed conversation over a popular Ipad; things to see and do, planning the future, agreeing and arguing.

The woman is still eating, and the man is already done. He’s short, bold and round, with I know a heart of gold. She’s shy, introverted and too worried about breaking the rules, with I know enough kindness, held within her, to drown the whole world.

My food arrives, and Cupid says he’s hungry. Behind me sits a young man. Tall traveler. He’s eating alone. What is it with this place? So much space separating us all, what’s it for? Why do we close our hearts to the world? Why do we hide in our tiny little bubbles? Wish I could burst them all. One by one if I have to. Although I know that’s infringing on your rights, meddling as you might want to call it. So tonight, I’ll start with mine. I’ll burst it again. Sure, it will form again, and again. I know that. I know. But, cupid is here, and that what he does. That’s what he loves. Otherwise, why carry arrows -when he does actually carry his arrows?

Going through this note a second time, putting myself behind someone else's reading glasses, I want to ask, “What’s wrong with being alone? With being self-sufficient and autonomous? What wrong with wanting privacy? With wanting space? What’s wrong with being strong, independent ? What’s wrong with being an island?” As far as I am concerned, the answers are clearly one and the same...

To be continued.